🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, newlywed dynamics, suggestive content, emotional intimacy, domestic fluff, slice of life, honeymoon shenanigans, comfort, three different smut scenes woven throughout the story (too much is going on sorry) !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : world, be kind ! don't have much to say for this because i do like it . . this request right here, thank you so muchi (i’m sorry, i practically missed the whole gist of the request 😭) > < anyways i miss jake so much i need him bad faaaah
"Guess who's Mr. and Mrs. now?!"
The voice bursts out of your MacBook speakers with a brightness that doesn't belong in a quiet hotel room at half past midnight, and it takes you a full three seconds to realize the voice is yours.
There you are on the screen, glowing and breathless and slightly blurry, holding the camera at arm's length with one hand while the other clutches a bouquet that's already started to wilt at the edges, and next to you is Jake, your Jake, grinning so wide it looks like his face might split in half, his tie loosened and his hair falling across his forehead in that effortlessly messy way it does after he's been running his hands through it for hours.
Behind you both, through the car windows, the city lights smear into long, streaking lines of gold and white, and faint but unmistakable, the opening chords of Heaven by Bryan Adams are playing from the car's speakers, filling the vehicle with that impossibly earnest, soaring melody that Jake had quietly added to the playlist three weeks ago and pretended he didn't know how it got there.
On screen, you shake the camera a little, bouncing in the passenger seat. "Say hi to the camera, husband."
Husband. The word lands on the recording like a sparkler going off, bright and crackling and slightly unbelievable, and Jake leans into the frame and presses a kiss to your cheek so hard your whole body tilts, and you shriek with laughter, and the camera wobbles, and the moment is chaos and joy and so perfectly, messily alive that watching it now, hours later, sitting cross-legged on this hotel bed with your wedding dress finally off and your makeup finally washed away and your hair finally free of the forty-seven pins that had been holding it up since this morning, you feel your eyes well up all over again.
Goodness gracious.
You were married.
You were actually, legally, irreversibly married to the man on that screen, the one who was currently in the bathroom brushing his teeth with his shirt half-buttoned and his suit jacket abandoned on the back of a chair, the one who had slipped a ring on your finger not eight hours ago and meant every word he said while doing it, the one who had been yours for years and was now yours in a way that was different, deeper, more permanent, more terrifying and wonderful than anything you'd ever known.
You pause the video. The frame freezes on both of you mid-laugh, your head thrown back, his arm around your shoulders, the city lights frozen behind you like a constellation that existed just for this moment. You stare at it for a long time, at the curve of his smile and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the way your hand is resting on his chest like it's the most natural thing in the world, and something enormous and warm and almost unbearable swells in your chest until you have to press your palm flat against your sternum like you can hold it in.
The MacBook sits on the hotel desk, cables connecting it to the camera your father had given you just a month before the wedding. He'd handed it to you over dinner at your parents' house, a small, neat box wrapped in silver paper, and when you'd opened it and seen the camera inside, a beautiful, top-of-the-line digital camera with a lens that cost more than your first car, you'd looked at him with confusion, because you already had a camera, a perfectly good one that you'd been using for years, and he'd cleared his throat and said, "It's for your last month as my little girl. I want you to document everything."
And you'd called him dramatic, because you'd always be his little girl even when you were married, even when you were eighty years old and gray and using a walker, and he'd gotten that look on his face, the one that meant he was trying very hard not to cry, and he'd said, "I know. But it's different now. Let me have this."
So you'd documented everything. The final dress fitting, the bridesmaids scrambling to get ready, the rehearsal dinner where Jake's best man had given a speech so funny and so touching that there wasn't a dry eye in the room. The morning of the wedding, your mother helping you into your dress with hands that shook slightly, your father standing in the doorway watching with an expression you'd never forget. Every moment, captured, preserved, locked into a memory card so that you could revisit it whenever you wanted, so that the day would never fade or blur or lose its shape.
You click through the import progress bar. Eighty-three videos. Five hundred and twelve photos. Each one a fragment of the most important day of your life, stacked neatly in a folder on your desktop like evidence that any of this had actually happened.
You click on the next video.
This one is from earlier in the evening, still at the reception, and the camera is propped up somewhere, maybe on a table, capturing the room from a slight distance. The dance floor is full, the members of Jake's group are doing something elaborate and slightly ridiculous that involves a lot of spinning and one near-collision with the cake table, and in the foreground, you and Jake are sitting at your table with your chairs angled toward each other, his hand on your knee, your hand on top of his, and you're not even watching the dancing. You're watching each other. He's saying something, leaning close, his lips near your ear, and whatever he's saying makes you press your face into his shoulder and laugh, and then he kisses your temple and pulls you closer and you stay like that, tucked against each other, the noise and the music and the celebration swirling around you while you exist in your own small, private orbit.
You remember what he'd said. He'd leaned in and whispered, "I can't believe I get to keep you forever," and it had hit you so suddenly and so completely that you'd laughed, not because it was funny but because your body didn't know what else to do with that much happiness, and you'd buried your face in his shoulder and felt his chest shake with silent laughter too, and for a moment, just a moment, the entire world had shrunk down to the warmth of him and the steadiness of his heartbeat and the unbelievable, unshakeable certainty that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.
The next video. The drive.
This one you'd already glimpsed, the one that had played when you first opened the folder, but now you watch it properly, letting it unspool from the beginning. Jake had handed you the keys after the reception, a playful little gesture, and you'd looked at him like he was insane because you'd been wearing heels for six hours and could barely walk let alone drive, and he'd laughed and taken the keys back and guided you to the passenger side with a hand on the small of your back, opening the door for you like he'd been doing all night, like he'd been doing for years, like he'd presumably keep doing for the rest of your life because that was just who he was.
The camera had been sitting on the dashboard, propped against the windshield, capturing the two of you in profile as the city moved past outside. You'd pressed play on the playlist before you even pulled out of the venue parking lot, and the first song that came on was Heaven, because of course it was, because Jake had queued it there on purpose and then feigned ignorance, and you'd both burst out laughing at the sheer audacity of it, the cheese of it, the perfection of it.
"Guess who's Mr. and Mrs. now?!" you'd shouted at the camera, and Jake had whooped from the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching for yours, and the joy was so big and so loud and so present that it felt like it might burst out of the car and fill the entire street.
"We're married," Jake had said, and his voice was full of wonder, like he was saying it to convince himself, like the reality was still settling in and every repetition made it more real. "We're actually married. You're my wife."
"I'm your wife," you'd repeated, and the word was new and strange and thrilling in your mouth, a shape your tongue wasn't used to forming but wanted to say over and over. "You're my husband."
"Your husband," he'd said, and he'd lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, right above the wedding band that was cool and new and still slightly foreign on your finger, and the gesture was so tender, so Jake, that your eyes had burned and you'd had to look out the window for a second and blink rapidly at the passing streetlights because you were not going to cry on your wedding night, you'd already cried approximately four hundred times today and that was enough.
At a red light, he'd turned to you fully, and his eyes were so soft, so warm, so full of something that looked like disbelief and gratitude and love all tangled together, and he'd said, "Hi, Mrs. Sim," and you'd said, "Hi, Mr. Sim," and then you'd both cracked up because it sounded absurd and wonderful and like the name of a couple in a sitcom, and he'd cupped your face in both hands and kissed you, slow and deep and tasting like champagne and cake and forever, and the car behind you had honked because the light had turned green, and you'd broken apart laughing and he'd stepped on the gas and his hand had found your thigh and stayed there for the rest of the drive.
You pause the video again.
His hand on your thigh. That was a constant, a fixture, as reliable as gravity. Jake had this thing where he always needed to be touching you when you were next to him, not in a possessive way, not in a controlling way, but in a grounding way, like he needed the contact to remind himself you were real, like the warmth of your skin under his palm was proof that this, all of this, wasn't a dream he was about to wake up from. A hand on your thigh while driving. An arm around your waist while walking. Fingers interlaced with yours across the center console. A palm pressed flat against the small of your back in crowded rooms. Always touching. Always near. Always there.
And you loved it. God, you loved it so much it made your chest hurt sometimes, the way he reached for you without thinking, the way his body oriented toward yours like a compass finding north, the way he made you feel like you were the most solid, most real, most important thing in whatever room you were standing in.
You close the video folder for a moment and lean back against the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest, and let yourself think about the day. The whole day, from beginning to end, every overwhelming, overstimulating, joy-saturated second of it.
The wedding had been held at a garden venue just outside the city, a place with old stone walls and climbing roses and a lawn that stretched down to the edge of a lake that caught the late afternoon light and turned it into something out of a painting. Your families were there, all of them, your parents and your siblings and your aunts and uncles and cousins and the family friends you'd known since childhood. Jake's family had flown in from Australia, his parents and his older brother, and the way his mother had hugged you when she arrived, tight and long and with tears already streaming down her face, had made you realize that you weren't just gaining a husband today, you were gaining an entire family, and the thought was so enormous and so overwhelming that you'd had to sit down for a moment and breathe.
The members were there too, all of them, dressed in matching suits that they'd picked out together and immediately started complaining about the moment they put them on. They'd been your friends for years now, long before you and Jake started dating, and they'd watched the two of you circle each other with a kind of fond exasperation that only people who loved you both could manage, and when you'd finally gotten together, they'd reacted with a mixture of relief and vindication that was almost insulting in its unanimity. "Finally," one of them had said, and the others had nodded so vigorously you'd thought their heads might fall off.
The ceremony itself was a blur of emotion and light. You'd walked down the aisle on your father's arm, and he'd been fighting tears the entire way, and when he'd placed your hand in Jake's and stepped back, he'd given Jake a look that was part warning and part blessing and entirely love, and Jake had nodded once, a small, serious, certain nod that said I understand and I will and I promise, and your father had stepped back and sat down and you'd watched him press his palm over his eyes and knew he was crying.
The vows were where you'd lost it completely. Jake had written his himself, because of course he had, because Jake did everything with his whole heart or not at all, and he'd stood there in his suit with his voice shaking and his eyes bright and told you that you were the bravest person he'd ever known, that loving you had taught him what it meant to be brave in return, that he would spend every day for the rest of his life trying to be the man you saw when you looked at him. And you'd stood there with tears streaming down your face and your carefully prepared vows completely abandoned in favor of just talking, just saying whatever came out, because the words you'd written didn't feel big enough anymore, nothing felt big enough to contain what you felt for this man, and you'd told him he was your home, that wherever he was was where you belonged, that you'd choose him in every lifetime if you got the chance.
And then the officiant had said it. The words you'd been waiting to hear since the moment you met him, since the first time he smiled at you across a crowded room and the entire world rearranged itself around the axis of his face.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Jake had pulled you in before the officiant had even finished the sentence, before the last syllable had fully left his mouth, and you'd both been laughing, laughing through tears, laughing through the kiss, laughing like the joy was too big to contain and had to come out somewhere, and the sound of everyone cheering and clapping and crying was washing over you in waves but all you could hear was his breath against your lips and his voice, rough and wet and incredulous, saying "we did it, we actually did it," against your mouth.
The reception was a fever dream of dancing and toasting and crying and laughing and cake and champagne and moments that you'd never remember clearly but would never forget the feeling of. Jake's best man speech. Your maid of honor's speech. The members performing a surprise song that they'd written for you both, a sweet, silly, earnest ballad that had the entire room in tears by the second verse. Your first dance, Jake's hand warm and steady on your lower back, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, the two of you swaying in the center of the floor while everyone watched and you didn't care because the only person who existed in that moment was him.
And now here you were. Married. Sitting in a hotel room at half past midnight, watching yourself live the best day of your life on a laptop screen, feeling like your heart might actually burst from the sheer, impossible weight of being this happy.
The bathroom door opens, and Jake emerges in a cloud of steam, his hair damp from where he'd splashed water on his face, his suit shirt now fully unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing the lean lines of his chest and the soft skin of his stomach. He looks tired, genuinely tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from being on your feet for twelve hours straight while experiencing the most emotionally intense day of your life, but underneath the tiredness there's something else, something warm, glowing, and constant, and when he sees you sitting on the bed with the laptop, his face softens into an expression so fond that it makes your throat tighten.
"Watching the videos already?" he asks, crossing the room to sit beside you on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight and he leans into you automatically, his shoulder pressing against yours, his hand finding the curve of your waist like it's magnetic.
"I couldn't not," you admit. "Look at us."
He looks at the screen, at the frozen frame of the two of you in the car, mid-laugh, and his smile is so immediate and so genuine that it takes your breath away. "God. We look so happy."
"We are so happy."
"We are," he agrees, and he turns his head and kisses your shoulder through the thin fabric of the robe you'd thrown on after taking off your dress. "We really, really are."
You lean into him, resting your head against his, and for a moment you both just sit there, watching the frozen frame, breathing each other in.
"Jake?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't believe we're married."
He laughs, soft and quiet, and his arm tightens around you. "I know. I keep looking at your hand and seeing the ring and being like, that's real. That actually happened."
"It happened."
"It happened." He lifts your left hand and presses a kiss to your wedding band, and the gesture is so tender, so unconscious, that your eyes burn for the hundredth time today. "My wife."
"My husband."
"Mmm." He nuzzles into your neck, pressing a soft, warm kiss just below your ear. "I like the sound of that."
"Which one? Husband or wife?"
"Both. Either. All of it. You being mine and me being yours and this being forever." His voice is muffled against your skin, drowsy and content and so completely open that it makes something crack in your chest. "I've wanted this for so long. I kept thinking, during the ceremony, I kept thinking about how long I've wanted this and how I'd almost convinced myself it might not happen and then there you were, walking down the aisle, and I couldn't breathe."
"Jake..."
"I'm serious. I saw you and my whole chest just... kind of stopped. Everything stopped. I was like, that's her. That's the person I'm going to spend my entire life with. And I started crying before I even had a chance to stop myself and then the guys were making fun of me after but I didn't even care because you were walking toward me and you were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I knew, I just knew, that I was the luckiest person alive."
You turn your face into his hair and breathe him in, and your eyes are definitely burning now, definitely wet, and you don't even try to stop the tears because it's your wedding night and you're allowed to cry as much as you want.
"Do you remember the proposal?" you ask, your voice thick.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there's a knowing, slightly sheepish grin on his face. "The hiking one?"
"The hiking one."
"You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"Jake, you brought me hiking to a really tall mountain peak. A beach proposal would've been fine. A nice restaurant would've been fine. My living room would've been fine. Instead I had to climb a mountain in sneakers."
"I had to bring you closer to heaven to ask," he says, and the line is so earnest, so completely sincere, so utterly Jake that you can't even be annoyed about the three days of sore calves that followed. He says it like it's the most obvious logic in the world, like of course he'd haul you up a mountain at dawn because where else would you ask someone to spend eternity with you but as close to the sky as you could physically get.
"Damn you," you say, and your voice cracks. "Damn you for still knowing how to make me feel like a dumb teenager in love."
He pulls you into a hug. A real one, full-bodied, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you against his chest, and you bury your face in the curve of his neck and let yourself be held. His hand cradles the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, and his chest is warm and solid and rising and falling with breaths that are slightly shakier than they were a moment ago, and you realize he's getting emotional too, that this is hitting him just as hard as it's hitting you, and the knowledge makes you hold on tighter.
"I love you," he says into your hair. "I love you so much. I'm going to love you for the rest of my life and that's still not enough time."
"It's enough," you whisper. "It's more than enough."
He pulls back and looks at you, and his eyes are red-rimmed and bright and so full of love that it's almost hard to look at directly, like staring at the sun, and he cups your face in his hands and wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, gentle, so gentle, like you're something precious and irreplaceable.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey."
"Let me help you get ready for bed, okay? You've been in this dress all day and your hair must be killing you."
It is. Your scalp is throbbing dully from the weight of the pins and the spray and the elaborate updo that had taken two hours to construct and had looked stunning but had felt like wearing a helmet made of bobby pins. Your dress is off, finally, you'd managed to wiggle out of it an hour ago with a lot of wriggling and a few choice words about the structural integrity of boning, but your hair is still up, still pinned, still holding on like it's afraid of what it might find when it comes down.
"Okay," you say.
He stands up and offers you his hand, and you take it, and he leads you to the vanity in the corner of the hotel room, settling you on the little stool and standing behind you. You watch him in the mirror as he starts to carefully, so carefully, remove the pins from your hair, one by one, setting each one on the counter with a soft little click. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and the tenderness of the image, your husband carefully undoing your hair on your wedding night, makes something in your chest swell until you feel like you might float.
"You're so good at this," you murmur.
"I've had practice," he says, pulling another pin free. "You fall asleep on my shoulder during movie nights and I have to undo your hair clips so they don't stab me."
"That's different. That's self-preservation."
"Maybe. But my methods are gentle either way." He pulls the last of the pins and your hair tumbles down in a dark, heavy wave, and he combs his fingers through it slowly, working out the tangles, and you close your eyes and let yourself feel it, the scratch of his fingernails against your scalp, the pull of the strands between his fingers, the way he's touching you like you're made of something fragile and valuable.
He moves to your jewelry next. The earrings first, tiny diamonds that had sparkled like stars against your neck all evening, and he sets them on the counter next to the pins. Then the necklace, a thin gold chain with a small pendant that he'd given you for your second anniversary, and his fingers are warm against the nape of your neck as he unclasps it, and you shiver.
"Cold?" he asks.
"No," you say honestly.
You feel his smile against your hair as he presses a kiss to the back of your head.
When the jewelry is all off and your hair is down and your face is bare and you're sitting in front of him in nothing but the robe, he steps back and you stand and turn to face him, and the look in his eyes shifts. Softens into something deeper, darker, more intent.
"Take off the robe," he says, and his voice is quiet, not a command but a request, gentle but with an undercurrent of something that makes your pulse quicken.
You undo the tie at your waist and let the robe slide off your shoulders, and it pools at your feet in a whisper of silk, and you're standing in front of him in the ivory lingerie set he'd bought for you. The one he'd surprised you with a week before the wedding, a small, elegant box left on your pillow with a note that said "for after," and when you'd opened it and seen the lace, the silk, and the delicate, ivory color that was so soft and so pretty and so deliberately chosen, you'd pressed your face into the note and laughed until you cried because even his gifts were thoughtful, even his surprises were considerate, even his lingerie was selected with the kind of care and attention that made you feel seen and wanted and loved.
The bra is delicate, sheer ivory lace that cups your breasts and barely conceals them, the nipples visible through the pattern of flowers and scrollwork. The underwear is matching, high-waisted and elegant, the same ivory lace, a small silk bow at the front that he'd definitely picked specifically because he knew it would make you smile. The set is beautiful, objectively, but it's the fact that he chose it, that he imagined you in it, that he went to a store or a website and picked this exact shade and this exact cut because he thought you'd look perfect in it, that makes you feel more beautiful than any piece of clothing ever has.
Jake looks at you.
For a long, charged moment, he just looks.
His eyes move over your body slowly, taking in the lace and the silk and the skin underneath, and his throat bobs as he swallows, and his hands, which had been steady and careful while removing your pins, are now gripping the back of the vanity chair hard enough that his knuckles are white.
"You're wearing it," he says, and his voice is rough.
"You bought it for me to wear," you say.
"I know, I just—" He stops. Starts again. "God. You look... I can't even... you're so beautiful. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my entire life and I'm going to say that every day for the rest of our lives and it's never going to be enough."
Heat pools between your thighs, slow and warm and insistent, and you watch his eyes darken as he looks at you, watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster, watch the way his hands flex at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach for you.
"Jake," you say softly.
"Yeah?"
"You already know what I’m about to say."
“And that would be…? What?”
“Touch me.”
A sheepish grin tugs at his lips, and he moves.
Two steps and his hands are on your waist and his mouth is on yours and the kiss is slow and deep and full of everything neither of you has words for. His lips are warm and familiar and they move against yours with a tenderness that makes your eyes sting, and his hands slide up your sides, his thumbs tracing the edge of the lace where it meets your skin, and you shiver and press closer and open your mouth against his.
He walks you backward, step by careful step, until the back of your knees hits the edge of the bed, and he lowers you down onto it with a gentleness that makes your heart ache, settling over you, his weight balanced on his forearms, his body a warm, solid line above yours. He kisses you again, softer now, his lips brushing your jaw, your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose, and then he pulls back and looks at you, and his eyes are so dark and so warm and so full of love and want that you feel seen in a way that goes beyond the physical, like he's looking at every version of you that has ever existed and loving all of them equally.
"Hi, wife," he whispers.
"Hi, husband," you whisper back, and the words are still new, still startling, still sending a little thrill through your chest every time you say them.
He kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours, and his hands find the clasp of your bra and undo it with a practiced ease, peeling the lace away from your skin and tossing it somewhere in the direction of the floor. His palms find your breasts, warm and careful, and he cups them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasp into his mouth and arch into his touch.
"Perfect," he murmurs against your lips. "You're so perfect. I've been thinking about this all day. Every time I looked at you during the ceremony, every time we danced, every time someone made a toast about us, I was thinking about getting you back here and getting my hands on you."
"Jake—"
"Is that bad?" He rolls your nipples between his fingers, gentle but firm, and the sparks of sensation shoot down your spine and pool hot and urgent between your legs. "Thinking about my wife like that during our wedding? Can't help it. You walked down that aisle and I was gone. I was a goner. I've been half-hard since you said I do."
You whimper, and the sound is small and needy and you'd be embarrassed if you had any capacity for embarrassment left, which you don't, not with him, not with Jake, who has seen every version of you and loved every single one.
"Look at you," he breathes, and he dips his head and drags his tongue across one nipple, slow and flat and wet, and your spine arches off the mattress like he's pulled a string attached to your back. "I've been dying to do this all night. You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you during the reception. Every time you leaned over the table, every time you laughed and your dress shifted, I could see the outline of this set through the fabric and I almost lost my mind."
He takes your nipple into his mouth fully now, sucking with a slow, deliberate pressure that has your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling, and he groans against your breast, the vibration of it humming through your chest and settling deep in your belly. His other hand isn't idle — it's palming your other breast, kneading the soft flesh, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and tweaking and working you into a state of such acute sensitivity that every touch feels like it's being transmitted directly to the throbbing heat between your legs.
"Jake, please—" You don't even know what you're asking for. More. Everything. Him.
"Shh," he says against your skin, and he switches sides, his mouth finding your other breast, his tongue circling the areola before latching onto the nipple and sucking hard enough to make you cry out. "I'm getting there. Let me have this first. Let me worship you the way you deserve."
His hand slides down your stomach, fingertips tracing the silk bow at the front of your underwear, and he hooks his fingers under the waistband and tugs, just slightly, just enough for you to feel the pressure against your hip bones. "I picked this set because I knew the ivory would look insane against your skin. I was right. God, I was so right. You look like you were made for this. Made for me to take apart."
He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts, and his mouth is hot and wet and deliberate, each kiss placed with the same care he used when he was removing your hairpins, like he's cataloguing every inch of you, like he's mapping the territory of your body and memorizing it for future reference. His hands slide down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your underwear, and he looks up at you from between your breasts with a question in his eyes.
"Can I?"
"Yes. Fuck, yes."
He pulls them down slowly, dragging the lace down your thighs, over your knees, off your ankles, and then he settles back between your legs and looks at you, really looks at you, and the expression on his face is one you'll never forget. Reverent. Hungry. Overwhelmed. Like he can't quite believe that this is real, that you're real, that you're his.
"My wife," he says, and his voice is thick and rough and reverent. "All mine."
"All yours," you confirm, and your voice comes out breathier than intended.
He hooks your legs over his shoulders, one and then the other, and the position opens you up to him completely, vulnerably, and you feel the cool air against your slick, heated skin for barely a second before his mouth is on you.
The first touch of his tongue against your cunt tears a sound from your throat that you don't even recognize, something raw and broken and desperate. He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the heat of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue and the scratch of his slight stubble against your inner thighs is so much, almost too much, and your hands fly to his hair and grip hard.
"Jake—oh my god—"
He groans against you, and the vibration of it pulses through your core and makes your hips buck, and he presses his palms flat against your hips to hold you still and does it again, another long, slow lick, and then another, and another, each one deeper and more thorough than the last. His tongue circles your clit, then dips lower, pressing inside you, then drags back up, and the rhythm he sets is devastating, relentless, a slow and steady unraveling that has you trembling and gasping and saying his name like it's the only word you remember.
"Feel so good," he murmurs against you, and his voice is muffled and rough and the words vibrate against your sensitive flesh and make you jerk. "Taste so good, baby. My wife. My perfect wife. I could do this for hours."
"Please—"
"Please what? Use that pretty mouth."
"More. Please. Don't stop."
He doesn't stop. His tongue finds your clit again and circles it in tight, firm strokes, and two of his fingers slide inside you, curling upward, pressing against that spot that makes your vision blur, and the dual sensation of his mouth and his fingers working in tandem is so overwhelming that you feel the orgasm building already, a hot, coiling tension that's gathering speed and intensity with every passing second.
"You know what I kept thinking during the ceremony?" he says against your clit, and his lips brush the swollen bud as he speaks, and the graze of them is enough to make your thighs shake against his shoulders. "I kept thinking about how I was going to have you like this later. Spread out underneath me. Making these sounds. Being this wet for me. I wrote my vows with your taste still in my mouth from last night and I couldn't even concentrate because all I could think about was doing this to you on our wedding night."
"Jake, I'm close, I'm—"
"Come for me," he says against your clit, and the words are filthy and reverent and the permission is all you need. The orgasm crashes through you in waves, your back arching off the bed, your thighs shaking against his shoulders, your walls clenching around his fingers, and he works you through it, his tongue and his fingers never stopping, drawing it out until you're oversensitive and trembling and pulling at his hair and gasping his name.
He doesn't pull away immediately. He stays between your legs, pressing soft, wet kisses to your inner thighs, to the crease where your thigh meets your hip, to the swollen, sensitive flesh that's still pulsing with the aftershocks. His fingers slide out of you slowly, and he drags them through your slick, feeling the mess he's made, and he looks up at you with his chin wet and his eyes black and his lips swollen, and he says, "I want to do that again. I want to live between your thighs. I want to fall asleep with my mouth on you and wake up the same way."
"You're too goddamn greedy."
"For you? Always." He presses one more kiss to your clit, feather-light, and you jolt from the overstimulation, and he grins, this crooked, devastating grin that makes your stomach flip even though you just came hard enough to see stars.
He crawls back up your body and kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and obscene, and the intimacy of it, the rawness of it, makes you whimper against his lips. His bare chest is pressed against yours, skin to skin, and you can feel his heart hammering against your ribs, feel the heat radiating off him, feel the hard, insistent length of him pressing against your stomach through his unbuttoned shirt.
"I love you," he says, and his voice is rough and wrecked and so full of feeling. "I love you so much. I'm going to make you feel so good tonight. I'm going to make you feel so good for the rest of our lives."
"Jake, I need you inside me. Please."
"Not yet." He shakes his head, and there's a dangerous glint in his eyes, something playful and dark. "I'm not done with you. That was just the appetizer, baby. I've been waiting all day for this. I'm taking my time."
He sits back on his heels and looks down at you, sprawled out and flushed and trembling on the hotel sheets, and his gaze travels from your face to your breasts to the wet, glistening mess between your thighs, and he licks his lips, and the gesture is so unconscious and so filthy that you feel yourself clench around nothing.
"Look at you," he says, and his voice has dropped into that register that makes your stomach tighten and your breath catch. "My wife. All spread out for me. You're shaking. You came so hard and you're still shaking. I love that. I love knowing I can do that to you. That nobody else gets to see you like this. That you're mine."
"I'm yours," you whisper. "All yours. Only yours."
"Only mine." He reaches out and traces a fingertip down the center of your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, and dips into your navel, and then lower, through the slick, wet mess of you, and he doesn't push inside, just trails his finger through it, feeling how wet you are, how ready, how desperate. "God, you're drenched. I made you this wet. I did this. I turned you into this trembling, soaking mess just with my mouth and my fingers."
"Jake, please—"
"Please what?" He circles your clit with the lightest possible pressure, and you buck up into his touch, chasing more, chasing him. "Use your words, lovely. Tell me what you need."
"You. Inside me. I need you inside me. Please."
"Since you asked so nicely." He reaches over to the nightstand, and you hear the rustle of a wrapper, and then he's settling between your legs again and you feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and he pauses, looks down at you, and the look on his face is so open and so full of love that it steals your breath.
"Ready?" he asks softly.
"Ready."
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch of him fills you so completely that you both groan, his low and guttural, yours high and breathless. He stills when he's fully inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts against your lips, and you can feel him trembling, feel the effort it's taking him to hold still, to be gentle, to not just take.
"You feel so good," he whispers, and his voice cracks on the last word. "You feel so good, princess. I can't—I'm not going to last long, I've been thinking about this all day, you have no idea—"
"It's okay," you say, and you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. "I don't need you to last. I just need you."
He starts to move. Slow at first, deep and rolling, each thrust measured and deliberate, his body pressing into yours with a gentleness that makes your chest ache. His hands find yours, interlacing your fingers above your head, and he holds them there, pinned against the pillow, and the intimacy of it, the closeness of it, the way he's surrounding you and filling you and loving you all at once, is so much that you feel tears prickle at the corners of your eyes again.
"I can't believe you're mine," he says against your neck, his hips snapping forward a little harder, a little faster, and the shift makes you gasp. "I can't believe I get to have you forever. I can't believe you chose me."
"I'll always choose you," you whisper, and your voice breaks on it.
"Fuck—" His rhythm stutters, his hips jerking, and you can tell he's close, you can feel it in the way his cock pulses inside you, in the way his breath comes faster and more ragged, in the way his hands grip yours so tight it almost hurts. "You feel too good, I can't—I need—"
"Go faster," you tell him. "Don't hold back. I want all of you."
And he does. He lets go. His hips snap forward with a force that drives the breath from your lungs, his pace turning from measured to desperate in the space of a single thrust, and the sound of it fills the room, skin against skin, wet and sharp and urgent, and his moans are broken and raw and so fucking hot that you feel another orgasm building already, the pressure coiling tight and hot in your stomach. He shifts your legs higher on his waist, changing the angle so that every thrust drags against that spot inside you, the one that makes your vision blur and your nails rake down his back and your mouth fall open in a sound that isn't even a word anymore, just pure, unfiltered sensation given voice. The headboard is knocking against the wall now and neither of you cares, let the entire hotel know, let the entire world know that Sim Jaeyun is making love to his wife on their wedding night and neither of them can think about anything else.
"God, you take me so well," he groans, and his voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. "You're so tight around me. I can feel you squeezing me. You're close again, aren't you? I can feel it."
"Yes—baby—"
"I want you to come on my cock," he says, and the words are a command and a plea and a prayer all wrapped into one breathless gasp. "I want to feel you fall apart around me. I want to feel you milk every drop out of me. Come on, baby. Give it to me."
"Close," he gasps, and his voice is wrecked, barely a voice at all, just breath and sound and need. "I'm close, I'm—are you—mmgh—"
"Close too. Keep going. Don't stop."
He doesn't stop. He drives into you harder, faster, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips, and you feel the orgasm cresting, feel the tension winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you come with his name on your lips, your walls clenching around him in pulsing waves, and he follows a second later with a sound that's almost a sob, his hips jerking erratically as he spills inside you, hot and deep and overwhelming.
Even after, he doesn't pull out immediately. He stays buried inside you, his cock twitching with the aftershocks, his hips making tiny, involuntary thrusts that make you both shudder and gasp each time, oversensitive and overwhelmed and incapable of stopping, and he kisses your face — your forehead, your eyelids, the bridge of your nose, the wet tracks on your cheeks that you hadn't even realized were there. His hands release yours and come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears, and he's looking at you with an expression of such absolute, overwhelming wonder that you feel your chest crack open all over again.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is wrecked and raw and so full of love it's almost hard to hear. "Hey. I've got you. I'm right here."
"I know," you whisper. "I know you are."
He pulls out of you slowly, carefully, and you both wince at the sensitivity, and you feel the wetness of him leaking out of you, dripping onto the sheets, and the obscene intimacy of it makes you flush hot all over. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with a warm, damp towel. He sits on the edge of the bed and cleans you up with the same gentleness he used when he was removing your hairpins, the same care he used when he was unclasping your necklace, the same attention he gives to everything that involves you, and the tenderness of it makes your eyes sting because this is what your life is going to be now, this is what it means to be married to him, this quiet, steady, unwavering care that doesn't diminish with repetition or time or familiarity.
"Come on," he says, tossing the towel aside and offering you his hand. "Bath."
He leads you to the bathroom, and you'd drawn the bath earlier, the massive hotel tub filled with warm water and the complimentary bath salts that smelled like lavender, and he steps in first and then helps you in after him, and you settle between his legs with your back against his chest and the warm water lapping at your shoulders. His arms wrap around your middle, his chin hooks over your shoulder, and the two of you sit there in the steam and the quiet and the aftermath of everything, and it's so peaceful that you could fall asleep right here.
"Jake?"
"Hmm?"
"Can we do a virtual photobooth? On my laptop? I saw a filter earlier and I really want to take pictures with you."
He's quiet for a moment, and then he laughs, that full, warm, surprised laugh that you love more than any other sound in the world. "You want to take photobooth pictures right now? We're naked in a bathtub."
"So? The filter works on our faces. We'll angle it up. Please?"
"We look exhausted."
"We are exhausted. It'll be authentic."
He laughs again, and the way his chest shakes against your back makes the water ripple around you, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Okay. Let's do it."
Twenty minutes later, you're both sitting on the bed in your bathrobes, your laptop propped on the desk, the photobooth app open, and you're scrolling through the results of your impromptu photoshoot and laughing so hard your stomach hurts. There's one where Jake is making an exaggeratedly serious face while you're mid-blink, one where you're both doing finger hearts with bedhead and smudged under-eyes, one where he's kissing your cheek and you're grinning so wide your eyes are barely visible, and one, your favorite, where you're both just looking at each other, foreheads almost touching, the exhaustion clear on your faces but underneath it, unmistakable, that warm, steady glow of two people who have never been more certain of anything in their lives.
"I look dead," Jake says, peering at the screen.
"You look beautiful," you correct him.
"I look like I haven't slept in three days."
"You look like a man who just married the love of his life. Same thing."
He grins, and it's lopsided and sleepy and so endearing that you reach out and cup his face and kiss him, just because you can, just because he's yours, just because the ring on your finger says so.
You save the best photo and send it to yourself, already thinking about making it your phone wallpaper, already thinking about printing it and framing it and keeping it on your nightstand for the rest of your life. Because that's what this is now. The rest of your life. And every boring, ordinary, exhausted moment of it is going to be extraordinary simply because he's in it.
Sleep comes fast and heavy after that. You crawl under the covers, and he pulls you against him, your back to his chest, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm and slow against the back of your neck. The last thing you register before consciousness slips away is the weight of his arm and the steadiness of his heartbeat and the impossible, improbable, overwhelming fact that you are married, you are his wife, he is your husband, and tomorrow you're going to wake up and it's still going to be true.
You sleep for five and a half hours.
It's the alarm that does it, a chirping, insistent thing that you'd set the night before and immediately regretted, and Jake groans and buries his face in the pillow and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like "five more minutes" but might also be "I quit," and you laugh and shake his shoulder and tell him that your flight to Greece leaves in four hours and if he misses it you're going without him.
He sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you.
"Greece," he says, his eyes wide and sleep-rumpled. "Our honeymoon. Today. Right. Right?"
"Right."
"I'm up. I'm awake. I'm—" He yawns so wide his jaw cracks. "I'm mostly awake."
You manage to get ready in record time, a whirlwind of packing and checking suitcases and arguing about whose toiletry bag is whose and whether you really need three pairs of sunglasses for a week-long trip and yes you do, Jake, because they go with different outfits, and he shakes his head but he's smiling, he's always smiling, and the giddy, electric energy of being newly married carries you through the exhaustion like caffeine.
At the airport, you check in at the business class counter, and the agent looks at your tickets and then at your faces and then at your hands, and her eyes land on the wedding bands and she smiles and says, "Congratulations," and Jake grins and says, "Thank you, we just got married yesterday," and the agent's face softens and she upgrades you to first class, and you nearly cry right there at the check-in counter because apparently this is what the rest of your life is going to be, people being kind to you because you're so obviously, radiantly happy that it's contagious.
In the first class lounge, Jake insists on taking a photo of you with your boarding pass, and then another one of you with your coffee, and then another one of you looking out the window at the planes, and you roll your eyes but you let him because you know by now that Jake documents things the way other people breathe, naturally and constantly and without thinking about it, and you also know that in approximately three days he's going to pull up these photos and show you one and say "look how pretty you look" and you're going to pretend to be annoyed but actually you're going to melt.
On the plane, you settle into your seats, wide and plush and more like armchairs than airplane seats, and Jake immediately reaches for your hand and interlaces your fingers and holds on, and the simple, constant gesture makes your chest warm. The cabin is quiet, the lights dimmed for the overnight flight, and the flight attendant brings you champagne because you're honeymooners and that apparently means free champagne everywhere you go, and you clink your mini glasses together and Jake says, "To us," and you say, "To forever," and you both drink and then make faces because neither of you actually likes champagne but it's the principle of the thing.
You lean your head on his shoulder and he leans his head on top of yours, and you're both so tired that the exhaustion is a physical weight on your limbs, and you close your eyes and feel the rumble of the engines through the seat and the warmth of his body against yours, and you're drifting off when you feel his lips against your ear.
"You know what I keep thinking about?" he murmurs, and his voice is low and quiet, meant only for you.
"What?"
"You in that ivory lingerie set."
Your eyes open.
"Jake."
"I'm just saying. I've been thinking about it since you took the robe off. The way the lace looked against your skin. The way your nipples showed through." His fingers trace idle patterns on the back of your hand, and his breath is warm and ticklish against your ear. "I'm going to buy you so many pretty things. I'm going to dress you up in lace and silk and take my time taking it all off."
"Jake, we're on a plane."
"I know. I'm not doing anything. I'm just telling you what I'm thinking about." His lips brush the shell of your ear, feather-light. "Is that a crime?"
"You're impossible."
"Impossible to resist?" He grins against your ear, and you can hear the mischief in it, the playful, teasing edge that he deploys like a weapon.
"Impossible to deal with," you correct, but you're pressing your thighs together under the blanket, and he notices because of course he notices, and you feel his hand slide under the blanket and rest on your thigh, warm and heavy and not moving, just resting there, a promise and a tease all at once.
"Go to sleep," he whispers. "I'll behave."
"You'd better."
"I will. For now."
The emphasis on the last two words follows you into your dreams.
You wake up somewhere over the Mediterranean, the plane beginning its descent, and you look out the window and see the sea below you, a blue so deep and so vivid and so impossible that it doesn't look real, and you elbow Jake awake and point and he rubs his eyes and stares and says, "That's where we're going to be for the next week," and you say, "I know," and he says, "I can't believe I get to spend a week in Greece with my wife," and there's that word again, wife, still new and thrilling and still sending a jolt through your chest every time he says it.
Santorini is everything you'd dreamed of and more.
You've wanted to come here for as long as you can remember, ever since you saw a photo of the white-washed buildings and the blue domes and the caldera stretching out toward the horizon like the edge of the world, and you'd mentioned it once, offhandedly, years ago, back when you and Jake had first started dating, and he'd filed it away somewhere in that meticulous, loving brain of his and pulled it out the moment you'd started talking about honeymoon destinations, because Jake is a sucker for you in every possible way, and if your dream destination is a Greek island with sunsets and hot tubs and wine, then that's where he's going to take you even if it means coordinating logistics across eight time zones and two international flights.
The hotel is perched on the edge of the caldera, a cluster of white buildings cascading down the cliffside, and your room is the one at the very bottom, the one with the private terrace and the outdoor jacuzzi and the view that makes you stop in the doorway and forget how to breathe because the sea stretches out below you like a painting, blue and gold and shimmering in the late afternoon light, and the sky is so vast and so clear that it feels like you could reach up and touch it.
Jake comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, and you both stand there in the doorway of your honeymoon suite, looking out at the most beautiful view you've ever seen, and he says, "Worth the five-hour flight?" and you say, "Worth anything," and he kisses your neck and holds you tighter and the sun is warm on your faces and the sea is glittering and you're here, you're really here, you're in Santorini with your husband on your honeymoon, and the happiness is so big and so present that you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin.
The first afternoon dissolves into a lazy, sun-soaked haze. You unpack in fits and starts, distracted by the view and by each other and by the bottle of wine that was waiting on the nightstand with a handwritten note from the hotel staff congratulating the happy couple. You drink it on the terrace, your feet dangling over the edge, the caldera spread out beneath you like a love letter written in water and stone, and Jake takes approximately four hundred photos of you with the view, of you with your wine glass, of you with the sunset turning your skin golden, and he shows you each one and says, "Look how pretty," and you say, "You're biased," and he says, "I'm objective. You're the prettiest person on this island and I have the photos to prove it."
You explore the town in the evening, winding through narrow cobblestone streets lined with shops and cafes and jewelry stores, and you stop in a little boutique and try on a linen dress that flows like water and makes you feel like a Greek goddess, and Jake watches you spin in front of the mirror and his eyes go soft and dark and he says, "Buy it," and you say, "I don't need it," and he says, "I didn't say you needed it. I said buy it. I want to see you in it again." So you buy it, and he buys a matching linen shirt, and you take a selfie together in the shop mirror like the couple you are, the couple who wears matching clothes in Greece on their honeymoon, and you look at the photo afterward and think, we're those people now, and the thought fills you with a warm, sheepish delight.
You buy gifts for everyone you love. A hand-painted ceramic plate for your mother, a leather journal for your father, a set of olive oil soaps for your sister. A tiny blue evil eye charm for each of Jake's members, because you'd discussed it and agreed that matching keychains would be perfect, and you find a shop that sells them in a row of different colors and you pick one for each of the guys and the shop owner wraps them individually in tissue paper and you tuck them carefully into your bag. Jake buys a set of worry beads for his grandfather, a silk scarf for his mother, a bottle of local wine for his father, and you watch him deliberate over each choice with the same seriousness he brings to everything and you think, not for the first time and not for the last, that you married the most thoughtful person on the planet.
Dinner is at a restaurant perched on the edge of the cliff, a candle on the table, the stars coming out over the sea, and Jake reaches across the table and takes your hand and says, "I want to remember this forever," and you say, "That's what the camera is for," and he says, "The camera can't capture how I feel right now. Nothing can." And you lift your phone and take a photo of him anyway, candlelit and starry-eyed and so handsome it hurts, and he rolls his eyes but he's smiling, and later that night you look at the photo and think he's right, the camera can't capture it, but it can remind you, and that's almost as good.
That first night in Santorini, after dinner and wine and a long, meandering walk through the lit-up streets of the town, you find yourselves on the terrace of your room, the jacuzzi bubbling and steaming in the cool night air, the sea a vast, dark expanse below you, and Jake looks at you with that look, the one that says he's thinking about something specific and it involves significantly fewer clothes than you're currently wearing.
"Jacuzzi?" he asks.
"Jacuzzi," you agree.
You change into your swimsuit, a simple black two-piece that you'd bought specifically for this trip, and when you step onto the terrace, Jake is already in the water, leaning against the edge with his arms spread along the rim, and he looks up at you and his eyes darken and his jaw tightens and you watch him bite his lower lip, a quick, unconscious gesture that sends a sharp pulse of heat straight to your core.
Jake is obsessed with your body. This is not new information. He has been obsessed with your body since the day you met, in various ways and to varying degrees, but the obsession has always been there, simmering beneath the surface of every glance and every touch and every lingering look he thinks you don't notice. He loves your breasts, loves them, can't keep his hands off them, can't keep his eyes off them, is constantly finding excuses to touch them or look at them or rest his head against them like they're pillows designed specifically for him. And he loves your ass, too, loves it with a devotion that borders on religious, is always touching it when you walk, grabbing it when you bend over, pressing himself against it when you're standing in line somewhere, and in Greece, in the heat, in the swimsuits and the shorts and the thin linen dresses that cling to every curve, the obsession has dialed up to a level that is honestly flattering and slightly inconvenient.
Like right now, for instance. You're standing on the edge of the jacuzzi in a black bikini, and Jake is looking at you like you're the sunset and the sea and the stars all compressed into a single person, and his teeth are digging into his lower lip, and you can see the hunger in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered want, and the sight of it, the knowledge that you do this to him, that you make him look like that, makes you feel powerful and desired and so, so hot.
"Get in here," he says, and his voice is lower than it was a moment ago.
You step into the water, the warmth enveloping you, and you settle across from him, letting the jets pulse against your back, and the two of you sit there for a moment in the steam and the starlight, the only sounds the bubbling of the jacuzzi and the distant crash of the sea below. Then his foot finds yours under the water, a casual, deliberate touch, and his toes trace up your ankle, your calf, and you look at him and he's looking at you with that crooked, knowing smile, and you feel the heat building between your legs that has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
"Come here," he says.
You cross the jacuzzi and settle in his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, your arms around his neck, and he pulls you close and kisses you, and the kiss starts soft but doesn't stay that way. His hands find your waist, your hips, the curve of your ass under the water, and he squeezes and pulls you closer and groans into your mouth, and you feel him hardening beneath you, his cock pressing up against you through his swim trunks, thick and insistent.
"Feel what you do to me," he murmurs against your lips. "One look at you in that bikini and I'm gone. I'm a mess. I've been a mess all day."
"You've been staring at my tits all day."
"Your tits have been out all day. That dress you wore to lunch? The white one? I could see everything. I was hard through the entire meal. I had to put my napkin in my lap."
A laugh escapes you, and you bury your face in his neck and feel his chest shake with silent laughter too, and then his hands slide up your sides and cup your breasts through the bikini top, and the laughter dissolves into a sharp intake of breath as his thumbs find your nipples through the fabric.
"Jake—"
"Let me touch you. Please. I need to touch you."
His hands make quick work of your bikini top, untying it and tossing it somewhere behind him, and his palms find your bare breasts and he cups them, weighs them, squeezes them gently and then not so gently, and his thumbs circle your nipples until they're tight and aching, and you're grinding down onto him without meaning to, chasing the friction, the pressure, the feeling of him hard and ready beneath you.
"You have the most perfect tits," he says, and his voice is reverent and hungry and almost angry about it, like it's a personal offense how much he likes them. "I think about them constantly. During interviews. During rehearsals. During literally any moment when I should be focusing on something else, my brain just goes—" he squeezes again, harder, and you gasp "—right back to these. I'm not even exaggerating. It's a problem. I have a problem and I don't want to fix it."
"Baby—"
"Let me—" He doesn't finish the sentence. He leans in and takes one nipple into his mouth, hot and wet and relentless, and you gasp and grip his hair and arch into him. His tongue works the bud in tight, dizzying circles, then he sucks hard enough to make your spine curve, and you feel the sensation shoot straight down to your core, hot and electric and so intense that your thighs squeeze around his waist. His other hand isn't idle — it's on your other breast, rolling and pinching the nipple between his fingers, pulling and tweaking and working you into a state of such acute sensitivity that every touch feels amplified by a thousand.
"My wife," he breathes against your skin, switching to the other breast, his mouth hot and greedy. "My beautiful wife. I can't get enough of you. I'm never going to get enough of you."
His hand slides between your bodies, under the water, and his fingers find the waistband of your bikini bottoms and slip underneath, and his fingertips drag through your slick, swollen flesh, and the sound you make is somewhere between a gasp and a whimper and a plea. He circles your clit with a slow, deliberate pressure, and you rock against his hand, your body moving on instinct, chasing the pleasure, and his other hand is still on your breast, kneading, rolling your nipple, and the dual sensation is making you dizzy.
"You're so wet," he groans against your chest. "So wet for me. I've barely touched you and you're already this wet."
"It's been like this all day," you admit, and your voice is ragged. "Every time you looked at me. Every time you touched me. Every time you bit your lip."
"I know," he says, and there's a dark, satisfied edge to his voice. "I could tell. I can always tell. Your pupils get dilated and your breathing changes and you press your thighs together and I know exactly what it means because I'm the one who caused it."
His fingers slide inside you, two of them, and you clench around them and moan his name, and he groans in response, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours. His fingers curl inside you, pressing against that spot, and his thumb finds your clit again, and he starts a rhythm that's steady and deep and absolutely devastating.
"Jake, I need you. I need your dick—fuck, please."
"Not yet." He shakes his head, and there's that dark, playful glint in his eyes again, the one that tells you he's going to drag this out as long as he can because he loves watching you squirm. "Let me make you come like this first. I want to feel you fall apart on my fingers before I fuck you. I want you so desperate that you can't even think straight."
"I'm already—" Your voice breaks as his fingers crook inside you, pressing hard against that spot, and your hips jerk involuntarily, water sloshing around you. "Jake, I'm already—"
"Not desperate enough. Not yet." He adds a third finger, and the stretch is delicious, the fullness just shy of too much, and he starts fucking you with them in earnest now, long, deep strokes that make you grip his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin. "I want you shaking. I want you begging. I want you so far gone that the only word left in your head is my name."
"You're—ah—you're such a—"
"Such a what?" He twists his fingers, and the new angle makes you see white. "Finish your sentence, baby."
"You're such a tease," you manage, and it comes out breathless and fractured and completely unconvincing.
"Am I?" He grins, and it's wicked, it's devastating, it's the smile of a man who knows exactly what he's doing to you and is enjoying every second of it. "Then tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop right now."
"Don't you dare stop."
"Then I'm not a tease, am I?" His thumb presses hard against your clit and circles it in a slow, tight motion, and the combination of that with his fingers curling inside you, pressing that spot over and over, is enough to make your thighs clamp around his hand and your breath come in short, desperate pants. "I'm giving you exactly what you need. I'm making my wife feel good. There's nothing teasing about that."
The words, the raw, filthy honesty of them, push you closer to the edge, and you grind down onto his hand and feel the tension winding tighter and tighter, and his fingers are inside you and his thumb is on your clit and his mouth is on your breast and it's all too much, too much, too much, and the orgasm crashes through you in waves that make you tremble and gasp and say his name over and over like a prayer.
When you come down, he's looking at you with those dark, burning eyes, and his fingers are still inside you but still now, just resting, letting you feel the fullness as your walls pulse around him. He slides them out slowly, and you whimper at the loss, and he brings his hand up out of the water and licks his fingers clean with a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue, and the sight of it makes your cunt clench around nothing.
"You taste like the sea," he says, and his voice is low and rough and fond. "Appropriate, given where we are."
"You're ridiculous."
"You're the one who just came in a jacuzzi in Santorini on your honeymoon. I think that makes you the ridiculous one."
"I hate your insufferable ass so much."
"No you don't." He grins, and it's so self-satisfied that you want to kiss it off his face, so you do, grabbing his jaw with both hands and kissing him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he groans into your mouth and his hands grip your waist and pull you flush against him, and you can feel how hard he is through his swim trunks, the thick, hot length of him pressing against your core, and the kiss shifts from playful to desperate in the space of a single breath.
"Your turn," you murmur against his lips, and you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him through the fabric of his trunks, and his hips jerk up into your touch and he groans, low and guttural and desperate. "You've been so patient. Let me take care of you."
You tug at the waistband of his swim trunks, and he lifts his hips and you pull them down just far enough to free him, and his cock springs up, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, and you wrap your hand around the base and squeeze, and the sound he makes — this broken, breathless, helpless thing — goes straight to your core and makes you throb even though you just came.
"God, your hand," he chokes out, and his head falls back against the edge of the jacuzzi, his throat exposed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "I've been so hard for so long. You have no idea. You kept bending over in that dress today and I thought I was going to die."
"Poor baby," you say, and you start to stroke him, slow and tight, your grip firm as you slide your hand from base to tip and back again, spreading the wetness at the head down his length. "All that suffering. Let me make it better."
"Fuck—" His hands grip the edge of the jacuzzi so hard his knuckles go white, and his hips are moving, tiny involuntary thrusts up into your fist, and you watch the pleasure move across his face like weather, the furrow between his brows, the way his lips part, the flush spreading down his neck and across his chest, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, your husband falling apart in your hand.
"You know what I love?" you say, and you twist your hand on the upstroke, your thumb dragging across the sensitive ridge beneath the head, and his whole body shudders. "I love that I'm the only person who gets to see you like this. All those people who want you, who scream your name, who think they know what you look like—ugh, they have no idea. They've never seen you desperate. They've never heard these sounds. They've never felt you shake under their hands like this. This is just for me. Only me." You tighten your grip just slightly, twisting on the upstroke, and watch his abdominal muscles clench and his toes curl against the floor of the jacuzzi. "And I'm never sharing."
"Only you," he gasps, and his voice is wrecked, barely coherent. "Only ever you. I'm yours. Every part of me. All of it—ah—all of it yours."
"Good." You tighten your grip and speed up, stroking him faster, harder, and his moans are getting louder, more fractured, his hips snapping up to meet your hand. "I want you to come for me, Jake. I want to feel you spill in my hand. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?"
"Yes—fuck—yes, I'm—" He's trembling now, actually trembling, his thighs tensing under the water, his hands reaching for you and gripping your hip, your waist, anything he can hold onto. "I'm close, I'm so close, please—"
"Then come," you say, and you lean in and bite his earlobe, gentle but sharp, and that's all it takes. He comes with a broken moan of your name, his cock pulsing in your hand as he spills hot and thick over your fingers, his hips jerking erratically, his entire body taut and shaking, and you stroke him through it, slowing your hand as the aftershocks fade, milking every last drop out of him until he's gasping and oversensitive and pulling weakly at your wrist.
"Stop, stop, I can't—" He's laughing, breathless and overwhelmed, and you release him and bring your hand up and examine it with a theatricality that makes him laugh harder. "Don't you even think about stoppi—"
You lick a stripe up your palm, tasting him, salt, skin, and something so unmistakably Jake — and his laughter cuts off abruptly, replaced by a groan so deep it sounds like it's being pulled from the soles of his feet. You hold his gaze as you do it, deliberate and slow, letting your tongue drag across your skin, and you watch his jaw go slack and his chest heave and his cock twitch against his stomach, already filling again, already hard, because apparently the sight of you tasting him is enough to override every recovery period his body has ever known. His eyes are black, pupils blown so wide there's barely any brown left, and he's looking at you with an expression that's equal parts disbelief and desperate, rekindled want.
"If I die, I’m going to blame you," he says.
"Honestly, that sounds like a nice way to go." You grin, and you're about to say something else, something cheeky and self-satisfied, but then his hands are on your waist and he's lifting you and repositioning you, and you feel the hard, insistent press of him against your core — already half-hard again, already recovering, because Jake at twenty-something-years-old has the refractory period of a teenager and the stamina of a man who's been waiting his entire life for this.
"Get these off," you say, tugging at the waistband of his swim trunks, and he lifts his hips and you pull them down and his cock springs free, hard and flushed and thick, and you wrap your hand around him again and stroke him slowly, feeling him pulse in your palm, feeling the heat and the weight of him. You shift your position, settling over him, and you reach down and move your bikini bottoms to the side and guide him to your entrance, and you sink down onto him in one slow, devastating movement.
The sound he makes is wrecked. A broken, breathless moan that echoes off the terrace walls and dissolves into the night air, and his hands grip your hips so hard you know there'll be marks tomorrow, and his head falls back against the edge of the jacuzzi and his eyes squeeze shut and you watch the pleasure move across his face like weather, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
"Baby," he gasps, and the word is reverent, worshipful. "Oh my god, my wife. You feel so good. You're so tight. So warm. I'm not going to last, I—"
"Simply don't," you say, and you start to move, rolling your hips in slow, grinding circles, feeling him shift inside you, feeling every inch of the stretch and the fullness. "We have all week. Just feel it."
"Easy for you to say," he manages, and his voice is strangled, barely holding together. "You're not the one who's been on the edge for six hours. You're not the one whose wife has been parading around in a bikini all day looking like a goddamn Greek goddess. You're not the one who had to sit through dinner with a hard-on because you kept licking gelato off your spoon like that—"
"Like what?" You roll your hips deliberately, a slow, grinding circle that takes him to the hilt and holds, and his eyes roll back.
"Like you knew exactly what you were doing. Which you did. You absolutely did, don't even—" His breath hitches as you do it again. "Don't pretend you didn't know what you were doing to me."
"You like the bikini?"
"I'm going to buy you ten more. I'm going to buy you a bikini in every color. I'm going to make you try them all on for me like a private fashion show and then I'm going to take them off you one by one—"
"Jake." You roll your hips harder, grinding down onto him, taking him deeper, and his sentence dissolves into a moan that sounds like it's being pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. "Less talking. More feeling."
"I'm feeling," he gasps. "I'm feeling everything. I'm feeling you wrapped around me so tight I can barely think. I'm feeling how wet you are, how warm, how perfect. I'm feeling like the luckiest man alive because I get to be inside my wife on our honeymoon in Santorini and—fuck—and the stars are out and the water is warm and I never want this to end."
You lean down and kiss him, swallowing the rest of his words, and his hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts again, his thumbs brushing your nipples, and he watches you ride him with an expression that's half awe and half desperation, like he can't believe this is real, like he's afraid to blink in case it disappears. The water laps around you, the steam rises into the cool night air, the stars are scattered across the sky like spilled diamonds, and you move together in the warm, bubbling water, your bodies finding a rhythm that's slow and deep and so full of feeling that it borders on overwhelming.
You change the angle, leaning back slightly and planting your hands on his thighs behind you, and the new position lets him see everything, the place where your bodies are joined, the slick, wet slide of him in and out of you, the way your tits move with every roll of your hips, and his eyes are glued to it, hungry and dark and so completely transfixed that you feel a surge of power so potent it makes you dizzy.
"You like watching?" you ask, and your voice comes out lower than you intended, rough with want.
"I like watching you," he says, and his hands grip your hips, guiding your movements, helping you set a pace that's faster now, more urgent. "I like watching my cock disappear inside you. I like watching you take me. I like knowing that nobody else gets to see this. Nobody else gets to have this. Just me."
"Just you," you confirm, and the words come out breathless, fractured, barely more than a moan. "Only you. Forever."
"Close," he chokes out, and his hips are jerking up into you now, his rhythm faltering, his hands gripping your waist. "I'm close, I'm—can I—"
"Come inside me," you say, and the words are barely out of your mouth before he's pulling you down onto him one final time and burying himself deep and coming with a sound that's your name and a moan and something that might be I love you, all of it tangled together into a raw, broken, beautiful noise that you want to record and play back for the rest of your life.
You stay there for a long moment, him still inside you, the water lapping at your skin, the stars above you, and he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest and presses a kiss to your wet shoulder.
"I can't believe you're mine," he whispers.
"I can't believe you're mine either," you whisper back.
"Good. Then we're even."
You laugh, and he laughs, and the sound of it carries out over the caldera and into the night, and somewhere below, the sea catches the moonlight and turns it into a road of silver stretching toward the horizon, and you think, this is my life now, this impossibly beautiful, impossibly lucky life, and you close your eyes and hold on tighter.
The days in Santorini pass in a haze of sunshine and wine and each other.
You sleep late and wake up tangled together, the Mediterranean light filtering through the curtains in warm, golden bars, and Jake presses kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until you're blinking awake and turning into him and the morning dissolves into something slow and soft and unhurried. He brings you coffee on the terrace, strong and sweet the way you like it, and you sit with your feet up and the sea below and the nowhere you need to be, and the luxury of it, the rareness of having time and nothing to fill it with except each other, is almost too much to bear.
He takes photos of you constantly. Candid ones, when you're not looking. You ordering at a restaurant, squinting at the menu in the bright sunlight. You examining a row of postcards in a tiny shop, holding one up to the light. You taking a photo of the sunset with your phone, your profile silhouetted against the orange and pink sky. You looking at something in a market stall, your head tilted, your hair catching the breeze. He doesn't say anything when he takes them, just quietly lifts his phone or his camera and captures the moment, and you only discover them later, when he shows you the camera roll with that soft, proud smile and says, "Look how beautiful you are," and you look at the photo, at the way he sees you, through his eyes, and your throat tightens because the woman in these photos is radiant and happy and so clearly, unmistakably in love, and you realize that's how he sees you all the time, not just in these moments but always, and the knowledge is so big and so overwhelming that you have to kiss him just to keep from crying.
"You need a new profile picture," he says one afternoon, when you're sitting on a stone wall overlooking the caldera with gelato melting in your hands. "Let me take one."
"I don't need—"
"You do. The one you have is from eight months ago. You've been a wife for four days now. You need an upgrade."
"A wife upgrade?"
"A profile picture upgrade. Come on. The light is perfect."
He positions you against the wall with the blue domes behind you and the sea beyond that, and he takes a dozen photos, adjusting your hair, tilting your chin, making you laugh until the shots are natural and bright and unposed, and when he shows you the best one, the one where you're mid-laugh with the sun in your hair and the Aegean behind you, you actually tear up a little because you look happy, you look so thoroughly, radiantly happy, and it's all because of him.
"See?" he says softly. "Told you. The most beautiful person on this island."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
"I love you."
His face softens into something so tender that it makes your chest physically ache. "I love you too. So much."
You do all the couple things. All of them. You take matching photos in front of the blue domes, squished together with the wind in your hair, and Jake insists on doing a different pose for each one and you end up with a series that ranges from sweet to silly to borderline inappropriate. You find a photobooth in a tourist shop and squeeze inside and take a strip of photos, making increasingly ridiculous faces, and the last one is just you kissing, soft and real, and you cut it in half and each keep one in your phone cases. You buy the matching keychains for the members, small glass evil eyes in different colors, and Jake writes a little note for each one and you package them up in the hotel room and address them and set them aside to mail when you get home. You buy matching sandals from a shop near the harbor because you're a cliche and you don't care, and you wear them for the rest of the trip and take a photo of your feet side by side and Jake captions it "solemates" and you groan so loud the people at the next table turn to look.
He also stares at you. Constantly. In a way that is extremely distracting.
On the beach, when you're wearing a bikini top and a long maxi skirt, and you're applying sunscreen to your shoulders, and you look up and catch him staring at your chest with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his eyes dark and hungry, and he looks away quickly when you catch him but not quickly enough, and the heat that floods your stomach has nothing to do with the sun.
At dinner, when you're wearing a dress that hugs your curves and you lean forward to reach for the wine, and his eyes drop to your cleavage and stay there for a beat too long, and when you straighten up he's adjusting himself under the table and pretending he's not.
On the terrace in the morning, when you step out in your underwear and a t-shirt, still sleep-soft and rumpled, and he looks up from his coffee and his entire body goes still and his jaw tightens and he says, very calmly, "You're trying to kill me," and you say, "I'm literally just getting coffee," and he says, "In that? With your legs out? And your—" he gestures vaguely at your entire body, "—everything? It's an attempted murder is what it is."
You laugh every time. Every single time. Because Sim Jaeyun, idol, performer, man who has been photographed by professionals and screamed at by fans and trained to maintain composure in any situation, cannot keep it together when you're wearing a bikini and a skirt and the sun is hitting your skin, and the knowledge that you have that effect on him is the most heady, intoxicating thing in the world.
The second time it happens, the morning of your fourth day in Santorini, is softer than the first.
You wake up before he does, which is rare, and you lie there for a moment watching him sleep, the way his lashes fan against his cheekbones, the way his lips are slightly parted, the way his chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, and the morning light is coming through the curtains in soft, golden slats and painting stripes across the bed and across his skin, and he looks so peaceful, so beautiful, so completely yours, that you feel the familiar swell in your chest, the too-muchness of loving someone this deeply, and you press a kiss to his bare shoulder because you can't not.
He stirs. A small, sleepy sound. His arm reaches for you, pulling you closer, and he buries his face in your neck and mumbles something unintelligible, and you card your fingers through his hair and feel him melt against you.
"Morning," you whisper.
"Mmm. Morning. What time is it?"
"Early. Go back to sleep."
"Don't want to." He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another, then another, a slow, lazy trail up your neck, and his hand finds your waist under the sheet and pulls you flush against him, and you feel him, half-hard against your thigh, and a slow, warm pulse of desire settles between your legs. "Want you instead."
"You just woke up."
"I've been wanting you all night. It just carried over." He grins against your skin, and his hand slides from your waist to your hip, your thigh, and he grips the flesh there and squeezes, and you feel his cock harden fully against you. "Please?"
"You don't even have your eyes open."
"Don't need them. I know where everything is." His hand slides between your thighs, and his fingers brush against you through your underwear, and the touch is light and teasing and enough to make your breath catch. "Feel that? Already wet for me. You're always wet for me in the morning. I love it."
"Jake—"
"Shh. Let me. Let me make you feel good."
He shifts, pressing you onto your back, and he settles between your legs and looks down at you with heavy-lidded, sleep-soft eyes, and his hair is a disaster and there are pillow creases on his cheek and he's so beautiful it makes your chest hurt. He leans down and kisses you, slow and deep and tasting like sleep and morning and love, and his hands push your shirt up and pull your underwear down, and you lift your hips to help him, and the morning air hits your bare skin for just a moment before his warmth covers you again. His fingers find you immediately, two of them sliding inside with an ease that makes you blush because you are wet, you're soaking, and the slick sound of his fingers moving in and out of you fills the quiet morning air and makes you want to hide your face in the pillow.
"There it is," he murmurs, and his voice is rough with sleep, rough with satisfaction, and he curls his fingers inside you and you arch off the mattress with a gasp. "There's my girl. Always so ready for me. I just have to look at you and you turn into this—this pretty, dripping mess—and you think I'm the obsessed one?"
"You are the obsessed one," you manage, and he laughs, and the sound is low and warm and so fond that it makes your chest ache even as his fingers are doing obscene things inside you.
"Guilty." He adds a third finger, and the stretch makes you whimper, and he swallows the sound with a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in the same rhythm his fingers are fucking you, and the dual sensation is enough to make your head spin. His thumb finds your clit and circles it with a maddeningly light pressure, barely there, just enough to make you chase it, and you buck your hips up and he pulls away, and the loss makes you whine.
"Jake—"
"Patience." He grins down at you, and his eyes are dark and sleepy and so full of affection that it's almost hard to reconcile with the filth his fingers are currently doing. "I want to taste you first. I've been thinking about it all night. Dreaming about it, actually. I woke up with my mouth watering."
Before you can respond, he's kissing down your body, his lips trailing fire across your collarbone, between your breasts, down the soft plane of your stomach, and when he settles between your thighs and breathes against you, the warm air hitting your wet, swollen flesh, you nearly come apart from that alone.
"God, you smell incredible," he says, and his voice is muffled against your inner thigh, where he's pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing the softest part of you just enough to make your hips twitch. "I could eat you out for breakfast every day for the rest of my life and die happy. Forget the coffee. This is what I want to wake up to. You, spread out for me, still half-asleep, making those little sounds—I'd never need another meal."
"You're—unh—you're so—"
"Say it. Tell me what I am."
"Impossible. Infuriating. The love of my life."
His laugh vibrates against your core, and then his mouth is on you, and every thought in your head evaporates like morning mist. He licks into you with a slow, thorough devotion that makes your thighs shake, his tongue flat and wide against your clit before narrowing into a point that circles and flicks and teases until you're writhing against the sheets, your hands fisted in his hair, your hips chasing his mouth. He hums against you, a low, satisfied sound that says he knows exactly what he's doing, and the vibration of it zips through your nervous system like electricity and settles in a molten pool at the base of your spine.
"You know what drives me crazy?" he says, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips brushing your clit with every word, and the graze is so light and so devastating that you can barely process what he's saying. "The sounds you make. These little—" he mimics the breathy whimper that just escaped you, and hearing it in his voice, rough and morning-low and so completely fond, makes you flush from head to toe "—I could record them and listen on repeat. I'd never listen to music again. I'd just listen to you falling apart for me over and over and it would be the only song I'd ever need."
"Jake, please—"
"Please what? Tell me. I want to hear you say it."
"Make me come. Please. I need—"
"You need what? My mouth? My fingers? My cock?" He laps at you again, one long, slow, devastating stroke that has your back bowing off the bed. "You have to tell me, princess. Use your words."
"Your mouth. Your mouth, please, I need—"
He doesn't make you ask again. He seals his lips around your clit and sucks, and the pressure is firm and rhythmic and so precisely calibrated to your body that you wonder sometimes if he has a map of you tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, and two fingers slide back inside you and curl against that spot, and the combination is lethal. It hits you fast and hard, the orgasm rolling through you in waves that make you cry out and clench around his fingers and grip his hair so tight he groans against you, and he works you through it with the same steady, devastating rhythm, not stopping until you're pushing at his head and gasping from the overstimulation.
He crawls back up your body with his chin wet and his eyes dark and that crooked, self-satisfied grin that makes you want to smack him and kiss him in equal measure. "Good morning," he says, and his voice is so casual, so conversational, like he didn't just rearrange your entire nervous system with his tongue.
"Good morning," you manage, and your voice is wrecked and your body is trembling and you feel like you've been turned inside out in the best possible way. "Get up here. I want you inside me."
He settles between your legs and you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, and he pushes in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch and the fullness and the tenderness of it makes you whimper against his lips. He's still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the fullness of him, the heat of him, the weight of him, and then he starts to move.
"Feel so good," he murmurs, and his voice is rough with sleep and rough with want, and his hips roll into yours in a slow, lazy rhythm that feels more like breathing than fucking, like your bodies have found a pace that they can sustain forever, unhurried and deep and so full of feeling that it makes your eyes sting. "My wife. My perfect, beautiful wife. I love being inside you. I love being close to you. I love you so much it hurts."
"I love you more," you whisper, and you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer, and his face is pressed into your neck and his breath is warm and ragged against your skin, and his hips are moving faster now, a little harder, a little more desperate, and the shift from gentle to rough happens in degrees, each thrust a little deeper than the last, each breath a little more ragged.
"You know what I love about missionary?" he says, and his voice is a low, rough rumble against your ear, and the question is so unexpected, so absurd, that you almost laugh. "I love that I can see your face. I love that I can watch every single thing you're feeling. I love that when you come, I get to see it happen right in front of me, these beautiful expressions that nobody else will ever get to witness." He rolls his hips deep, grinding against your clit on the downstroke, and your eyes flutter shut. "No, don't close your eyes. Look at me. I want to see you."
You force your eyes open, and his face is inches from yours, so close that his breath is your breath, and his eyes are so dark and so full of love and want and reverence that looking at them feels like staring into the sun. He's moving faster now, his thrusts deeper, more deliberate, and each one punches a small, helpless sound out of your throat that he catches with his mouth, kissing you between gasps, swallowing your moans and feeding you his.
"I'm close," you whisper, and your voice breaks on it.
"I know. I can feel you squeezing me." He shifts his angle slightly, and the new position means he's hitting that spot with every thrust, and the pleasure is building so fast and so intense that you can barely think. "Come for me. Come on my cock. Let me feel you."
The orgasm crashes through you like a wave breaking, your walls clenching around him, your back arching off the mattress, his name tearing from your lips, and he watches you, he watches, just like he said he would, his eyes on your face, drinking in every expression, every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids, and you feel him follow you over the edge a moment later, his rhythm turning erratic and desperate as he spills inside you with a groan that's half your name and half something broken and wordless.
He stays inside you, still half-hard, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard, and the morning light is painting gold across your tangled bodies and the crumpled sheets, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your eyelid, and murmurs, "Good morning for real this time."
You laugh, soft and breathless, and card your fingers through his disaster of hair. "The best morning."
He pulls back suddenly, and before you can question it, he's rolling you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, and his hands are on your hips, steadying you, positioning you exactly how he wants you, and the casual authority of it, the way he handles your body like he knows every inch of it, makes a fresh pulse of wetness slick between your thighs. You feel the head of his cock, still hard, still ready, because Jake at this age has the recovery time of someone who's been waiting their whole life for a week of unlimited access to you, pressing against your entrance from behind, and he runs the tip through your slick, teasing, just once, before he pushes in.
"Again?" you ask, and your voice is breathless with disbelief and want.
"Again," he confirms, and he pushes in with one smooth, deep thrust that punches a gasp out of your lungs. The new angle is deeper, different, hitting a spot inside you that makes your arms shake and your moans go higher and needier, and his hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks that you'll find later in the shower and press your fingertips to with a smile so wide it hurts. He doesn't start slow this time; he sets a pace from the first thrust that's hard and fast and relentless, like he's been waiting for this, like the first round was just the warm-up and now he's taking what he really wants, and the sound of it, the wet slap of his hips against your ass, fills the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bed frame.
"God, you feel so good like this," he groans, and his voice is wrecked, barely holding together. "Your ass—I can see everything—the way you take me—fuck—you're so perfect—I'm obsessed with you, you know that? I'm completely obsessed with every part of you—"
"Jake—harder—please—"
He obliges, his hips snapping forward with a force that makes the bed creak, and his hand comes around to your front, finding your clit, circling it in tight, firm movements, and the dual sensation of him inside you and his fingers on you is too much, it's all too much, and you feel the orgasm building fast and hard and unstoppable.
He reaches up with his other hand and gathers your hair to one side, exposing the back of your neck, and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss there that sends a shiver cascading down your entire spine, and the combination of his mouth on your neck and his cock hitting deep and his fingers working your clit is so overwhelming that your elbows buckle and your chest drops to the mattress, and the new angle lets him sink impossibly deeper, and you hear him curse behind you, low and fractured and reverent, like he can't believe how good you feel.
"You know what I think about when I'm on stage?" he says, and his voice is low and rough and right against your ear, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck. "I think about this. I think about being inside you. I think about the way you sound and the way you feel and the way you look when you come. Every single performance, there's a moment where I'm singing and I'm thinking about you and I have to focus so hard on the choreography because otherwise I'm going to get hard on stage and that would be a scandal."
"Jake—”
"I'm serious. You have no idea. Every time I do that move in Bite Me, I'm thinking about fucking you. Every time. Every single performance. I've conditioned myself to associate it with the way you clench around me when you come and it's a miracle I haven't embarrassed myself live."
The filth of it, the raw, unfiltered honesty, the image of him on stage thinking about this, about you, about the way your body responds to him, it pushes you right over the edge, and the orgasm tears through you so hard and so fast that your arms give out and your face drops into the pillow and you're moaning his name into the fabric, your walls clenching around him in pulsing waves, and he follows a moment later, his hips jerking erratically, his hands gripping you so tight, his moan of your name dissolving into something raw and broken and so full of love that it makes your eyes sting even through the pleasure.
He collapses beside you, pulling you into him, and you both lie there in the warm morning light, breathless and trembling and so thoroughly, completely happy that words feel inadequate. He presses kisses to your shoulder, your temple, your hair, and you can feel his heartbeat against your back, still racing, still catching up, and his arm tightens around your waist like he's afraid you might disappear.
"Best morning of my life," he murmurs.
"You said that yesterday."
"It's still true. I'm going to say it every morning for the rest of our lives."
"That's a lot of mornings."
"Good. I hope there's a lot of them. I hope there's an infinite number of them and I get to spend every single one with you."
You turn in his arms and kiss him, soft and slow and tasting like forever, and the morning stretches out around you, golden and warm and completely, impossibly full.
"I'm hungry," he announces after a long, lazy moment, his voice muffled against your hair.
"Me too."
"Room service or each other?"
"Jake."
"I'm just saying. Both are valid options." He grins, and it's so boyish and so endearing that you want to bite his face, so you do, leaning in and sinking your teeth gently into his jaw, and he yelps and laughs and rolls you over and pins you to the mattress and kisses you until you're both breathless and giggling and thoroughly, completely, absurdly happy.
You order room service eventually. Greek yogurt with honey and fresh fruit and strong coffee, and you eat it on the terrace in your robes with the sea glittering below you and the sun warm on your faces, and Jake feeds you a strawberry and you feed him a bite of yogurt and it's so domestic and so sweet and so newlywed-coded that you should be embarrassed but you're not, not even a little, because this is your life now, this slow, sweet, ordinary magic of being married to your best friend, and every cliche in the book applies to you and you wear every single one of them like a badge of honor.
The rest of the honeymoon passes in a blur of blue water and white buildings and sun-warmed skin. You take a boat tour of the caldera and Jake gets sunburned on his nose and you take a photo and send it to the group chat and the members respond with approximately seventeen crying-laughing emojis. You try Greek coffee and hate it and Jake loves it and you argue about it for the rest of the day. You buy a painting from a street artist that captures the exact color of the sunset on your first night and you know you're going to hang it in your living room and think about this moment every time you look at it. You dance on the terrace to music playing from Jake's phone, slow-dancing in bare feet with the sea below and the stars above, and he dips you dramatically and you shriek with laughter and he kisses you while you're still upside down and the photo he takes afterward, the two of you disheveled and grinning and so clearly, absurdly in love, becomes your new wallpaper.
On the last night, you sit on the terrace with your feet in the cooling water of the jacuzzi, and Jake is beside you with his arm around your shoulders, and the sunset is painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and gold that look so unreal they might be a filter, and he says, "I don't want to leave," and you say, "Me neither," and he says, "We'll come back. Every year. Anniversary trip. I don't care if we're eighty. I'll carry you up the hill if I have to."
"You'd break your hip."
"Worth it."
You lean into him and watch the sun sink below the horizon and feel the warmth of his body against yours and the weight of the ring on your finger and the fullness of your heart, and you think about the past week, about the lazy mornings and the sunlit afternoons and the starry nights, about the way he looks at you like you're the only person in the world, about the way his hand finds yours without looking, about the way he says "my wife" like it's the most precious phrase in any language, and you think, I am the luckiest person alive, and you mean it with every cell in your body.
On the flight home, you fall asleep on his shoulder within the first hour, and he takes a photo of you sleeping and sets it as his lock screen and doesn't tell you until you're in the car on the way home from the airport and you see it when his phone lights up with a message, and you smack his arm and he laughs and says, "What? You look cute. Peaceful. Mine."
"Jake."
"What? You are mine. Legally. Binding contract. Can't take it back now."
"I wouldn't want to take it back."
His smile softens, and he reaches for your hand and interlaces your fingers and brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles, right above the ring, and the gesture is so tender and so unconscious and so completely him that you have to look out the window and blink rapidly because you are not going to cry in the back of a taxi, you've cried enough in the past week to fill an ocean, but the tears come anyway because this is your life, this impossibly, overwhelmingly, heartbreakingly beautiful life, and you get to live it with him.
Two days after you get back from Greece, you're sitting on the couch in your apartment, still in the post-honeymoon haze where everything feels slightly unreal and slightly too good to be true, when Jake sits down next to you with his phone in his hand and a look on his face that you recognize as the one he gets when he's about to do something sappy and he knows you're going to give him a hard time about it.
"What?" you ask.
"I want to post something," he says. "About the wedding."
"Okay."
"It's a video. Of the ceremony. When they announced us. And us, you know, being us about it."
"Being us?"
"Laughing and crying and kissing. The whole embarrassing thing."
You smile. "That's my favorite part."
"Mine too. I've watched it like forty times. I'm not exaggerating. My screen time is concerning."
"So post it."
"I want it to be a collab. So it shows on both our accounts." He looks at you, and there's something vulnerable in his expression, something like he's asking for permission, like sharing this moment with the world is a big deal and he wants to make sure you're okay with it. "Is that okay?"
You think about it for a moment. About the fans who have been supportive since the beginning, who'd celebrated your engagement and your wedding with a warmth and a sincerity that had surprised you both. About the friends and family who were there, who lived it, who would love to see it preserved and shared. About the fact that your relationship has never been hidden or scandalous or something to be ashamed of, that it's been out in the open from the start, that the world has watched you fall in love and stay in love and now they get to watch you take this next step.
"Yeah," you say. "It's okay. More than okay. I want people to see it."
He smiles, and the relief and the happiness on his face are so genuine that you have to kiss him, so you do, and he laughs against your lips and says, "Okay, okay, let me post it first, then you can kiss me as much as you want."
He opens Instagram, starts a new post, selects the video. You watch over his shoulder as he trims it, cutting it to the most essential part: the officiant's voice saying "I now pronounce you husband and wife," and then the moment after, the two of you laughing through tears as he pulls you in for a kiss, the raw, unfiltered, overwhelming joy of it captured in fifteen seconds of video that somehow contains the entire universe.
He types the caption.
It was simple. The date and a heart. Simple. Corny. Absolutely perfect.
He adds you as a collaborator, and you watch your name appear next to his in the post settings, and the sight of it, your handles side by side, sharing this moment, makes your chest feel too small for your heart.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Ready."
He hits post.
Within seconds, the notifications start. A trickle at first, then a flood, then a tidal wave of likes and comments and shares that makes both your phones vibrate so hard they nearly vibrate off the coffee table. Comments in Korean and English and Japanese and languages you can't read, all of them variations of the same thing: congratulations, I'm crying, this is so beautiful, you guys deserve all the happiness, MY PARENTS, the screaming crying throwing up emojis, the heart emojis, the ring emojis.
Jake reads them out loud in a running commentary, his voice getting softer and softer as he goes, and when he gets to one that says "I've been following you guys since the beginning and I'm so happy for you," he goes quiet, and you look over and his eyes are bright and wet, and he clears his throat and says, "I'm not crying, you're crying," and you say, "We're both crying," and he laughs, and it comes out thick and wet, and you take the phone out of his hand and set it on the cushion and pull him into your arms and hold him while the notifications keep coming, a constant, warm stream of love from people who have watched your story unfold and are so genuinely, generously happy for the next chapter.
The video plays on a loop in the corner of the screen. The officiant's voice. Your laughter. His tears. The kiss that sealed everything. And underneath it, the date and the heart, the simplest, truest, most Jake caption there could ever be, because what else is there to say about the day your life changed forever except the date it happened and a heart to represent everything that came after.
You hold him on the couch and he holds you back, and the sun sets through the window in a wash of amber and rose that reminds you of Santorini, and you think about the mountain where he proposed and the garden where you married and the island where you loved each other in every way a person can be loved, and you think about the ring on your finger and the man in your arms and the life stretching out in front of you, vast and unknown and so full of possibility that it takes your breath away, and you know, with a certainty that lives deeper than thought, deeper than language, deeper than bone, that you will love him through every single moment of it, and he will love you back, and that will be enough.
It will be more than enough.
It will be everything.
⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
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💿 ࿐ . . heaven by bryan adams
✷ 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 !
Synopsis: Your sheriff husband really knows how to properly treat a woman.
Pairing: sheriff!Jay x wife!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), oral (f and m receiving), face sitting, use of aphrodisiac (m), fingering, finger sucking ig?, pussy slapping, spanking, thigh riding, semi public sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink eyyy, edging, mating press, garter stuff, dom!Jay, sub!reader, rough sex, cumming inside (we gettin pregnant yall), me and my attempt at romance, mention of food
A/N: and thus we have the second installment of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! yall know I am unable to write a jay fic without involving breeding in it so this one is for all my girlies who are ovulating. Shoutout as always to my child @wichujunseo who is the reason I included mating press ehehehe. as always, enjoy, my sweethearts!
Word Count: 11.5k (me and my urge to write dialogue)
Series Masterlist
You loved your husband.
Who wouldn't, after all? Maybe except for the crooks and calumnious cowboys of the town, everybody loved your husband. The town sheriff, five feet and ten inches of pure muscle packed into that tight little uniform of his, badge shining on his chest as his leather boots stamped on hardwood floors like he owned the very air; the first time you saw him in that entire get up, the brim of his hat accentuating his sharp eyes, his sharp jaw locked right as he fiddled with his tie, you nearly fainted (ignore how it was the hottest day of summer that day).
But unfortunately, being the town sheriff meant he would rarely ever be yours.
Only yours, even for the span of a cicada’s song.
Yours to kiss and laugh with, yours to leave marks all over, yours to be absolutely destroyed by in the bedroom. It had been almost two months now since you had him properly. Two painful, sexless months. What was a woman supposed to do?
You tried not to resent the badge, telling yourself it isn’t its fault or the town’s or the emergencies that always seemed to happen just as he walked through the door, hat barely off his head before someone’s knocking again. Worst part was he forbade you from visiting him at the station, too scared you’d get hurt because of some or the other crook.
But sometimes, deep into the melancholic night, when his side of the bed was still cold, you remembered how it used to be.
You were barely more than kids when you got married. Too young, the older women whispered. Too reckless, the men at the bar said. But you had looked at Jay standing there in that simple suit—nervous, smiling too wide, hands shaking when he held yours—and you knew he was your Orpheus.
He used to laugh more back then too, a bright, easy laugh that filled rooms. He’d steal you away in the middle of the day just to walk by the creek. He’d tip his hat low and pretend to be some grand outlaw sweeping you off your feet. You’d cook together in your kitchen, bumping into each other on purpose, arguing over salt and laughing before the argument could even start.
If he rode out, you rode with him. If he fixed fences, you handed him nails. If you sat on the porch swing at sunset, his hand would find yours without looking, like it belonged there.
You were young, so painfully, beautifully young. And in love, in that uncomplicated way where nothing else mattered.
You were inseparable, the perfect example of love.
Love is anything but perfect.
Now you sat on that same porch alone some evenings. The wood creaked the same, the sunsets were still gold, but the space beside you felt wider. Jay still kissed your forehead when he left in the mornings, still told you he’d be home soon, still called you “darling’” in that low voice that made your stomach flip.
But it’s different. He’s tired now. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes some days. When he came home, he’d collapse into a chair instead of your arms. You’d talk about supper, supplies, the weather—practical things, necessary things, safe things.
And you started to wonder. Did he still look at you the way he used to? Or did he see an obligation, a routine when he saw you now?
You hated yourself for even thinking about it. But doubt is a quiet, persistent thing. It slipped in when the house was too quiet. When another week passed with only brief touches and half-finished conversations. You found yourself staring at your reflection sometimes, wondering if you’ve changed. Maybe it wasn't that he loved you less. Maybe it was that he was afraid.
Afraid to bring the weight of his job home. Afraid to let you see the things he saw. Afraid that if he let himself relax, even for a second, something would fall apart. You remember how young you both were—how fearless. How sure that love alone was enough to carry you through anything.
Now the love was still there. You felt it in the way he paused at the door and looked back at you, just for a second longer than necessary. In the way his hand lingered on your waist when he passed. In the way he softened when you said his name quietly at night.
But you still missed him.
Your Jay.
How cruel the world was to take him away from the softness.
“I keep telling you—” Your neighbour laughed as she hung up laundry, “—all you need is one magical garment to get your husband back.”
“I am not wearing that old thing.” You scoffed, handing her a wet cardigan, “What’s gonna happen anyway? He’ll see me in it and suddenly drop to his knees?”
“Precisely.” She laughed, turning to you, placing her hands on her hips, “Just trust me this one time, and you’ll get your husband back this very night.” You rolled your eyes but your mind still drifted.
The white silk garter.
You hadn’t touched it in years. It had been tucked away carefully after your wedding night, folded with ridiculous tenderness as though it were made of spun glass instead of silk. You remember how young you’d been—how your hands trembled, how Jay’s did too, though he’d tried so hard to look confident. You remember the laughter more than anything. The way you both kept breaking into nervous grins like children pretending to be grown.
You cleared your throat and crossed your arms. “It’s old now.”
“So is your marriage, honey.” Your neighbor shot back, “And I’ve never given you bad advice to this day, have I?”
“What if I put it on and he doesn’t even notice?” You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically.
“He’ll notice.” She insisted. “Men are simple creatures. Especially when silk is involved.”
“Is that so?” You laughed as you put the laundry basket down, “You really do get the wildest ideas when you’re not over at the bakery.” You said, inviting her over for a glass of water at your house. These were rare days that you got to hang out with her, on days she didn't open her bakery.
“Come on, show it to me at least!” She said, leaning back against your kitchen counter with her arms crossed. You snorted despite yourself, nonetheless inviting her up to your bedroom. Her eyes went wide as you opened your closet, pulling out the little piece from some forgotten corner.
“Oh. My. God.” She gasped, making you laugh.
“I keep forgetting how young you are.” You ran your fingers over the garter.
White silk, slightly yellowed at the edges, delicate lace stitched along the top; and suddenly you’re twenty again—heart racing, cheeks flushed, believing that nothing in the world could ever wedge itself between you and the man who looked at you like you were the only thing that existed.
You sat on the edge of the bed, garter in your hands, and wondered if this was foolish—if a scrap of silk could compete with whatever weight he carried home in silence.
“You’re considering it aren't you?” Your neighbour said slowly, lips curling.
“I’m considering burning it,” You retorted, though your ears were warm, “If this doesn’t work, I’m blaming you for the rest of my natural life.”
“It’ll work.” She said confidently, grinning like she had won something.
“You are impossible.” You grinned.
But for the first time in weeks, something inside you felt less heavy, less afraid and more like that reckless, hopeful bride who once believed love could conquer anything.
Maybe tonight, you’d remind him of her.
_________________
Park Jongseong considered himself to be an alright man.
Alright in the sense that he actually considered himself to be a fucked up piece of shit who couldn’t even spare a second for his treasure of a wife. Life had gotten so busy nowadays that he couldn't remember the last time he spun you around in the kitchen, held you in his arms and kissed you all over.
Most nights, he came home late, right when the clock struck ten. You’d already be dead asleep on the bed, turned away from him, hair falling over your face to frame it in the most ethereal way ever. One day he came home to find you on the couch, apron still on and a cold cherry pie on the table; Jay wanted to be struck down by lightning right there and then.
His wife.
His beautiful, amazing wife, who had stuck by his side even when he wasn't the sheriff he was now.
And this was how he treated you.
Jay paused outside the door, a habit he’d always had, standing there on the ‘welcome home’ mat for a second before stepping inside, as if shedding the outside world from his shoulders before fully crossing into his home.
The house was quiet—lamps turned low, curtains drawn against the night, the air thick with the faint scent of…..lavender oil? Jay felt as if he were transported back to the night of his wedding, when your bedroom was all lavender, roses and some good fucking sex.
His hat came off first and then a quiet exhale as he threw his boots off.
“Darling?” He called, voice tired but still warm.
“In here, Jay.” You answered, from somewhere in the living room. Jay stepped into the living room, unbuttoning one cuff absently. Something kept swelling in his chest, was it the amazing scent wafting through the house?
“You’re still up darling? I thought you’d—”
And then he looked up.
And then the world stopped.
You had seen Jay angry. You had seen him determined, gentle, amused, even broken in the privacy of your arms after a particularly hard day. You had never seen him freeze like that, his hand frozen still mid-motion.
The fatigue vanished from his face so suddenly it almost startled you. His eyes, those sharp, steady eyes that intimidated half the town, widened in a way that made him look almost boyish. They narrowed with heat as he took you in, from the way the fabric clung to your breasts down to the way your hair came loose at some places.
“Hi honey.” You said sheepishly, toying with the fabric of your nightgown.
You had stood by the mirror for a total of fifteen minutes, making adjustments to every inch of your body. You’d pinned your hair up the way you used to in those early days, soft curls escaping on purpose.
The gown itself was a simple, flowing thing in pale ivory, sheer enough in the right light to hint at the curves beneath without giving everything away. You remembered how his eyes had darkened when you'd worn it before, how his hands had roamed all over like he was tracing a map.
And beneath it all, known only to you, was that thin band of white silk. It was delicate, the lace edges soft against your skin, hugging your thigh just below the hem. You’d added a touch of perfume, the one he always said smelled like home and waited in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm shadows across the space.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You felt heat suddenly creep up your neck. What the actual fuck were you doing?
“You’re staring.” You managed softly.
Your heart picked up pace as you ran your gaze over him in his uniform shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms. His dark hair was tousled, and a day's stubble shadowed his jaw. You saw the movement of his throat, the tightening of his jaw as though he were grounding himself.
“Can a man not look at his wife now?” The way he said it made your heart stutter, as he closed the distance slowly, “You look…” He stopped, eyes tracing you as though committing every detail to memory. “I don’t even have the right word.”
Jay’s hands found your waist, pulling you against him, and you felt the immediate hardness pressing into your belly. “What's all this, sweetheart?”
“Nothing much.” You avoided his gaze, looking down at your fingers, “Just thought I should remind the sheriff he has a wife.”
Your hand slid down slowly to palm his hard cock through his hands. It had him graining, his hips bucking forward seeking more of your glorious touch. You smirked at the massive tent in his pants, before leaning in to brush your lips against the shell of your ears.
“You were gone for so long. Might as well have fucked someone else in this town.” You whispered, feeling his grip on your waist tighten, “Who’s gonna resist this pretty body anyway?”
You pulled back, still avoiding his gaze, but the bruising pressure of his calloused hands on your waist told you everything you needed to know.
Jay’s hands came up slowly to your chin, his calendar index finger resting underneath it, and then tilting your head up. You had to hold yourself back from humping against his length when you saw his face, brows slightly raised, his tongue poking the inner walls of his cheek as if to ask ‘how dare you?’
“No answer, husband?” You slowly inserted his finger in your mouth, sucking on it and then pulling it free, “Well then I guess I have to—”
You barely had time to pull back before his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding. His tongue pushed past your lips to tangle with yours as he backed you up against the wall, pinning you there with his body. One of his hands slid up to fist in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss further.
“What was that sweetheart?” Jay grunted into the kiss, “Who’s gonna resist this pretty body?” His free hand slid down to grab your ass, squeezing hard as he ground his cock against you. You could feel it throbbing, begging to be let out and buried deep inside you. The thought made you whimper, your own arousal growing as he marked you with his mouth and hands.
“Well this pretty body,” He nipped at your bottom lip hard enough to sting, “is mine.” He pulled back just enough to stare down at you with dark, heated eyes.
You tilted your head up, meeting his stare with a playful pout. “Why don’t you come claim it then hm?” Your fingers trailed up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the shirt, “You still haven't apologised by the way. For keeping me lonely all these days.”
“Oh trust me.” Jay’s chuckle was low and promising, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips through the thin fabric, “I’ll show you how sorry I am, darling.” He gave your ass a light squeeze as he kissed your neck, sucking a dark bruise onto your skin as he rocked against you.
His lips brushed your forehead, then your temple, before capturing your mouth in a deep kiss. It started slow and apologetic, but quickly turned hungry, his tongue sliding against yours as he backed you toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. He tasted faintly of bourbon, getting your senses drunk, though he hadn't touched you properly yet.
Jay scooped you up in his arms, muscles flexing against his shirt as he did. Your legs wrapped around his waist like a choreographed routine as he carried you down the hall. The bedroom door was already ajar and he kicked in shut behind him, the room bathed in soft moonlight.
“Look so beautiful like this.” Jay muttered, before laying you down on the sheets with infinite care, your gown pooling it around you like a whisper. His eyes roamed over your body, drinking in the sight of you, before his hands traced the hem of your nightgown, pushing it up to expose your legs.
‘I’m the luckiest man in the world.’ He thought, as his eyes caught sight of the white fabric hugging your thigh. Jay wanted to tear that thing right off with his teeth, memories of your first night together flashing in his mind.
“You really went all out, yeah darling?” Jay said, cupping your cheek in his hand, you nuzzled into it, “I’m so sorry sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead, “I’m so sorry I left you all by yourself.” Then your temple, “Won’t ever do it again, alright?” And then your neck, all the way down to your chest.
With a reverent touch, Jay explored your body like a country he had forgotten he’d discovered, his hands mapping every dip and swell with a tenderness that belied the passion burning within him. You gasped and writhed beneath him, lost in a sea of sensation as he stoked the fires of your desire higher and higher.
“Jay…” You whined, “Want you soooo bad.”
“I know, darling.” One large hand settled on your hip, fingers splaying possessively over the curve where your gown had ridden up, exposing your skin to the cool air. He traced lazy shapes there—swirling patterns, perhaps hearts or initials, you couldn't quite tell through the haze of contentment—with the pad of his thumb, the touch feather-light and soothing.
“You remember that thing we used to do?” Jay said, his voice thick. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, until his breath ghosted over your panties. You were already wet, the anticipation building since you'd dressed for him, and he could tell. “That thing where you’d sit your pretty little ass down on my face?”
Jay gripped your thighs with the force of a thousand suns, yanking you towards him as he sat on his knees on the bed. The action sent a sharp shiver scores your flesh, of arousal and deep affection. You’d only done that thing once before, refusing to do it ever again in fear that you’d break his neck. But the ever loving man your husband was—death by your thighs sounded positively spectacular.
“You’re gonna sit on my face and I’m gonna show you how sorry I am, yeah?” Your breath hitched at the command, but you nodded, shifting back on the bed as he stripped off his shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and his carved muscles.
Jay laid down, propping his head on the pillows, and tugged at your hips. You straddled his face, the nightgown bunching around your waist, the garter still snug on your thigh.
“Seong, you sure?” You asked, you breath coming hard, “I don’t want to—”
His hands gripped your ass and Jay pulled you down until your pussy pressed against his mouth through the thin fabric of your panties.
“Jay!” You whined high at the sudden movement, grasping at his hair to support yourself. Now you were reminded of the reason you married this man.
Jay’s tongue flicked out, tracing the outline of you, and you gasped, one hand bracing on the headboard. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them aside, exposing your slick folds.
And then his mouth was on you, hot and insistent, his tongue lapping at your clit in broad, flat strokes. You moaned, rocking against him, the sensation overwhelming right from the start.
“Fuckkkk you taste exactly the same.” He murmured against your skin, “So damn sweet—feel like cherry pie darlin’.”
His tongue flattened and lapped at your dripping slit, dragging up from your entrance to your clit in one long stroke. The sensation hit you hard—wet heat sliding over your sensitive skin, making your hips buck involuntarily. Pleasure sparked through your core, sharp and insistent, your pussy clenching around nothing as you craved to be filled.
“Oh–oh Jay right there right there!” You cried, grinding down harder, thighs trembling as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue circling it with expert precision. He knew every inch of your pussy better than you did, and god did that make you want to marry him all over again.
“Thaaat’s it baby.” His own arousal spiked at you flooded his mouth with your slickness, “Ride my face like you mean it, gotta show my pretty wife how much I missed her.”
Jay was already rock hard, pre-cum leaking from his tip, obsessed with devouring your cunt before he claimed it. He was relentless, alternating between gentle licks and firm suction, slurp slurp slurp, his stubble scraping deliciously against your sensitive inner thighs. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned in approval, the sound rumbling through you.
It didn't take long for the pleasure to build, coiling tight in your belly. You were sensitive tonight, your body primed from the neglect of the past weeks, and Jay knew exactly how to push you. His hands kneaded your ass, one finger dipping lower to tease your entrance, sliding in just enough to make you whimper.
“Oh god—Jay I’m close.” But he already knew from the way your pussy was clenching like she was talking to him, “F-Feel so goooood…”
He hummed, not letting up, his tongue delving into you now, fucking you with it while his thumb rubbed your clit. The orgasm hit you like a wave against a sinking ship, your body shuddering as you cried out, pussy clenching around nothing. Jay kept licking, softer now but persistent, drawing out the aftershocks until they bordered on too much.
“Wait—ahh ah—Jay, too much!” You panted, trying to lift off of him, but his strong arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place.
“Not done apologizing yet, darling.” He said, his mouth latching back onto your clit.
He sucked harder, his tongue flicking rapidly, the overstimulation was making your nerves sing with a mix of pleasure and ache. Tears pricked your eyes as another climax built, faster this time, your body betraying you under his skilled assault.
“So damn sensitive.” He muttered, “Haven’t trained her enough, have I?”
“Could have if you were ever home.” You mumbled low enough, but of course your sharp-eared husband heard you, now sucking your clit into his mouth like a starved man, rolling it between his lips. You cried out, the suction pulling a fresh gush of wetness from you, which he lapped up greedily.
You came again, harder, your thighs clamping around his head as you sobbed his name. Still, he didn't relent, his tongue tracing lazy patterns over your swollen folds, lapping up your release like he couldn't get enough.
“Please….Jay—I can’t…’s too much Jay!” You begged, your voice breaking, but there was a bratty edge to it, a challenge because part of you wanted to see how far he'd go.
He finally released you, his face glistening with your arousal as you collapsed beside him, chest heaving. Jay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and something darker.
“You’re really gonna make me work for it huh darling?” His laugh was dark, and he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, pinning you beneath his weight, “This your revenge or somethin?”
The nightgown rode up completely now, the garter the only thing left between you and total exposure. Jay's hands roamed your body, rough and possessive, cupping your breasts through the silk before shoving the gown up to your neck. He leaned down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch.
“Maybe it is.” You bit your lip, nodding defiantly, though your body was still buzzing from the overstimulation, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, sheriff.”
You knew what it did to him when he heard you call him that. And you also knew what it got you.
“Brat.” He murmured against your skin, his hand sliding down to cup your pussy
You were soaked, sensitive from his earlier attentions, and his fingers slipped easily through your folds. He circled your clit once, twice, making you gasp, then pulled away just as the pleasure crested. “Brats don’t get to cum that easy, sweetheart.”
“Jay please…” You whined, hips bucking up, but he held you down, his palm pressing flat against your mound.
“Please what, beautiful?” He slapped your pussy lightly, the sting sending a jolt straight to your core. You yelped, the sensation sharp and arousing, your clit throbbing under the impact.
“Fuck me.” You demanded, your voice laced with that bratty tone you knew drove him wild, “Please fuck me, sheriff. I’ll be a good girl, I swear.”
“Begging already are we?” He slapped your clit again, harder this time, and you moaned, your legs spreading wider instinctively, “You sound just as angelic as you did our first time, my dearest.” His words ignited something within you. Jay had always been a poet.
Your husband stripped off the rest of his clothes, his cock now free, thick and hard, the tip already leaking pre-cum. He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the head against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness.
With one thrust, he buried himself inside you, streeetching your walls around his girth. You cried out, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. Pain lingered at the edges, a delicious sting that heightened the sensations, making every inch of him feel more intense, as he set a punishing rhythm.
Just right for a brat.
“Pussy’s made—hah—for me.” The words sent a thrill through you, your arousal spiking, wetness squelching around him, “Fits me like a fuckin’ glove.”
“Oh—ohhh so biggg.” You moan loud, your heart pounding against its cage. You certainly forgot how big your husband was, and he was certainly hell bent on reminding you.
He angled his thrusts, grinding his pelvis against your clit with every stroke, building you up fast. You felt the orgasm approaching, your pussy fluttering around him, but just as you teetered on the edge, he stopped, buried deep but completely still.
“Jayyyy.” You whined, trying to rock against him, but his weight pinned you down completely, “Don’t stop please.”
“What did I say baby?” His hand came down on your ass, the slap echoing in the room, your cheek blooming with head, “Brats don’t get to cum that easy.”
He pulled out almost entirely, then thrust back in, repeating the motion while his hand alternated slaps on your ass. Left cheek, right cheek, each one harder, making your skin tingle and your pussy clench around him. “You like that don’t you, my dirty darling? Gettin' wetter with every damn smack.”
“Harder Jay.” You taunted, pushing him further.
Jay's eyes flashed, and he flipped you onto your stomach briefly, yanking your hips up so you were on your knees. He slapped your ass again, the impacts raining down until it burned, then he reached between your legs and slapped your pussy directly, the wet smack making you jolt forward with a cry. The sting was intense, your clit pulsing, but it only heightened the need coiling inside you.
“On your back.” He ordered, flipping you once more, “Need to see my pretty pussy.”
He hooked your legs over his shoulders, as he drove back into you, the new angle letting him hit even deeper. His thrusts were brutal now, his cock pistoning in and out, the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin filling the room. You were close again, so so close, your walls gripping him like a vice.
“Jay—no!” He edged you again, slowing grinds just as you hovered on the brink.
“Beg for it baby.” He slapped your pussy once more, lighter this time, and then thrust particularly deep, “I’m afraid the sheriff will only let good girls get what they want.”
Tears of frustration welled in your eyes, the overstimulation from earlier making every sensation amplified. “Please, Jay…..need it so bad.” You were a pathetic, babbling mess beneath him, “I’ll be your good girl sheriff, I promise—ahh fuck!”
“That’s my girl.” But he didn't let you tip over, pulling back to edge you a third time, his hand coming down on your ass as he fucked you slow and deliberate.
“Can’t take it Jay—fuck.” You whined, squirming in his hold, “Please let me cum on your cock please, I’ll do anything."
And there it was.
What a beautiful woman his wife was.
Satisfaction crossed his face as he reached down, skilled fingers hooking under the silk garter on your thigh. With an achingly gentle tug, he slid it off, the lace dragging against your skin and sending shivers up your spine. He held it up, the white silk gleaming in the moonlight, then brought one end to his mouth, biting down on it gently. The other end he pressed to your lips.
“Bite.” Jay commanded, and you did, the silk muffling your moans as he thrust back into you.
Now in full missionary, your legs wrapped around his waist, he fucked you with long, powerful strokes, the garter stretched between your mouths like a intimate tether. Every time he bottomed out, the pull on the silk made you both groan, the fabric dampening with your shared breaths.
His pace quickened, hips snapping against yours with a violent force, his cock swelling inside you. The edging had you wound so tight that the first orgasm crashed over you almost immediately, your pussy spasming around him as you screamed into the garter. He didn't stop, pounding through it, the silk pulling taut as he leaned closer, his forehead against yours.
“Cum for me, my darling.” Jay moaned around the fabric, his hand slipping between you to rub your clit. The overstimulation hit full force, your body convulsing as a second climax ripped through you, harder than the first. You bit down on the garter, tasting the faint salt of his sweat mixed with the silk.
Jay followed soon after, his thrusts erratic as he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he filled you with hot spurts of cum. He released the garter from his mouth, tossing it aside, and collapsed onto you, both of you panting in the aftermath.
“Fucking hell.” Jay grunted, pulling out as slow as he could, cupping your cheek as he did. Your husband was a wildly dual natured man.
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath steadying as the frenzy of passion ebbed away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of your shared exhaustion. Your body hummed with aftershocks, muscles loose and sated, the ache between your thighs a sweet reminder of how thoroughly he had claimed you.
“You alright, darling?” He collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his comforting hold, “Need anything? Water?”
‘No just—” You sunk into him, head on his chest as he ran his fingers through your hair, “—stay like this.”
Jay lifted a hand slowly, brushing a loose curl from your cheek. His fingers were rough and calloused, but his touch was ever so gentle.
“You’re really something, you know that?” He chuckled, “I don’t think you understand what you do to me, darling.”
You tried to laugh it off, but your throat felt tight. “I was starting to think I didn’t do much at all anymore.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and his hand stilled against your face.
“Hey,” He said immediately, firm but soft, “Don’t”
“I know it’s stupid but–”
“You think I stopped thinking about you?” Jay said, squeezing your hand, “I think about you every single day,” He said. “I think about getting home to you. I think about this house, about the porch, about you standing in the doorway.” His thumb brushed along your cheekbone. “I just…..stay away from you sometimes because I’m afraid.”
Your brows knit. “Afraid of what?”
“Burdening you.” Jay sighed, “I don’t want this damn job to reach you, my dearest.”
Your heart clenched at his words. Oh your sweet, sweet husband. Still that naive boy you married all those years ago.
“You think I married you for easy days?” You whispered, running your thumb over his knuckles. His lips twitched faintly.
“No,” He laughed. “You married me when I was just a fool with a borrowed suit.”
“And I’d do it again,” You said without hesitation, “Just promise me you’ll let me come to the station sometimes. It gets boring here.”
Jay considered it for a while, the moonlight falling into the room illuminating your face so perfectly.
“Only if you promise to stay safe.” He said, to which you nodded frantically, making him chuckle, “Although I don’t think I’ll get any work done with your pretty ass hanging around.”
“Good.” You giggled, “The town should know their sheriff has the ability to smile.”
“Only for you, darling.”
_______________________
“One of those chocolate madeleines please.” You slid two notes across the counter, “And I’ll take a cream puff as well.”
Behind the display case, your friend smiled sweetly at you. Flour dusted her cheek, and a streak of chocolate smudged near her wrist where she’d clearly tasted something mid-batch.
“Just those?” She asked lightly, tongs hovering over the tray.
“Hmm.” You hummed, watching her carefully take the goodies out and package it, “It's for my husband.”
“I figured.” She laughed, "Everything you bake goes into that man’s stomach. Tell him to save some for us too!” She leaned forward, “I was right about that garter, and I’m right about this.”
“First of all, someone's got to remind that man to eat.” You said, leaning your elbows on the counter, "Second of all…” You paused before smiling, “yeah you were right. Thank you honey.”
“Oh, I’m sure the whole town appreciates your dedication to the sheriff’s well-being.” She snorted softly.
You narrowed your eyes at her teasing tone, sticking a tongue out playfully, watching her fingers as she tied the ribbon neatly around the small brown box. The bakery smelled of melted chocolate and warm sugar, sunlight streaming through the front windows and catching the dust in the air.
You had just come from your sister’s bar across the street, after listening to her troubles about some or other cowboy who had been hanging around the bar. ‘Troubles’, you laughed at the thought, more like young love.
“You know,” She slid the box toward you, lowering her voice almost conspiratorially, “I tried something new today.”
“Should I be worried?” You arched a brow. You knew how much she loved to experiment, which often ended up in fire and smoke.
“It’s harmless,” She insisted. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
She reached beneath the counter and lifted a single cupcake onto a small porcelain plate. Pale frosting swirled high on top, a faint dusting of cinnamon and something darker speckled across it.
“And pray tell what is that?” You said, peering suspiciously at the poor cupcake.
“An experiment.” She said proudly. “Something that will…..have the same effect as that garter.”
You stared at the desert in front of you, and then flicked your gaze to her, scoffing. “You made a love potion?”
“It’s really subtle, I promise.” She grinned, “Plus I didn't have enough ingredients to make it the usual strength.”
You hesitated, eyeing the cupcake again. It looked innocent enough, almost too innocent. But the thought of walking into that sun-beaten station with something playful—something just for the two of you—made your heart flutter.
“Come on.” She said smoothly, “It doesn't hurt to have a little fun.”
“And you swear it’s not that strong?” Your friend nodded her head frantically, making you sigh and shrug your shoulders, “Alright then.”
“Yay!” She laughed, then carefully lifted the cupcake and placed it in a small white box separate from the others. “On the house,” she said.
“Absolutely not—”
“Consider it payment for that advice you gave me.” She said, “And also for making your husband my guinea pig.”
You laughed, and picked up your boxes, shooting her a wink before bidding her goodbye and stepping back out into the afternoon sun.
You stepped outside into the blaze of the desert afternoon, the heat wrapping around you like a living thing. The sky stretched endlessly blue overhead, the sun merciless and bright, pressing against your shoulders. The ground radiated warmth through the soles of your sandals as you walked.
Your knee-length dress, a soft cotton fitted at the waist and buttoned down the front, fluttered lightly around your legs as a dry breeze swept through. The skirt swayed, brushing against your calves as you walked, the scent of cocoa drifting faintly from the boxes in your hands.
You walked toward the sheriff’s station, just a block away, pulse picking up the closer you got. You told yourself it was just the heat.
In reality, it was the thought of his expression when you would walk in. The way his tired eyes would soften, the way he’d lean back in his chair, hat tipped aside, sleeves rolled up to reveal those beautiful forearms, the way he’d spread his legs just right, inviting you in.
God you wanted your husband so bad.
A bead of sweat trailed down your spine as you climbed the station steps, the wooden boards warm beneath your sandals. You paused at the door, taking a slow breath, adjusting the boxes so they wouldn’t tilt.
The desert sun blazed behind you, casting your shadow long across the threshold. Then you reached for the handle and stepped inside, the colder air of the building meeting your skin. The station smelled faintly of paper, dust and sun-warmed leather. Your sandals clicked softly against the wooden floor as you stepped fully inside, hearing the loud buzz of conversation soften a bit.
Two officers near the front desk looked up first, then another from behind a stack of reports. You offered them a warm, polite smile. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Ma’am.” One of them said quickly, nearly knocking over his inkwell in the process. You had invited most of them to dinner at least once, fed them and listened to their stories.But had never once seen you here.
You felt their eyes linger, curiosity sweeping through you moved down the short hallway with steady steps, hips swaying slightly. Heat still clung to your skin from outside, leaving a faint flush along your collarbones, the thin ribbon at your waist accentuating the gentle curve of you.
At the end of the hallway sat his office, the door half open. You didn't bother to knock, just pushing it wider and stepping inside, closing it shut behind you.
Jay sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, oh god those forearms. His hat rested on the corner of the desk and a stack of papers lay scattered before him. His head was bent, brow furrowed in concentration.
“Afternoon, sheriff.” You said lightly, walking up to his desk like a mischievous child.
Jay looked up, and for a split second, all his senses crashed. His chair creaked faintly as he leaned back, eyes dragging slowly from your face down to your legs, and then back, resting briefly on the boxes.
“Well if it isn't the biggest criminal in town.” He said, voice shifting lower, legs already shifting apart, “You, ma’am are guilty of stealing my heart.”
You set the boxes carefully on the edge of his desk and took a step closer, resting your hands lightly on the wood. Jay leaned back further in his chair, boots planted wide, hands resting casually on the armrests. But there was nothing casual about the way he was looking at you.
“Do I have the right to remain silent, sheriff?” You walked around the desk slowly, your skin feeling warm. You could feel his eyes tracking every step, “Do I have the right to do this?”
And before Jay’s mind could process anything, you lowered yourself onto his lap, settling there quite comfortably.
“Careful darling.” His hands came up fast, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other against your back as he pulled you firmly against him, “You’re really testing the law here.”
Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, forehead brushing with his, the solid muscle of his thigh pressing up against the heat building between your legs. The office was quiet, the door firmly shut behind you, sealing out the rest of the station's bustle.
You could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the paperwork scattered across his desk, but all your focus was on the way his body tensed beneath you, his breath hitching as you shifted closer.
“And what’s my sentence, sheriff?” You asked.
“Hmm, let me think.” Jay said, voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest into yours, “I suppose, life” One hand went up to stroke your cheek, “with me of course.”
You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. “How do you expect me to change with such a tempting sentence?”
Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his shirt, the badge pinned there cool under your palm. You rocked your hips subtly, grinding against his thigh, and felt him harden instantly beneath you.
Jay's eyes darkened, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. “You’re going to be the death of me.” But he didn't push you away, pulling you closer instead, his other hand squeezing your ass through your skirt.
“I got you something.” You said gently, reaching behind for the boxes, opening the smaller one first, “A cupcake.”
“Are you attempting to bribe an officer, young lady?” He said, gaze dropping to the neckline of your dress, the curve of your shoulders, then back up to your eyes.
“A bribe you say?” You laughed, pulling out the small cupcake topped with thick, white cream. “Open up.”
His eyes didn’t drop to the pastry, staying on you. He leaned forward, taking a bite. The cream smeared slightly on his lower lip as he chewed, his tongue darting out to catch it. You watched, heat pooling in your core, as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.
“Mmm caramel?” He said, licking his lips, lord give you strength, “What’s the occasion?”
“Just wanted to treat my husband.” You scooped a bit of the remaining cream onto your finger, holding it out to him.
He didn't hesitate, capturing your finger between his lips, his tongue swirling around it slowly, sucking the cream off with deliberate strokes. The wet heat of his mouth made your pussy clench, imagining that gorgeous tongue elsewhere.
Jay's eyes locked on yours as he licked every trace, his suction firm, teeth grazing your skin lightly. “Tastes even better off you.” He released your fingers with a pop.
You brought your finger to your own mouth, sucking it clean, tasting the faint sweetness mixed with the salt of his saliva. You ground down harder on his thigh, the friction against your panties making you wetter, your skirt riding up slightly.
He groaned, his cock straining against his pants now, the outline visible as you shifted. Whatever was in that cupcake was working fast; you could feel the heat radiating from him, his grip tightening.
“Fuck….darling, what are you doing to me? I feel weird.” You smirked, popping the rest of the cupcake into your mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing.
“I’m not doing anything.” You hummed, your hands working at his belt, but he caught your wrists, shaking his head.
“Baby not here.” But his body betrayed him, hips bucking up slightly, pressing his thigh firmer against your aching pussy, The officers–”
“Just one Jay.” You released a soft whine, rocking faster, the seam of his pants rubbing your clit through the thin fabric, “Please?” Your breasts brushed his chest with each movement, nipples hardening under your blouse.
Jay's breath came in short bursts, his face flushing as the aphrodisiac surged through him. His cock throbbed visibly, begging for attention, but you ignored it, focusing on your own pleasure. You rode his thigh relentlessly, the pressure building, your juices soaking through your panties onto his uniform.
“Shit.” He hissed, one hand sliding under your skirt to cup your ass, urging you on. “You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind.” His other hand fumbled with his shirt, to unbutton it, but he stopped himself, glancing at the door.
“Let me make you feel good, sheriff.” You purred, leaning in to nip at his jaw. Your hips circled, grinding your swollen clit against him, chasing the edge but not quite tipping over. He was rock hard now, the aphrodisiac turning his arousal into something primal, his eyes glazed with need.
Just as you felt the first sparks of your orgasm flickering, a sharp knock echoed through the office. Both of you froze, your heart pounding.
“Sheriff? You in there?” A voice called from the other side—his fellow officer, sounding urgent.
“Fuck.” Jay cursed underneath his breath He lifted you off his lap in one swift motion, his strength making it effortless despite the haze of lust. “Under the desk. Now.”
You didn't argue, sliding off and dropping to your knees, crawling under the large wooden desk, his rough voice only increasing your arousal.
It was cramped, the space just big enough for you to tuck in, your face level with his crotch. The door creaked open as Jay adjusted himself, trying to hide the massive bulge.
“Come in.” Jay said, his voice strained but steady. He scooted his chair forward, blocking you from view, his boots framing your hiding spot.
You heard someone step inside, the door clicking shut behind him. “Sorry to bother you, boss. Got an update on that theft case from last night. Looks like it was kids, but we found some prints that don't match.”
Jay cleared his throat, his hand dropping under the desk to grip the armrest near you. “Tell me more.” But his focus shattered the moment your fingers tugged at his belt again. He shot you a warning glance downward, but you ignored it, unbuckling him quietly.
The zipper rasped softly as you pulled it down, fishing his cock out through the opening, thick and veined, the head flushed dark red and leaking pre-cum. The aphrodisiac had him impossibly hard, pulsing in your hand, hot as a brand. You wrapped your fingers around the base, stroking once, and Jay's thigh tensed beside you.
The officer droned on, oblivious. “We dusted the safe—got a thumbprint. Running it through the system now, but I think it's that punk from the diner. You know, the one with the tattoos?'
“Mm-hmm.” Jay managed, his voice tight. Why was your mouth so fucking hot?”
You leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum. His cock jerked, and he shifted in his chair, one hand coming down to thread through your hair, not pushing but holding on for dear life.
You took him into your mouth slowly, lips stretching around his girth, tongue pressing flat against the underside as you slid down. Inch by delicious inch, you swallowed him, the musky scent of his arousal filling your senses. He was so thick, filling your mouth completely, the vein along the side throbbing against your tongue.
Jay's free hand gripped the edge of the desk above, knuckles white. “What….what else? Any witnesses?” His words came out clipped, breath hitching as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked particularly hard.
The officer paced a bit, papers rustling. “Some lady saw a truck leaving around midnight—a blue pickup, rusted fender. Matches that punk. We should bring him in for questioning.”
You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate his length. Saliva coated him, dripping down to your hand as you pumped what you couldn't fit.
The wet sounds were obscene, but muffled under the desk, drowned out by the officer’s voice. Jay's hips twitched involuntarily, fucking shallowly into your mouth, and you hummed around him, the vibration making him stifle a groan.
“Yeah, sound solid." Jay replied, his voice gravelly. “Pull him in first thing tomorrow.”
His fingers tightened in your hair, guiding you subtly, urging you faster. All his senses zeroed in on you—the slick heat of your mouth enveloping him, your tongue swirling around the head each time you pulled back, teasing the sensitive frenulum.
You could feel how close he was already, the aphrodisiac amplifying everything, his balls drawing tight against your chin as you deepthroated him. Your own pussy throbbed, neglected but aching from the earlier thigh-riding, juices trickling down your thighs.
You slipped a hand between your legs, rubbing your clit through your soaked panties, but focused on him, sucking harder, lips sealed tight.
The officer chuckled. “You okay, boss? Sound a bit off. Late night?”
Jay's laugh was forced and strained. “Just……paperwork. Keep going—what about the evidence?”
As the officer launched into details about logging the prints and securing the scene, you ramped up your pace, head moving furiously now, mouth a wet, tight vice around his beautiful cock.
You gagged softly once, twice, but pushed through, tears pricking your eyes from the effort. His pre-cum leaked steadily, coating your tongue, and you swallowed around him, milking him.
Jay's boot nudged your knee, a silent plea—stop. Or don't stop?
But his hand in your hair pulled you closer; every nerve in his body screamed from your mouth: the suction pulling at his shaft, your teeth grazing lightly, the way your throat constricted around the head. The office faded; the officer’s words blurred into white noise. All that existed was the hot, slick gliiide of your lips, the obscene slurp you made when you twisted your head.
“We need to cross-reference with the database from the last break-in.” The officer continued, leaning against the desk. “Might be connected. You think?”
“Absolutely.” Jay grunted, his abs clenching under his shirt.
You felt his cock swell, the telltale pulse starting at the base. You sucked harder, one hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten further.
The officer paused. “You sure you're alright?”
“Fine.” Jay bit out, his voice breaking on the edge. “Just... hot in here. Tell me about the truck—any plates?”
You knew he was seconds away. Your mouth worked relentlessly, tongue lashing the underside, saliva dripping onto the floor between his boots. His thighs quivered, the muscles jumping under your touch.
“No plates visible, but we'll check traffic cams.” He said, wrapping up. “You want me to handle the warrant?”
Jay's hand fisted in your hair, hips jerking forward as he came, hot ropes of cum flooding your mouth. You swallowed greedily, not spilling a drop, your throat working around him as he pulsed, groan muffled into a cough. “Yeah—do that. Good work.”
The officer straightened. “Thanks, boss. Get some rest—you look beat.” The door opened and closed, footsteps fading.
Jay slumped in his chair, cock still twitching in your mouth as you licked him clean, savoring the last spurts. He pulled you up gently, zipping himself with shaking hands, eyes wild with post-orgasm haze and lingering aphrodisiac fire.
“You little minx.” He panted, hauling you onto his lap again. His cock, still half-hard, pressed against your thigh. “What was in that cupcake?”
“That’s a secret I’m afraid.” You grinned, kissing him deeply, letting him taste himself on your tongue, “Round two sheriff?”
Jay’s hands roamed under your skirt, finding your drenched panties. He rocked you against his thigh again, the teasing reversed now, his fingers circling your clit as his payback began, the aphrodisiac still burning in his veins.
“I hope you don’t have anywhere to be today, darling.”
______________________
“You two are actually disgusting.” You sister scrunched her nose adorably as she took another swig of her beer
She was sprawled comfortably at the dining table, boots hooked around one of the chair legs, lazily tipping the bottle to her lips while she watched the two of you in the open kitchen like it was her evening entertainment.
Jay didn’t even try to look ashamed. You were standing between him and the counter, supposedly cutting slices of pecan pie. Supposedly.
In reality, his hand had found your waist about three minutes ago and hadn’t left, drawing shapes on your clothed skin and subtly kissing your neck, your back pressed to his chest.
“We’re married,” You pointed out sweetly.
“That doesn’t mean I need to witness it,” She replied flatly.
“What do you think sweetheart?” Jay leaned down slightly, his voice dropping just enough for you to feel it more than hear it. “Should we kick her out?”
You elbowed him lightly. “You invited her.”
He grinned. “Not to sit in my lap.”
“I can hear you.” Your sister gagged from the table.
“Good.” You turned, pie server in hand.
The kitchen smelled warm and sweet, sugar and toasted pecans filling the air. The last light of evening filtered in through the window, casting everything in a golden glow. Jay stood close behind you, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from the heat. He looked relaxed in a way he only did at home, his thumb tracing an absent pattern at your hip. You tried very hard not to lean back into him.
“Am I getting food anytime soon?” Your sister asked, “Or are you two going to keep being disgusting.”
Jay finally released you long enough for you to carry the pie to the table. He followed with three plates, entirely unbothered by her dramatics.
“If we’re disgusting,” He said mildly as he set the plates down, “you’re free to leave, sweetheart.”
“I was here first, Park.” She pointed her bottle at him, although accepting the plate gratefully, eyes already wide at the sight of your pie.
“You live across the street, sweetheart.” You reminded her.
“And yet somehow I’m still the third wheel in my own sister’s house.”
You sat down beside Jay, knees brushing his under the table. He casually draped his arm along the back of your chair like it belonged there…..which it did.
You slid a generous slice of pie onto your sister’s plate. “Eat up. It’ll distract you from your loneliness.”
“I'm sorry what.” She narrowed her eyes, “I am not lonely.”
“Oh?” You said lightly. “So you weren't staring at those cowboys riding past the bar yesterday with your mouth wide open?” Jay coughed into his fist, very badly disguising a laugh.
“I was not.” Your sister’s mouth formed into a pout, the familiar tactics she employed to get out of being scolded by you and Jay.
Jay leaned back in his chair, looking between the two of you like he was watching a particularly entertaining courtroom argument. “Which cowboys?” He asked casually.
“Nobody!” Your sister defended herself, pointing a fork at you, “Your wife is insane, don’t listen to her.”
“Hey now.” You laughed, leaning your face on your palm, “I’m just saying.”
“Hopefully it's not that bastard Sunghoon. Almost caught him today but he slipped away.” Jay sighed heavily and took a bite, “Last time he was in town I had to break up two fights and confiscate a stolen saddle.”
You grinned at your sister—she was never that great at keeping secrets and boy was this a big one. “Hear that? The sheriff disapproves.”
“I don’t disapprove,” Jay corrected calmly. “I just prefer when citizens don’t start saloon brawls every other week.”
“He did not start that fight,” Your sister snapped. Jay gave her a look, as if to ask how she knew and she quickly cleared her throat, “I was out that day and I saw what happened.”
“You sound very defensive for someone who isn’t staring.” You chuckled, titling your head at her.
She groaned. “You two are insufferable.”
“We’re just saying he’s trouble, sweetheart.” Jay smirked.
“You’re trouble,” She shot back.
“That’s different.” You and Jay said at the same time.
She blinked at the synchronized response and then shook her head in disbelief. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re like….a unit. It’s disturbing.” She crossed her arms and huffed, “And quit acting like I’m gonna run off with someone.”
“You wouldn't survive five miles into the desert.” You and Jay snorted, as he squeezed your shoulder lightly, “You’ll find someone soon enough sweetie.” You cooed at her, “Someone to soothe you and all that lovey stuff.”
“I don’t need soothing.”
“You need supervision.” Jay muttered.
“Honestly,” She said, taking a dramatic swig of her beer, “maybe you two should just have kids already.”
You loved your younger sister of course. But you had to admit she had a talent for saying stuff that could shut people up.
“What?” You blinked, feeling heat rise to your neck.
“So you’ll stop hovering over me like I’m fifteen.” She scoffed, glancing over at Jay who had his fork paused halfway to his mouth, “You guys baby me too much.” She continued, gesturing wildly. “You lecture me about my life and you monitor my bar. It’s exhausting.”
“We do not monitor your bar,” You protested.
Jay cleared his throat. “I occasionally ensure it remains… orderly.”
“Exactly!” She threw her hands up with a crude laugh. “If you had children, you’d be too busy to interfere in my life.” There was a brief silence.
You laughed first. “Oh yes, because raising children is famously relaxing.”
She pointed at you. “You’d be great at it.” The words were casual—offhand, something that one said every now and then.
But the way his blood rushed to his dick made Jay want to go outside and kick a tree.
There was a subtle shift in his posture; his knee pressed a fraction closer against yours under the table, his heartbeat, steady and calm just seconds ago—seemed to pick up when you glanced at him.
“You think we’d make good parents?” You asked lightly, though your pulse had quickened.
Your sister shrugged. “Obviously. You already act like it with me.” She stole another bite of pie, “You two would have the most well-behaved little outlaws,” She added.
“Outlaws?” Jay laughed, trying to sound stable, and like he wasn't thinking about every position he could put his child into you in.
“With her stubbornness and your personality?” She said, “Terrifying.”
You laughed, but your eyes were still on him. His gaze had softened in a way you hadn’t seen before. Jay’s hand slid down from the back of your chair to rest at your waist under the table. He didn’t say anything, as you leaned subtly into your husband’s side, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest— feeling the way his hand lingered at your waist just a second longer than usual.
It would be a long night indeed.
______________
It was all bruising kisses and harsh words as soon as your sister stepped out the door. Jay didn't even wait till she had crossed the street, to grab at your waist and lift you up, carrying you to the bedroom like one carried diamonds and other precious things,
The words ‘you’d make good parents’ had ignited something primal within him, and now with your sister gone, and the house left all to you two, he was going to unleash it.
Jay’s mouth crashed against yours in the hallway, teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp, his hands rough on your hips as he hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, skirt bunching up your thighs, and you felt the hard ridge of his erection pressing against your core through his jeans.
“You heard what she said, darling.” He moaned against your mouth, voice thick with need, “We’d make such good parents.”
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, heart racing as he carried you down the hall. His strides were purposeful, possessive, each step jostling you against him, the friction making your panties dampen.
“Jay.” You breathed but he silenced you with another bruising kiss, tongue thrusting deep, claiming every inch of your mouth like he owned it.
Your husband kicked the bedroom door open, the wood banging against the wall, and dumped you onto the bed with a controlled roughness that sent a thrill through you. You bounced once, skirt riding up to expose your thighs, and he was on you in an instant, looming over your body, his broad frame casting a shadow. His eyes raked over you, dark and hungry, hands already yanking at the hem of your blouse.
“Clothes off.” His voice was low and authoritative, “Let me see that pretty body.”
Your fingers trembled with anticipation as you obeyed, peeling off your blouse, unhooking your bra to let your breasts spill free. His gaze zeroed in on them, nipples hardening under the cool air and his stare.
You shimmied out of your skirt next, leaving you in just your panties, the fabric clinging to your arousal. Jay shed his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and abs, leading down to where his jeans strained obscenely.
He crawled onto the bed, caging you in with his arms, and started kissing you all over—not the harsh clashes from before, but slower, gentler presses of his lips that spoke of his reverence mixed with raw desire. He began at your neck, sucking lightly on the pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to mark without breaking skin.
“Need to worship this body.” He murmured, lips trailing down to your collarbone, nipping softly, “Before I pump you so fucking full with our child.”
Heat flooded your cheeks and between your legs at his words, the talk sending a fresh gush of wetness to your pussy. You arched into him as his mouth found your breast, tongue circling the nipple before he latched on, sucking hard enough to make you whimper.
“Ahh—Jay please…” His hand cupped the other, thumb rolling the peak, pinching just shy of pain. You gasped, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there.
He chuckled darkly against your skin, switching sides, lavishing the same attention while his free hand slid down your stomach, fingers splaying possessively over your lower abdomen.
“Please what, my dearest? Please fuck a baby into you?” His kisses continued lower, peppering your ribs, your navel, until he hooked his fingers in your panties and tugged them down your legs, exposing your slick folds, “Cause that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” He settled between your thighs, shoulders nudging them wider, and pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher, closer to where you ached.
He stripped off his jeans and boxers in one go, veins bulging along his thick cock, the head already weeping pre-cum. He was so damn big, and it was intimidating even after all this time, and your pussy clenched at the sight, knowing how it would stretch you.
Jay stroked himself once, twice, eyes locked on yours as he positioned the tip at your entrance.
“Look at me darling.” His tone was sharp, even as his eyes were soft. “You ready for me?”
With that, he pushed in, the broad head breaching you slowly, inch by sublime inch, your walls fluttering around the invasion. You cried out, the burn of his size making your eyes water, hands fisting the sheets as he bottomed out, balls pressed against your ass.
“So tight—ahh fuck.” He groaned, holding still for a moment, forehead resting against yours, “Good little pussy’s made for me yeah?”
He started moving then, shallow thrusts that let you adjust, but soon deepened, hips snapping forward with controlled power. Each plunge hit deep, the angle brushing your g-spot, sending sparks up your spine. You wrapped your legs around him, heels digging into his back, urging him faster.
“Good girl, goood girl.” He panted, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider. “Feel how deep I am? Right where I need to be to breed you good, pretty girl.”
"Please, Jay—hah—please..." You begged, voice breathy and desperate as he pounded into you. "Need you to fill me up—ahh!”
Your words only seemed to spur him on further, his hips snapping forward with bruising force as he drove himself into you again and again. The hand on your thigh tightened, fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
His pace quickened, cock pistoning in and out, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside your moans. Jay leaned down to capture your lips in a messy kiss, tongue mirroring his thrusts, while his hand slipped between you to rub your clit in firm circles.
“Close close, I’m close!” You whimpered, nails raking down his back, as pleasure coiled in your lower belly.
“Cum for me.” Jay’s voice was rough, “God she’s squeezin’ me dry, darling.”
His fingers pressed harder on your clit, hips grinding deep on every thrust, and you shattered, orgasm hitting you like a truck. Your pussy convulsed around him, walls rippling, pulling him in as you cried out his name, body arching off the bed.
He didn't stop, fucking you through it, prolonging the bliss until you were oversensitive, twitching beneath him.
“Good girl.” He praised, slowing down just enough to let you catch your breath. But if you knew anything about your husband, he wasn't the kind to leave you alone after just one swig of ambrosia.
With a grunt, he pulled out, your pussy clenching emptily at the loss, but he was quick to manhandle you—throwing your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half until your knees brushed your chest. The mating press pinned you open, vulnerable, his cock nudging your entrance again.
“Look at you.” He said, eyes blazing as he sank back in, the new angle letting him go impossibly deeper, the head kissing your cervix. You gasped, the fullness bordering on too much, but the stretch ignited fresh arousal. “My beautiful wife.” He thrust in earnest now, powerful slams that rocked the bed.
You were trapped, unable to do more than take it, hands clutching his arms as he dominated you completely. “Jay—fuck, it's too much.” You sobbed, but your body betrayed you, hips tilting to meet him, chasing the building pressure.
“You can take it, my dearest.” He leaned down to peck at your forehead, “I know you can.”
His hand found your clit again, rubbing relentlessly, while the other braced your thigh, keeping you locked in place. The position made every thrust target your deepest spots, the friction on your g-spot unrelenting. Sweat slicked his skin, dripping onto your breasts as he pounded into you, grunts mixing with your cries.
“Tell me you want it.” He huffed, biting down a moan as he felt you squeeze around him, “Tell me you want me to cum inside.” He leaned down again to nip at your earlobe making you moan loud enough for the whole town to hear.
“N-Need it.” You whined, words tumbling out in a haze of ecstasy, “Need it so bad Jay—need you to fill me—ahh god—fill me up.”
His rhythm faltered at your plea, thrusts turning erratic, harder. “Fuck, that's my girl. Gonna pump you so full, you'll feel me leaking out for days, baby.”
Your second orgasm built faster this time, the overstimulation from the first amplifying everything, your pussy fluttering wildly around him.
“Cum with me.” He ordered, fingers pinching your clit. “Now.”
The command tipped you over, ecstasy ripping through you as you clenched down, screaming his name. Jay followed instantly, burying himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he unleashed thick ropes of cum deep inside.
“Take it all.” His body shuddered with the force of his release, “Take every fucking drop.” He held you there, grinding against your cervix, ensuring every spurt coated your walls, breeding you thoroughly.
He stayed locked inside as you both came down, breaths mingling, his weight a comforting press. Slowly, he unfolded you, legs lowering gently, but he didn't pull out yet, keeping his softening cock plugging you.
“Stay like that.” He murmured, voice softening just a tad.
The harshness melted away entirely just as fast as it had settled earlier in the evening. Jay kissed you sweetly, lips brushing yours in feather-light touches, moving to your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.
“Love you so much.” He whispered between kisses, hand stroking your hair, "Didn't hurt you did I?”
“You’re asking me that after all that.” You smiled, sated and cherished, pulling him closer as the warmth wrapped around you both, “I loved it, baby.”
It was very rare for the town to see their cold-hearted sheriff ever soften, or even smile—he was as constant as the northern star in their opinion.
How lucky you were to see his rueful grin, as he pressed his soft lips all over you. He was your husband after all.
Only yours, for now and for as long as the cicadas kept chirping their song.
🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ secret & established relationship, cussing, overstimulation, first-time sex, loss of virginity, protected p in v, oral (f. & m. receiving), slight dacryphilia, praise, dirty talk, emotional intimacy, aftercare !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : 2000s era, no fixed place because we’re here for vibes only <//3 hee & rea are about 20-21 here by the way ! also this is very much fueled by my lifelong doawk nerd tendencies and rodrick heffley resurfacing in my brain again . . . thank you so muchi for the request ! i lawb you ❤︎ enjoy my ever-so-lovely hoonguin nation (‾◡◝)
The rain came down in unforgiving sheets, harsh against your bedroom window, the sound of it filling every quiet space in the room. Water streaked down the glass so heavily the city lights outside looked blurred and distorted, turning everything beyond your room into watercolor smudges of yellow, red, and white.
“You’re soaking, Hee. Like, genuinely soaking,” you scolded, standing in front of him with a towel in your hands. “You’re going to get sick one day, I swear. Actually, no, you wouldn’t even be sick if you stopped climbing through my window every time it rains.”
Your flip phone had long since been abandoned somewhere on your bed after you hung up on him thirty minutes ago, your CosmoGirl magazine laying face-down on the carpet beside your desk chair. Your computer screen still glowed dimly from across the room, Facebook left open mid-scroll, photos of your classmates crammed into tiny albums — parties, cheap drinks, blurry peace signs held toward cameras.
Everyone else your age seemed to spend Friday nights somewhere loud.
Heeseung spent his climbing onto your roof.
He sat by the window nook now, completely drenched, hoodie clinging to his skin while droplets of rainwater dampened the built-in seat beneath him. Dark strands of hair dripped onto his forehead as the storm battered against the glass just beside him. The faint smell of rain followed him inside, familiar enough that you’d long since started associating it with him.
It wasn’t even hard for him to get in anymore.
Your room sat at the very front of the house, the small roof over the entryway sticking out just enough for him to pull himself up if he was careful. Four years together had apparently given him enough experience to do it almost effortlessly.
Well — mostly effortlessly.
“You act like I almost died getting here,” he muttered, lips pressed into a pout while you aggressively rubbed the towel over his head.
“You slipped last time.”
“I caught myself.”
“You almost took the gutter down with you.”
“But I didn’t.”
“You literally scared the shit out of me, Hee.”
Heeseung only grinned at that, soft and annoyingly pleased with himself, like your concern was something precious he wanted to keep.
You sighed dramatically, though your hands gentled almost immediately as you continued drying his hair.
Four years.
Sometimes it still startled you.
You’d started “dating” at sixteen in the careless, unserious way high schoolers often did — passing notes during class, sharing wired earphones during lunch, sneaking around after school with no real understanding of what commitment actually meant. Half the time, the two of you had only dated because your friends insisted you already acted like a couple anyway.
Back then, everything with him had felt light.
Fun.
He’d walk you home carrying your backpack even when you told him not to. You’d spend entire phone calls arguing about songs neither of you actually hated. He’d steal fries off your tray at lunch and swear your food somehow tasted better than his.
You’d broken up once for three days during junior year because he forgot your monthsary.
Then got back together because both of you were miserable about it.
Stupid teenage things.
But somewhere between then and now, things had shifted quietly into something deeper.
It happened slowly enough that neither of you noticed at first.
The late-night calls became late-night conversations about the future. The casual “I miss you” texts turned into him showing up outside your house after bad days because he couldn’t stand knowing you were upset alone. You started becoming part of each other’s routines without trying.
Without asking.
Now he climbed through your bedroom window in thunderstorms just because he wanted to see you for an hour before going home.
The worst part was that you always let him in.
“You’re staring,” he said suddenly.
You blinked, realizing your hands had stopped moving.
“Yeah, staring at this insane man in front of me.”
“That’s not what that look was.”
“Yes, it was.”
He laughed softly under his breath, reaching up to wrap his fingers loosely around your wrist before pulling your hand away from the towel entirely.
“I wanted to see you, pretty,” he murmured.
The teasing tone he usually carried was gone now, replaced by something quieter. More sincere.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere far off.
“You always tell me to chase after the things I want, right?” he continued, eyes fixed on yours. “So I came here.”
Your expression softened immediately despite yourself.
God.
Four years later, and he still knew exactly how to get away with things.
You dropped the towel onto the floor beside him before stepping closer, your hands moving to cup his rain-cold cheeks. His skin was freezing beneath your palms, but he leaned into your touch instantly anyway, eyes fluttering for half a second like he’d been waiting for it.
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” you whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Still, you leaned forward anyway, pressing a lingering kiss against his forehead.
His shoulders relaxed beneath your hands almost immediately.
Then, quieter this time, with the corners of your mouth lifting into a smile, “Whatever you say, loser.”
It was no surprise to anyone that your parents were probably the strictest people alive.
Even random strangers you talked to in online chatrooms knew about it.
You were legally an adult already, yet somehow still lived under rules stricter than most middle schoolers. But technically, it made sense — you still lived under their roof while attending college. You’d had plenty of opportunities to move out, plenty of reasons to, too, but staying home meant attending your dream university without constantly worrying about tuition, rent, groceries, or whether you’d survive off instant noodles for the rest of the semester.
So you stayed.
In exchange, your freedom was practically nonexistent.
Your parents were the kind of people who believed every horrifying thing printed in newspapers or aired on television. One kidnapping case three cities away suddenly meant you weren’t allowed outside past seven. A segment about drunk driving meant lectures during dinner for an entire week. Every terrible thing they heard only made them tighter, stricter, more protective.
Most parents loosened their grip as their children grew older.
Yours only held on harder.
They had rules for everything. Honestly, the list was probably longer than the Code of Hammurabi itself.
No smoking. No drinking. No parties. No clubbing. Curfew before sunset unless it involved academics. Finish your chores before touching anything remotely enjoyable. Most importantly — absolutely no boyfriends.
Unfortunately for them, strict parents rarely created obedient children.
They created sneaky ones.
And you were living proof of that.
Drinking?
You started around a year ago.
Your first time happened with your boy best friend, Hoshi, during what your parents believed was an innocent afternoon walk. Somehow, that “walk” turned into the two of you sitting outside in broad daylight with cheap alcohol burning down your throat while you tried not to cough your lungs out in front of him.
The taste was awful.
But the feeling afterward wasn’t.
For the first time in a while, your mind felt quiet. Warm. Easy. Like every frustrating thing weighing on your shoulders had blurred around the edges for a couple of hours.
You still remembered desperately forcing yourself to eat afterward so your breath wouldn’t smell suspicious when you got home. Sitting around for nearly an hour pretending to scroll through your phone while trying to sober up enough to look normal in front of your parents.
Smoking?
That happened a few months ago.
Ryujin handed you a cigarette outside a convenience store while the two of you were buying materials for a class project. You only meant to try one drag out of curiosity.
You nearly choked to death immediately after.
Ryujin laughed so hard she had to hold onto the side of the building.
Then there was the biggest rule of all.
No boyfriends.
Which was ironic, considering you’d already had one since sophomore year of high school.
Four years.
Four entire years of sneaking around your parents behind carefully constructed lies and perfectly rehearsed excuses.
Late-night phone calls whispered beneath your blanket. “Group studies” that were actually dates. Deleted messages. Fake stories. Secret kisses stolen before you went back home pretending nothing happened.
It was exhausting sometimes.
Stressful, absolutely.
But thrilling, too.
Because despite the rules, the lying, the double life — you loved it so, so much.
You loved the freedom hidden inside rebellion.
And maybe, just maybe, you loved him enough to risk getting caught.
Heeseung was sitting in your desk chair now, lazily scrolling through your open tabs of Tumblr and Facebook like he owned the place.
Every few seconds, another ridiculous post from your university friends flashed across the screen.
Photos taken inside crowded clubs with neon lights washing over flushed faces. Videos from late-night drives with music blasting so loudly the audio distorted. Someone posting about a spontaneous sleepover at some questionable motel in the middle of nowhere. Another group catching flights out of the country just because they could.
Everyone always seemed to be doing something.
Living.
Meanwhile, you were stuck sneaking your own boyfriend through your bedroom window like a criminal.
Heeseung, completely unbothered by the injustice of your life, leaned back comfortably in the chair while wearing his old basketball jersey from senior year — the one he’d given you after graduation along with a pile of other sentimental things he claimed “smelled too much like high school.”
The loose jersey exposed his arms entirely, toned biceps flexing every time he scrolled or clicked something on your computer mouse.
It was distracting.
Very distracting.
A pair of gray joggers hung low on his hips too — another thing technically hidden inside your room. He’d accidentally slept over around three months ago after both of you knocked out while studying, and in the panic of sneaking him out before sunrise, he’d forgotten them completely.
Thankfully, your parents had never found the container shoved into the back of your closet filled with clothes you “didn’t wear anymore.”
In reality, half of it belonged to him.
You sat cross-legged on your bed nearby, flipping through the last few pages of your magazine while occasionally glancing over at him.
The black lace trim of your camisole brushed against your skin every time you moved, soft fabric hugging your body comfortably. The beige middle contrasted against the dark details perfectly, and paired with your lounge shorts, the ones your aunt gifted you two Christmases ago, you looked effortlessly pretty without even trying.
Heeseung had already looked at you at least ten times in the last five minutes alone.
Then suddenly—
“Wait,” he said.
You glanced up lazily.
“Hm?”
He pointed at your computer screen.
A newly uploaded post from Ryujin filled the monitor, a blurry group picture of your girlfriends packed together inside some club bathroom, all glittery makeup and drunk smiles.
The caption read:
y/n was actually the one who took the photo (hella real) :-) #wemissyoubaddie #funnightout #yolo
Your face dropped instantly.
“Fuck my life, this is so stupid.”
The bitterness in your voice caught Heeseung off guard enough for him to turn fully toward you.
“What’s up?”
You tossed your magazine aside with far more force than necessary before dragging a hand down your face.
“It’s just so unfair sometimes,” you muttered. “Everyone gets to go out and do normal college things while I’m locked up in this house twenty-four seven like the apocalypse is about to happen.”
Heeseung stayed quiet, listening.
“My parents act like if I leave the house past sunset I’m immediately gonna end up dead in a ditch somewhere,” you continued, frustration spilling out faster now. “Ryujin literally sleeps over at random people’s apartments. Sunoo went to Batanes, that… northernmost province in the Philippines or whatever, for literally three days without even telling his parents first. I don’t even know how the hell he got the money for that! Ugh, everyone gets to just… live normally.”
You stood up from your bed abruptly and walked toward your desk, arms crossing tightly over your chest as you stared at the stupid Facebook post still glowing on your screen.
“And meanwhile I have to lie just to breathe.”
For a moment, the room went quiet except for the rain outside.
Then you felt his hands.
Heeseung reached for your waist gently, pulling you backward until you stumbled between his legs with a surprised laugh leaving your mouth.
“Hee—”
Before you could complain, he tugged you fully down onto his lap.
Instinctively, you settled there comfortably, your arms looping loosely around his shoulders while his hands stayed warm against your waist.
“Shhh,” he murmured softly, pressing his cheek against your stomach for a second. “It’s okay.”
You sighed dramatically despite melting into him immediately.
“It’s not okay.”
“It will be.”
He tilted his head back to look at you properly then, expression calmer than yours always seemed to be.
“You’ll get to experience all that stuff someday,” he said quietly. “The parties, trips, dumb late-night drives, all of it.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“You will. I’m so sure of it.”
The certainty in his voice made your chest ache a little.
He rubbed slow circles into your waist with his thumbs.
“And when you do,” he added with a small grin, “I’ll probably be there annoying you through all of it.”
That finally pulled a reluctant smile out of you.
“You’re already annoying.”
“Mhm,” he hummed. “But you like me anyway, no?”
The chair creaks beneath you, knees pressing into the cushion on either side of his thighs. Your hands rest on his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft cotton of the basketball jersey. Heeseung’s hands settle at your waist, his fingers moving in slow, careful circles as if he’s still learning the shape of where it’s safe to hold you.
He looks up at you, and the lamplight carves shadows along the sharp line of his jaw. His lips part, then close.
A beat passes.
Then another.
You feel the heat creeping up your neck, the weight of his gaze making your skin prickle. So you pout, just a little, just to break the tension, a soft downturn of your lips that's half real, half teasing.
His eyes catch it immediately. A slow grin spreads across his face, lazy and warm.
"You're cute when you get pouty," he murmurs, thumbs stroking the bare skin just above the waistband of your lounge shorts.
Your eyes narrow, but there's no bite in it. "The window is right there if you wanna leave."
He laughs, low and short, and his hands tighten on your hips. "Not a chance, gorgeous."
You roll your eyes, but the smile gives you away. Your fingers slide from his shoulders into the hair at the nape of his neck, soft strands slipping between your knuckles. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering half-shut for a second.
"You're so warm," you say, quieter now.
"So are you." His voice dips, rougher. "I feel like I'm burning up over here."
The air between you both immediately thickens.
His hands move — one sliding up your spine, the other settling on your thigh, thumb tracing absent circles on the inside. The fabric of his joggers is soft against your bare skin, and you can feel the heat radiating off him through the thin layers.
You lean in first.
Your lips brush his gently at first, testing. His breath hitches, and then he's kissing you back, soft and slow, his mouth molding against yours like he's got all the time in the world. One hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your face just right.
The kiss deepens gradually. His tongue traces your bottom lip, asking, and you part for him. The taste of him floods your senses, warm, faintly sweet from the soda he had earlier, utterly addictive. A small sound escapes your throat, swallowed by his mouth.
His hand slides down your back, palm pressing flat against the dip of your spine, pulling you closer. The chair shifts as he adjusts, and you feel it — the growing hardness beneath his joggers, pressing against your inner thigh.
He breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, "Fuck, you taste good."
"Shut up," you whisper, but there's no heat in it. You pull him back in.
This time, the kiss turns messier. Teeth graze your lower lip, tugging, and his groan vibrates against your mouth. Your hips shift forward instinctively, grinding down against him, and the friction sends a jolt straight through you.
Heeseung's breath stutters. His hands grip your hips, steadying you, guiding you into a slow roll that makes the chair squeak in protest beneath you both.
"Yeah," he breathes, lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat. "Just like that, baby."
Your nails dig into his shoulders through the jersey. His mouth finds the hollow of your collarbone, sucking lightly, and your head falls back with a soft moan. His tongue soothes the spot, then he's kissing his way back up to your lips.
"You're shaking," he says against your mouth, half a question, half a statement.
"Mmm." You're not sure if it's from want or nerves or both. "Shut up and kiss me."
He laughs, breath warm and distracting. "Bossy."
But he does. His lips capture yours again, hungrier now, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your head spin. His hand leaves your hip to palm your breast through the lace of your camisole. The fabric is thin enough that you feel every ridge of his fingers, every press of his thumb as he finds your nipple and rolls it gently.
You gasp into his mouth. He smiles against your lips.
"Like that, baby?"
"Don't—" You cut yourself off with a shaky breath. "Don't be smug."
"Never." His thumb keeps circling, and his other hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you harder against him. The pressure of his cock against your core is maddening through the layers of fabric.
You rock your hips again, a little more desperate this time, and the chair groans loudly beneath you. Heeseung's head falls back, eyes squeezing shut, a low groan rumbling from his chest.
"Fuck," he pants. "You're gonna make me lose my mind."
"What’s holding you back then? Let me."
Your hand slides down his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your palm. His abs tense under your touch, and he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes as you trail your fingers lower, over the waistband of his joggers, stopping just short of where he's straining against the fabric.
"Please," he whispers, voice cracking.
"Please what?"
He swallows hard. "Please keep touching me. Don't—shit, don’t stop."
You lean in, lips brushing his ear. "Don’t sweat it."
Then you kiss him again — deep, consuming, all tongue and teeth and desperate little sounds. His hips buck up against you, instinct taking over, and you grind back down, matching his rhythm. The chair rocks with you, a steady creak-creak-creak that fills the room along with your mingled breaths.
His hand slides under your camisole, palm flat against your stomach, then higher until he's cupping your bare breast. His thumb flicks across your nipple, and you moan into his mouth.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. Your lips are swollen, your hair a mess, your eyes dark and hazy. He brushes a strand behind your ear, gaze soft. "So fucking beautiful."
"Kiss me again," you demand, breathless.
He does. He kisses you until your lungs burn, until the world narrows down to the press of his body against yours, the heat of his palm on your skin, the way his hips roll up to meet yours with increasing urgency.
His mouth trails down your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse point, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin there. Your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close.
"Baby," he gasps against your collarbone. "I need—I need more."
"I know." Your voice is ragged. "I know."
He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours, pupils blown so wide they're almost black. His lips are red and wet, his breathing uneven. He looks ruined already, and you've barely started.
His thumb traces your hip bone through the fabric of your shorts. "Can I—"
"Yes."
The word tumbles out before he even finishes. You don't need to hear the rest. You want this. You want him.
His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging gently, asking again with his eyes. You nod, and he takes a shaky breath before sliding his hand lower, palm pressing against the heat of you through your underwear.
Your breath hitches. His eyes lock on yours, watching every flicker of expression.
"Okay?" he whispers.
"Okay."
He kisses you again, softer this time, while his fingers begin to explore, tracing the outline of you through the damp fabric. Your hips twitch against his hand, chasing the pressure.
The chair creaks. Your heart pounds. His thumb circles slowly, deliberately, and you break the kiss to bury your face in his shoulder, moaning against the fabric of his jersey.
"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you, baby."
His middle finger drags through the slick fabric of your underwear, from your entrance up to your clit, pressing just enough to make your hips jump. You feel the heat of your own arousal soaking through the cotton, and from the way his breath catches, he feels it too.
"Fuck," he breathes, pulling back to look at you. His eyes are dark, hungry. "You're wetter than I was earlier, and I was standing in the rain without an umbrella or anything."
Your face goes scorching. The crimson climbs up your neck, floods your cheeks, burns the tips of your ears. You can't even look at him. You press your face back into his shoulder, mortified, and your hand flies down to swat his away from between your legs.
"Hey—" he starts, but you’re already guiding one of his hands where you want it, slipping it under your camisole so it rests against your skin.
"Up here," you mumble against his jersey. "Focus on this."
He laughs, low and warm, but his fingers curl slightly as he keeps his hand under your camisole, steady against your skin. "Yeah? This is what you want?"
You nod, face still hidden.
He squeezes gently, thumbs finding your nipples, and a shaky breath escapes you. "Okay, baby. I got you. Whatever you need."
He massages you, slow and deliberate, both hands kneading your breasts while his thumbs circle your nipples until they're pebbled and aching. Your hips start moving again on their own, rolling against his joggers, seeking friction. The length of his cock presses against your core through the layers, and the feeling of it, thick and hard, straining against the soft cotton, makes your mouth go dry.
"I want you so bad," you whisper, the words spilling out before you can stop them. Your hips grind down slowly, deliberately, feeling him twitch beneath you. "You feel so, so good. So fucking big."
You bite your lip, and a soft moan spills from your throat, high and breathy.
His eyes darken. His hands tighten on your breasts, and he pulls you into another kiss, rough and demanding, all tongue and teeth and desperation. His hips buck up to meet yours, and the chair groans beneath the weight of both of you moving together.
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. "Bed. Now."
Before you can respond, he stands, lifting you with him. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he carries you across the room, still kissing you, mouths slotting together in between ragged breaths. He pauses at the door, reaches back without looking, and twists the lock. The click echoes in the quiet room.
Then he carries you past the window nook, and you feel him pause again. He pulls back just enough to glance at the curtain, thin, pale, letting in the faint glow of the streetlight outside. He reaches over and yanks it closed, the rings scraping along the rod until the fabric is fully drawn, sealing the two of you in.
He lays you down on the bed, and the mattress dips beneath your weight. He follows you down, hovering over you, but then he sits back on his heels, hands finding the hem of your camisole.
"Can I?"
You nod, breathless.
He pulls it up and over your head, and the cool air hits your bare skin. Your breasts are fully exposed now, and his eyes go wide, his breath stuttering out of him.
"Holy shit," he says, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drags over you, slow and reverent. "Your breasts are so big. Tiny ass waist..." He trails a finger down your sternum, between your breasts, over your stomach. "This is what you've been hiding from me?"
Your cheeks burn, but there's a thrill in his awe that makes you feel powerful. "Maybe, we’ll never know."
He shakes his head, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "Unreal."
His hands find your shorts next, hooking into the waistband and pulling them down your legs. Your underwear goes with them, and then you're bare beneath him, completely naked, and the vulnerability of it hits you all at once.
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "You smell so good," he murmurs against your mouth. "Everything shower?"
A surprised laugh bubbles out of you. "Yeah, actually."
He grins. "Knew it. You always smell like vanilla and something sweet. Drives me insane."
His hand slides down your body, fingers trailing over your stomach, through the coarse hair between your legs, until he reaches your slick folds. His middle finger glides through the wetness, gathering it, and you shiver at the touch.
"Look at you," he says softly, watching his own finger move. "So fucking wet for me. Is this all for me, baby?"
You can barely nod. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.
His finger circles your clit, featherlight, and your hips jerk. "That's it. Just relax. Let me take care of you."
He slides one finger inside you, slow, and the stretch makes your eyes flutter shut. He's barely in, just the tip, and already it feels like so much. He watches your face carefully, reading every micro-expression.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," you breathe. "Keep going."
He pushes deeper, inch by inch, until his finger is fully sheathed inside you. The feeling is strange and full and good, and you clench around him instinctively.
"There you go," he murmurs. "Feel that? That's me inside you. Just one finger. Gotta get you ready for more, yeah?"
You whimper, and he starts to move, sliding in and out at a torturously slow pace. His thumb finds your clit, pressing tight circles, and the dual sensation makes your back arch off the mattress.
"That's it. That's my good girl. Taking me so well."
A moan builds in your chest, rising, and when it spills from your lips it's too loud — a sharp, breathy cry that cuts through the quiet room.
Heeseung's hand claps over your mouth instantly, but his smile is wicked. "Shh," he whispers, leaning close, lips brushing your ear. "We don't want Mr. and Mrs. L/N to hear their lovely daughter get fucked right now, do we?"
Your eyes go wide, and the heat floods your face again.
"Don't you?" he repeats, voice dropping lower. "Want me to stop?"
You shake your head frantically against his palm.
"Good girl," he says, and removes his hand.
He slides a second finger inside you, and the stretch is sharper this time, making you gasp. He pumps them slowly, curling them up, searching. When he finds that rough patch of nerves inside you, your whole body jolts.
"There it is," he breathes. "Right there, huh?"
He presses against it with every stroke, and your hands fly to the sheets, gripping them tight. His mouth descends on your breast, lips closing around your nipple, tongue flicking across the sensitive peak. He sucks gently, then harder, and the combination of his fingers inside you and his mouth on your chest has your mind going blank.
"So pretty," he murmurs against your skin, switching to the other breast, giving it the same attention. "Look at you. Taking my fingers so well. Think you can take my cock?"
You're not sure, but you want to try. "Yes," you manage. "Yes, I want it."
He kisses his way back up to your mouth, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to what his fingers are doing between your legs. "You're doing so good, baby. Tell me if it's too much."
"More," you whisper. "Please."
He withdraws his fingers, and you feel suddenly empty. He sits up, pulling his jersey over his head in one fluid motion, and your eyes travel over his bare chest. His shoulders are broad, his stomach toned, a light sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the dim light. You reach out, fingertips tracing the line of his collarbone, down his sternum.
He catches your hand, kisses your palm. "You can touch me all you want later. Promise."
He stands just long enough to push his joggers down, then his boxers, and his cock springs free — already hard, already dripping at the tip. Your breath catches. It's bigger than you expected. Thick. The sight of it makes your stomach flip with a mix of anticipation and nerves.
He wraps his hand around himself, stroking slowly. Three times. Once. Twice. Three. His eyes never leave yours.
"Enjoying the view, pretty?"
You can't form words. You just nod.
He climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself by your head. His cock is right there, inches from your face, and you can smell the clean scent of his skin, taste the salt in the air.
"Open up," he says softly. "Let me feel that pretty mouth."
You part your lips, and he guides himself inside. The weight of him on your tongue is heavy, unfamiliar, and you take him as best you can. His hand cradles the back of your head, not pushing, just holding.
"That's it. Nice and slow. Just the tip."
He moves gently, sliding in and out of your mouth at a pace that lets you adjust. His other hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that slips from the corner of your eye.
"Doing so good for me, baby. Taking me so deep."
You gag slightly, and he stills immediately, giving you time to breathe.
"Okay?"
You hum around him, and he groans at the vibration.
"Fuck, that's good."
He keeps going, slow and deliberate, fucking your face with a tenderness that doesn't match the filth of the act. When he pulls out, a string of saliva connects his tip to your lips.
He kisses the corner of your mouth. "So perfect."
Then he moves down, settling between your legs. His fingers find your slick entrance again, sliding inside with ease. He pumps them slowly, watching your face, and you're already so sensitive from everything that every stroke makes you gasp.
"Look at you. So ready for me. But I want to hear you ask."
"Please," you whimper.
"Please what?"
"Please put it inside. Please, Hee."
His eyes darken. "Good girl."
He reaches over to where his wallet sits on the nightstand, pulls out a foil packet, tears it open with his teeth. You watch him roll the condom down his length, his hands steady, his gaze locked on yours.
He positions himself at your entrance. The head of his cock presses against you, and you feel the heat of him, the pressure, the promise.
"Ready?"
You nod, throat tight.
"Tell me if it hurts. We'll stop. I mean it."
"I know. I want this."
He pushes in.
The first inch is a stretch unlike anything you've ever felt. Your eyes roll back, and you fumble for the pillow, pressing it over your face to muffle the sound that tears from your throat.
He pulls the pillow away, gently but firmly. "No. I want to see you. I want to watch your face when I fill you up."
His hand covers your mouth instead, palm warm against your lips, and you're grateful for it as he pushes deeper. The stretch builds, a burning pressure that makes your eyes water, and then he's fully inside you, seated to the hilt.
He stills. Gives you time.
"Fuck," he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. "You feel... you're so tight. So fucking tight around me."
Your walls flutter around him, adjusting to the intrusion. He stays perfectly still, letting you feel him, letting your body learn the shape of him.
"Okay?" he whispers.
"Okay," you manage, voice muffled by his hand.
He pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. The drag of him inside you sends sparks through your entire body. He sets a rhythm, deep, slow, deliberate, and his hand stays over your mouth, his other hand gripping your ass, kneading the flesh.
"You're taking me so well," he murmurs against your ear. "First time for both of us, baby, yeah? Still feels like I’ve known your body forever.”
You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he kisses them away.
"My good girl. My perfect fucking girl. Do you feel that? That's me inside you. I'm the only one who gets to have you like this."
His pace quickens slightly, and the sound of him moving inside you, wet and rhythmic, fills the room. He reaches up and massages your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.
"Look at your tits bounce while I fuck you. Fucking perfect."
The pressure builds in your belly, coiling tight. He feels it too, feels your walls clench around him.
"That's it. You gonna come for me? Gonna come on my cock?"
"I—Hee, baby—"
"Come for me, gorgeous. Let me feel you."
His hand moves from your mouth to wrap around your throat, not squeezing just enough to send a thrill through you, and he fucks you faster, deeper, chasing his own release.
"I'm close," he gasps. "Fuck, I'm so close."
"Inside," you plead. "Come inside."
He groans, his hips slamming into yours, and you feel him pulse inside you, feel the condom swell as he spills into it. The feeling of him coming, the way his body shakes, the way he moans your name — it pushes you over the edge.
"I'm coming," you gasp. "Baby, I'm coming—"
He fucks you through it, his pace never slowing, and the overstimulation makes you cry out. He dips his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth, and the sensation doubles, triples, splintering through you like lightning.
Your orgasm wrings you out, clenching around him, and he keeps thrusting, slow now, riding it out with you.
When it subsides, he pulls out gently, and you feel empty again. He peels the condom off, and you watch as he strokes himself once, twice, spilling the remaining drops of his release onto your lips, your breasts.
"Open," he says softly, and you part your lips. He smears the last of it across your bottom lip, then leans down and kisses you, tasting himself on your mouth.
Then he disappears between your legs.
His mouth descends on your sensitive core, tongue flat against your folds, lapping up the mess of your release and his. You squeak at the intensity, thighs clamping around his head, but he grips your hips and holds you open.
"None of that. Let me taste you."
His tongue circles your clit, flicks across it, and your hips buck off the mattress. He eats you out like he's starving, tongue plunging inside you, then dragging back up to your clit.
"You taste so wet. Could drink you all night."
It's too much. It's not enough. Your hands find his hair, gripping, pulling, and he groans against you, the vibration sending you spiraling.
The second orgasm hits you before you're ready, sharp and sudden, and you cry out his name as you come undone on his tongue.
He laps it all up, gentle now, letting you come down. When he finally surfaces, his chin is wet, his lips are red, and he's grinning.
He crawls up beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together.
"Hey," he murmurs. "Look at me."
You turn your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes are soft now, the heat faded, replaced with something tender.
“How are you feeling?” he asks softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.
You blink up at him from where you are, he pulls the blanket over both of you carefully afterward, tucking you against his chest while warmth slowly settles beneath the covers.
“Good,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse. “Really good.”
His expression eases immediately, thumb stroking gently across your waist.
“Any pain?”
“A little sore,” you admit quietly. “But it’s okay.”
He leans down to press a slow kiss against your forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.
“You did so well for me, baby,” he murmurs. “I know this was your first time.”
Your chest tightens a little at the tenderness in his voice.
“And it was yours too,” you whisper back.
A small smile spreads across his face.
“Yep,” he says softly. “Guess we trusted each other that much.”
You feel your eyes sting unexpectedly, emotion settling warm and heavy in your chest. Just something overwhelming and soft and impossibly intimate.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you mumble.
“Always.”
The answer comes instantly.
He pulls the blanket higher around your body afterward, making sure you’re fully covered before settling back against the headboard with you tucked securely against him. One of his hands slips into your hair, fingers combing through it slowly, while the other rests warm against your hip beneath the blanket.
Outside, rain still tapped quietly against the windows.
Inside, everything felt still.
Safe.
He presses another kiss to the top of your head before mumbling softly against your hair—
“Get some rest, pretty. I’m not going anywhere.”
⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
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💿 ࿐ . . dirty little secret by the all-american rejects
✷ 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 !
Heyyy~ I really love your stories, and i have a request here... How about Jay and reader (married) fucking in Jay's parents' house (let's say they came over for a few days to enjoy the holidays with Jay's parents) after Jay's mom casually asked when they're going to have kids at dinner?? Hope it's not too weird 😭 (I'll be glad if u could incorporate filthy talking and spanking alongwith breeding kink) THANK YOUUU! 🩷
this one is very filthy. i enjoyed it. a lot.
warnings: established relationship, rough sex, fingering, clit play, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t.), creampie, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, teasing, begging, light degradation mixed with praise, lots of dirty talk, use of petnames.
you sit at the long wooden dinner table in jay’s parents’ house, the warm scent of roasted turkey, cinnamon, and pine from the oversized christmas tree filling the air.
the holiday lights twinkle softly along the walls, and jay’s mom keeps refilling everyone’s wine glasses with that gentle, with that knowing smile she always wears. halfway through dessert, she looks straight at the two of you and says it so casually it almost sounds innocent.
“so… when are you two going to give us some grandkids? you’ve been married for a while now. the house feels too quiet without little feet running around.”
the table falls into soft laughter, jay’s dad nodding in agreement. you nearly choke on your sip of wine, heat rushing to your cheeks. jay’s hand finds your thigh under the tablecloth, fingers digging in possessively.
you glance at him and see it — that shift in his sharp jaw, the way his eyes darken instantly, a hungry shadow crossing his face even as he chuckles politely and deflects with something smooth about timing and careers.
but you know your husband better than that.
his grip on your thigh tightens, thumb stroking dangerously close to where your dress rides up. the rest of dinner drags on in a haze of small talk and laughter, every passing minute making the ache between your legs worse. by the time you help clear the table, you’re already wet, thighs pressing together as you move.
the second the bedroom door clicks shut upstairs in the guest room, jay is on you like a man starved.
he spins you around and pins you against the wall, mouth claiming yours in a deep, filthy kiss. his tongue slides against yours as one hand fists in your hair and the other yanks your dress up to your waist.
“you heard my mom,” he growls low against your lips, voice rough and dark. “she wants grandkids. and all i could think about during dinner was bending you over and pumping this tight little pussy full of my cum until you’re carrying my baby.”
you moan into his mouth, arousal flooding through you. jay doesn’t waste time. he turns you around fast, bending you over the edge of the bed so your ass is up and your chest presses into the soft mattress. his palm cracks down hard on your right cheek without warning. the loud smack echoes in the quiet room.
“fuck— jay—”
“shhh, baby. you gotta be quiet,” he warns, but his voice drips with amusement as he spanks the left cheek even harder. “unless you want them to hear how desperate my wife is to get bred in my childhood bedroom.”
he keeps going, alternating firm spanks that make your skin burn and your pussy clench. each slap sends jolts of heat straight to your core. you push back against him, whimpering, and he chuckles darkly before sliding two thick fingers along your soaked folds.
“so fucking wet already. you like the idea that much? getting knocked up while my parents sleep down the hall?” he pushes two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. “my dirty little wife wants me to fill her up tonight, doesn’t she?”
“yes,” you gasp, rocking back onto his fingers. “please, jay… i need it.”
he pulls his fingers out, and you hear the sound of his belt and zipper. a second later, the thick, heavy head of his cock rubs up and down your dripping slit, teasing your clit until you’re shaking.
“beg for it properly,” he demands, landing another sharp spank on your already tender ass.
“please breed me,” you moan, voice trembling. “fill me up. knock me up, jay. i want your baby so bad.”
he groans at your words and pushes in with one long, relentless thrust, stretching you open around his thick cock. the feeling of him burying himself into you makes you both moan. he stays there for a moment, grinding deep, letting you feel every inch.
“that’s my good girl. taking every inch like you were made for it.” he starts fucking you in slow, powerful strokes, one hand fisted in your hair while the other keeps spanking you between thrusts. “gonna fuck you so deep tonight. gonna pump load after load into this perfect cunt until it's dripping. you’re gonna sleep with my cum leaking out of you.”
his pace picks up, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with your muffled moans. he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, lips brushing your ear.
“imagine tomorrow morning at breakfast. my mom asking again and you sitting there with my baby inside you already. pussy still full of my cum from all night.” he spanks you harder, then reaches around to rub tight, fast circles on your clit. “tell me how bad you want it.”
“i want it so much,” you cry out, trying to keep your voice down. “want you to cum so deep. want you to breed me, jay. make me pregnant. please—”
he growls and fucks you faster, the bed creaking under the force. you cum hard first, clenching around his cock, your vision blurring as pleasure crashes through you. jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, broken moan.
“fuck— take it, baby. take every drop.” you feel him pulse inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, so much it starts leaking out around where he’s still buried.
but he doesn’t pull out. he stays deep, grinding lazily, pushing his load further inside you.
“i'm not even close to done,” he pants, kissing the back of your neck. he finally pulls out slowly, watching his cum drip down your thighs with a satisfied groan. “on your back. now.”
you obey on shaky legs. jay spreads your thighs wide and climbs between them, sliding back inside your cum-filled pussy in one smooth thrust. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half as he starts fucking you again, deeper in this position.
“look at me while i breed you,” he commands, eyes locked on yours. every thrust is deliberate and punishing. “you’re gonna take all my cum tonight. gonna keep this little womb stuffed until it catches.”
he spanks the side of your ass again even in this position, the sting making you clench tighter around him. his filthy words never stop — telling you how full he’s going to keep you, how pretty you’ll look pregnant with his child, how he’s going to fuck you every night until the test comes back positive.
you cum again, harder this time, and jay keeps going, chasing a second load. when he fills you up the second time, he stays buried deep, kissing you slow and possessive while his cock twitches inside you.
later, he flips you onto your stomach, pulls your hips up, and takes you from behind again. more spanking, more dirty promises whispered against your skin. he makes you ride him after that, hands gripping your ass hard as he guides you up and down, telling you to “milk his cock like the dirty wife you are.”
by the time you’re both exhausted, the sheets are messy, your ass is red and stinging, and you’ve lost count of how many times he came inside you. jay pulls you into his chest, one hand gently rubbing soothing circles over your tender skin while the other rests possessively on your lower belly.
“good girl,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “if you’re not pregnant after tonight… we’re doing this again tomorrow night. and the night after that.”
you smile against his chest, still feeling his cum slowly leaking out of you, and whisper back that you’re counting on it. the house is quiet around you, but your body is deliciously sore and full — exactly the way jay wanted.
hello 😘 I love the way you write reader being a menace lolol can you write a little something where jay’s wife is preggers (barely showing) but she’s raging horny all the damn time, basically volunteers to be his cocksleeve 24/7. her boobs are getting bigger and she throws them in his face, attacks him the second he comes home, steps out the shower, paws at him in his sleep, sends him suggestive photos throughout the day, etc other hijinks to seduce him. he’s a simp devoted husband and tries to satisfy her cravings.
i just turned into a feral beast thank you very much
warnings: established relationship, pregnancy sex, breeding kink, oral (f and m rec), fingering, creampie, lactation mention, light somnophilia, dirty talk, possessive!reader lmao, lots of filth idk get ready, use of petnames, strong language
you’re only twelve weeks pregnant and barely showing — just the softest curve under your shirts — but your body has turned into an absolute furnace of need.
the doctor warned you about hormones.
but she did not warn you that you would wake up every single day throbbing and dripping, ready to climb your husband like a tree the second he breathed in your direction.
jay, bless his devoted soul, is doing his absolute best to keep up.
it starts at 7:12 a.m.
you wake up before him, already soaked and aching. jay is sleeping on his back, one arm thrown over his head, gray sweatpants sitting low on his hips. you crawl over him slowly, careful with your barely-there belly, and settle on his lap. your oversized sleep shirt is already pulled up, bare tits — noticeably bigger and heavier now — brushing against his chest.
you start grinding slowly, letting your wet pussy drag along the growing bulge in his pants.
jay stirs with a low groan, eyes fluttering open. “babe—”
“morning,” you whisper, voice already wrecked. you lean down and shove your tits right into his face, smothering him softly. “they’re getting so big, jongseong. feel them.”
his hands come up instantly, cupping your swollen breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples. he groans into your cleavage and latches onto one, sucking gently. your hips roll faster, desperate.
“can’t wait,” you pant. “need you inside me— please—”
he doesn’t even get his sweatpants all the way off. you just push them down enough to free his thick cock, line him up, and sink down in one smooth glide. the stretch is perfect. you both moan loud enough that you’re grateful your house is big and secluded.
“fuck— you're so wet,” jay hisses, head falling back against the pillow. his hands grip your hips, guiding you as you ride him hard and fast. “my pregnant wife woke up this needy again? gonna use me as your personal cocksleeve this morning?”
“yes,” you moan, bouncing on him shamelessly. your tits jiggle with every movement and he can’t stop staring. “your cock is mine. 24/7. i'm gonna keep you drained dry every single day.”
he sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around you and thrusting up hard. the new angle makes you cry out. he kisses you filthy, tongues sliding, while one hand kneads your ass.
“good girl. take what you need. i’m yours.”
you cum fast and hard, clenching around him. jay follows right after, pumping you full with a deep groan. he keeps you seated on his cock afterward, rubbing your belly gently while kissing your neck.
“better?” he murmurs.
“for now,” you smile sweetly.
by the time he gets home from the studio that evening, you’ve already sent him six photos.
the first was just your tits in his favorite lace bra. the second was you in his shirt with nothing underneath, lifting it to show your tiny bump. the third was a close-up of your soaked pussy with the caption “come fill me up daddy.”
he barely makes it through the front door before you attack him.
the second the lock clicks, you’re on him — jumping into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist, mouth on his neck. jay stumbles back against the door with a surprised laugh that quickly turns into a groan.
“hi husband,” you purr, sucking a mark under his jaw. “missed your cock all day.”
“fuck, baby— let me at least take my shoes off—”
“no.” you reach down and palm him through his pants. he’s already rock hard. “bedroom. now. or the couch. or the kitchen counter. i don’t care.”
he carries you straight to the living room, lays you on the big sectional, and drops to his knees. he eats you out like a starving man — two fingers curling deep while his tongue works your clit. you cum twice before he even pulls his cock out.
when he finally fucks you, it’s deep and possessive, one hand protectively over your little bump the entire time.
“look at you,” he groans, thrusting slow and hard. “so horny for me even when you’re carrying my baby. my perfect cocksleeve.”
you claw at his back and beg for more.
the shower hijack happens two days later.
jay steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, hair dripping. you’re waiting on the bed in nothing but one of his button-ups, half open, tits spilling out.
the second he walks close enough you grab the towel and yank it off. his cock springs free, already half-hard just from looking at you.
“again?” he laughs, but his eyes are dark. “we did it three times this morning, baby.”
“and i need you again.” you push him onto the bed and crawl over him, dangling your heavy breasts in his face. he groans and catches one nipple in his mouth, sucking harder than usual. a tiny bead of milk leaks out and his eyes roll back.
“fuck— that’s so hot.”
you sink down on him again, riding him reverse cowgirl so he has the perfect view of your ass and your tiny pregnant belly. every bounce makes your tits slap together. jay spanks you lightly, gripping your hips, helping you move faster.
“gonna keep you like this forever,” he pants. “pregnant and horny and dripping for me every hour.”
“yes—” you moan, grinding down deep. “fill me up again, jay. want your cum leaking out of me all day.”
he does exactly that, pulling you down hard as he empties inside you with a long, broken moan.
the late-night pawing happens at 2:37 a.m. a few nights later.
you wake up aching again, pussy throbbing, nipples tight. jay is sleeping peacefully on his stomach. you slide under the covers, gently spread his legs, and start sucking him soft.
he wakes up halfway hard, groaning your name sleepily.
“baby— you’re insatiable.”
you just hum around his cock and take him deeper. when he’s fully hard you climb on top and ride him slow and lazy, using his body while he’s still half-asleep. his hands eventually find your hips, guiding you, thumbs stroking your bump.
“my good girl,” he whispers hoarsely. “using her husband whenever she needs. cum on me, princess.”
you do — twice — before he flips you gently onto your side and fucks you from behind, one arm wrapped around you protectively, hand cradling your belly as he fills you again.
by the end of the week jay is exhausted but stupidly in love.
he comes home one night to find you in the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron, tits fully out, bump proudly on display. you’re “making dinner” but mostly just waiting for him.
he doesn’t even speak. just walks over, bends you over the counter, and fucks you right there among the half-chopped vegetables.
“you win,” he groans, pounding into you. “i’m your cocksleeve now too. use me whenever, however. i’ll quit the group if i have to. just keep draining me every day.”
you laugh breathlessly and push back on him. “good. because this baby bump is only gonna get bigger — and my hormones are only getting worse.”
jay kisses your neck, hand rubbing your belly tenderly even as he rails you harder.
“good,” he whispers against your skin. “i love you like this. horny, pregnant, and completely obsessed with my cock. my perfect wife.”
you cum with his name on your lips, already thinking about waking him up with your tits in his face again tomorrow morning.
and jay — sweet, devoted, pussy-whipped jay — will happily let you. every single time.
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
⌗ in which . . . a cozy evening together with your clingy, affectionate fiancé park jongseong turns into another one of his teasing interruptions, quietly ruining the sweetness of an otherwise domestic moment between you two
流星 ໑ . . fiance!jay ⋆ fem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), established relationship, dom!reader ⋆ sub!jay, oral sex (m. receiving), cockwarming, grinding, riding, unprotected sex (don't), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, heavy praise, creampie, blowjob, cum swallowing, dirty talk, teasing ➜ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this reflects reality | wc: 5.7k
♪ el’s bubble: love love mi a jay fic (this has been in my drafts for a few days & i believe she's ready for the wilderness) !!! lowk because that tiktok trend has been terrorizing my whole ass fyp but i just got back home after a crazy ass side quest so #YOLO . . requested, thank you so muchi (❁´◡`❁) enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are open if you want to see me write something specific ۫
now playing . . . nothing by cigarettes after sex
If there was one thing you wouldn’t have ever expected to do, that would have been dating and eventually getting engaged to someone who was younger than you.
The difference, if you could even call it that, was only about a year.
It was funny, really, because ever since you were a kid, you had always imagined yourself ending up with someone older. Someone who would naturally take the lead, someone steady and mature and a little ahead of you in life. Even in high school, whenever your friends asked about your type, your answer was always the same. Older guys. Maybe someone in the same year if you really liked them, but never younger.
Then you met Jay in your university’s music club and suddenly none of that mattered anymore.
At first, it was purely superficial. You noticed him because he was ridiculously attractive. The kind of attractiveness that made people glance twice without even realizing they were doing it. Pretty in an unfair way. Sharp eyes, nice hands, effortless smile, sharp jawline, and that annoying habit of looking good no matter what he wore, whether it was an oversized hoodie during practice or a plain black polo during performances.
You remembered seeing him for the first time during club orientation, sitting lazily in the corner with a guitar resting against his thigh while someone else talked. He wasn’t even doing anything special. He just looked up for a second when somebody called his name, and you thought, oh, he’s handsome.
Then someone mentioned he was younger than you.
Immediately, your brain filed him away into the category of off-limits. Attractive, yes, but he’s younger, and younger boys weren’t your type.
Still, Jay had this way of slipping past your expectations without permission.
Maybe it was because he never acted younger around you. He carried himself with this quiet confidence that made it easy to forget the age gap entirely. Another possibility was the way he listened when you talked, genuinely listened, eyes fixed on you like he cared about every word coming out of your mouth.
If the two of you were standing side by side, most people assumed he was older.
You looked softer compared to him somehow. Friendlier. Easier to approach. Meanwhile, Jay had this composed aura about him that made him seem older than he actually was, especially when he stayed quiet. People always reacted the same way after finding out your ages.
“Wait, he’s younger than you?”
Every single time.
Every single time, Jay looked way too pleased hearing it too.
The more practices you attended together, the more your carefully built preferences started crumbling apart.
You found yourself looking for him first whenever you entered the club room. Saving the seat beside you without thinking. Waiting for his texts longer than you should have.
The worst part was realizing that despite being younger, Jay somehow made you feel more taken care of than anyone older ever had.
Which was ironic, considering you had spent most of your life being the one taking care of other people.
Being the eldest daughter in your family came with responsibilities whether you liked it or not. You grew up reminding your siblings to eat breakfast before school, checking if they brought umbrellas when it rained, nagging them to sleep earlier, helping with assignments that weren’t even yours. Half your personality had probably been built around making sure everyone around you was okay.
It was exhausting sometimes.
It also became second nature eventually.
Jay, for some reason, seemed to love that part of you.
Not because he was immature or incapable of taking care of himself. If anything, Jay was annoyingly competent on his own. He cooked better than you sometimes, carried heavier equipment during performances without complaining, remembered deadlines before anyone else did.
Still, he softened under your care in a way that made your chest ache.
He liked when you reminded him to eat after long rehearsals. Liked when you fixed his hair absentmindedly before performances. Liked when you scolded him for staying up too late working on arrangements.
Sometimes he would deliberately rest his head on your shoulder after practice and sigh dramatically just to hear you fuss over him.
“You’re tired?” you’d ask immediately.
He’d smile without opening his eyes. “A little.”
It was embarrassing how fast you folded every single time.
Your friends noticed it before you did. The way Jay gravitated toward you naturally, like he had already decided you were someone safe to lean on. The way he accepted your care without ego getting in the way.
Most men hated being fussed over too much. Their pride got bruised easily.
Jay, meanwhile, looked at you like being cared for was one of his favorite things in the world.
Maybe that was what ruined you completely.
For the first time, taking care of someone didn’t feel like responsibility. It felt wanted. Desired, even.
Every little thing you did for him mattered.
A few years passed quicker than you expected them to.
University ended, the music club slowly faded into memory, and somehow, through all of it, Jay stayed.
Now the two of you were engaged, living together in a condominium unit that finally started feeling like home instead of just a place to sleep in. His shoes stayed abandoned near the doorway no matter how many times you told him to fix them properly, his guitar picks appeared in random places around the apartment, and half of your closet had quietly become his.
Jay came from money. That much was obvious early on. Nice family, expensive upbringing, connections everywhere. People usually assumed life had been easy for him because of it.
What they didn’t see was how ridiculously hardworking he was.
Even back in university, Jay had never been lazy. He was the type to stay up until three in the morning finishing projects perfectly instead of settling for “good enough.” Now it was late meetings, endless calls, hours spent working on his laptop at the dining table until his shoulders started hurting.
Money gave him comfort, sure, but it never made him complacent.
If anything, Jay worked harder than most people you knew.
Ironically, the same man everyone found intimidating at first glance turned out to be the clingiest person alive behind closed doors.
You could literally be folding laundry on the couch only for him to walk over silently and drop his full weight onto you without warning.
You used to think dating someone younger meant you would always have to act more mature, more composed, more responsible.
Instead, you ended up with a fiancé who looked intimidating enough to scare strangers but secretly wanted to be babied half the time.
Not that you were complaining.
Truthfully, you had grown embarrassingly fond of the way Jay always seemed to seek you out first. The way he naturally gravitated toward you after long days, arms wrapping around your waist before he even said hello properly. The way he rested his head on your shoulder whenever he got tired, quietly waiting for you to run your fingers through his hair.
Maybe being the eldest daughter your entire life wired something into you permanently.
Maybe Jay simply fit into that space too perfectly.
Either way, somewhere between university practices, late-night ramen runs, and years spent loving each other, taking care of him became the easiest thing in the world.
The kitchen smelled insanely good already.
Butter sizzling in the pan, garlic frying until golden, Cajun seasoning coating practically every surface you touched because you kept shaking it onto things without measuring properly anymore. A massive pot of seafood sat nearby waiting to be mixed in while several corn cobs cooled on a tray beside you, covered generously in butter and spices.
“This is gonna change your life,” you announced seriously while cutting another lemon in half. “I’m not even joking when I say this is literally going to be the best meal of your life.”
Jay leaned against the kitchen counter watching you with the most entertained expression on his face.
“Our life, rather,” you corrected. “I’ve perfected everything already.”
“You say that every time you cook seafood, baby.”
“Because every time, I improve it.”
A quiet laugh left him.
Jay was an exceptionally good cook himself. Annoyingly good, actually. The type who somehow made everything look easy no matter how complicated the recipe was.
Still, he always insisted your seafood tasted better.
Not even just seafood either. Practically everything you made.
Every meal turned into the same thing eventually. Jay praising every bite like you personally invented cooking.
At first you thought he was exaggerating to be nice. Then you realized he genuinely just loved being taken care of by you. Loved sitting at the counter while you cooked, stealing ingredients from the chopping board until you smacked his hand away. Loved hearing you ask if the food needed more seasoning even though both of you already knew he would inhale the entire thing regardless.
“You know,” you said while stirring the sauce carefully, “sometimes I think you just hype up my cooking because you want me to keep feeding you forever.”
“Obviously.”
You blinked at him. “Wow! At least lie a little.”
Jay only grinned before walking closer, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist from behind.
“I mean it though,” he murmured near your ear. “You taking care of me is probably my favorite thing ever.”
“That sounded strangely pathetic.”
“No, listen,” he continued shamelessly. “You don’t understand how attractive it is watching you cook for me looking like this.”
You frowned. “Looking like what?”
“Domestic.”
“That is the corniest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It’s true.” His chin rested against your shoulder. “Think I’d let another person feed me corn this good?”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “You’re ridiculous.”
Jay hummed thoughtfully behind you. “Still would marry you again over this seafood boil alone though.”
“You already proposed.”
“I’d do it twice.”
Warmth spread across your face despite yourself. Moments like this always got you embarrassingly easy. Jay being clingy, affectionate, constantly attached to your side like he physically needed your attention to survive.
Then, of course, he ruined it.
“You keep saying this’ll be the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your life,” he said casually.
“It will be! Trust me, both you and I will love it.”
Jay glanced downward meaningfully before pointing toward himself.
“Not this?”
You nearly dropped the spoon straight into the pot.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, horrified. “What the hell is actually wrong with you?”
You could already feel your composure slipping in ways you absolutely refused to acknowledge, even as you tried to focus on the pot in front of you.
“What?” he asked innocently. “Valid question, baby.”
“You act like a teenage boy around me.”
“A horny teenage boy.”
“Jay!”
His laugh filled the kitchen immediately, bright and shameless, especially after you smacked his arm with the towel beside you.
That was the problem with him sometimes.
Jay looked so composed around everyone else. Polite, mature, intimidating even. Then the second the two of you were alone, he started saying the filthiest things imaginable with a completely straight face.
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, turning back toward the stove.
“You’re so in love with me, it’s obvious.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You love taking care of me too.”
His arms tightened around your waist slightly after saying it, nose brushing against the side of your neck for barely a second. The gesture itself was innocent enough, but paired with his voice, paired with the way he lingered there, it sent heat rushing embarrassingly fast through your body.
“You know what your problem is?” you said quietly.
“Hm?”
“You get way too cocky when I’m nice to you.”
Jay only smiled against your skin. “So keep being nice to me.”
You stared at the simmering pot for another second before sighing dramatically and setting the spoon down onto the counter.
“That seafood better not burn,” you warned.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Baby?”
“You’re annoying,” you informed him while turning around fully, hands sliding up the front of his shirt. “Actually so annoying.”
Jay looked entirely too pleased watching you move closer anyway.
With one last glance at the pot, you reached over and turned the heat down to low, just enough to keep it warm, not enough to keep it cooking.
You rose onto your tiptoes.
Your fingertips found his jaw before your lips did, tracing the sharp line of it, the hard cut of bone and muscle that had made your stomach flip the very first time you saw him. Stubble grazed your skin, rough and dark, already shadowing his face even though it hadn't been more than twelve hours since he'd shaved. You followed the ridge of it from his chin up to his ear, slow and deliberate, like you were memorizing him by touch.
Jay's breath went shaky. His eyes fluttered half-closed, lips parting on a soft exhale.
"You know," you murmured, voice low, thumb brushing along his cheekbone, "maybe that seafood boil won't be the best meal I'll ever have in my life, hm?"
His pupils blew wide. That desperate, worshipful look flooded his face, the one that always made your cunt clench, the one that told you he'd follow you anywhere, do anything you asked, let you take him apart piece by piece.
"Baby," he breathed, and it came out like a prayer.
You kissed him.
Slow. Deep.
Your lips pressed against his, soft and deliberate, and he melted into you immediately, his hands finding your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like he needed something to hold onto. His mouth opened under yours, a low moan vibrating against your tongue as you slid it along his bottom lip, tasting him. He tasted like the beer he'd been sipping while you cooked. Like warmth. Like home.
Your fingers slid into his hair, gripping the dark strands, and he whimpered, actually whimpered into your mouth, high and needy, and you swallowed the sound like it was the only thing you'd ever needed.
The stove hissed behind you. Butter crackled in the pot. You ignored all of it.
You pulled back just enough to breathe. His lips were red, slick, parted. His eyes were hazy, pupils blown, chasing yours.
"Let's take this over elsewhere, shall we?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but you were already moving, grabbing his wrist, pulling him off the stool and across the kitchen tile. He stumbled after you, all 180 centimeters of him, letting himself be dragged like he weighed nothing. Like being pulled by you was exactly where he wanted to be.
Park Jongseong, who closed deals worth millions in his sleep. Who had a reputation so sharp it preceded him through every boardroom in the city. Stumbling after you with flushed cheeks and quick breath, obedient and eager.
The stove bubbled softly as you passed it. The scent of garlic and butter hung in the air.
You reached the couch and pushed.
He went down without resistance, fell back onto the cushions, looking up at you with wide, dark eyes. His chest was already rising and falling fast. His hands lay loose at his sides, palms up. Waiting. Surrendered.
"Good boy," you said softly, climbing onto his lap.
You settled over him, thighs bracketing his hips. The weight of you pressing down made his breath stutter. His hands flew to your waist immediately, not quite grabbing, just holding, thumbs stroking the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up.
You kissed him again. Slower this time. Taking your time. Teasing his mouth open with gentle pressure, licking along his bottom lip, biting down just enough to make him gasp.
"Take off your shirt," you said against his mouth.
He scrambled to obey. The fabric was gone in seconds, tossed somewhere behind the couch without a second thought. His chest was bare beneath you, warm golden skin stretched over lean muscle, his nipples already hard from the cool air. You ran your palms down his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your touch, feeling the way his stomach tensed and jumped when your fingers grazed lower.
"So pretty," you whispered. "My handsome boy. You know that, don't you?"
He shook his head. A tiny, honest gesture. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dropping away from yours.
"You should," you said, tilting his chin back up with your fingers. "Because you are. Every inch of you. I could look at you forever."
His lips trembled. His eyes went glassy.
"Baby," he whispered, voice cracking.
You traced his collarbone with your fingertips. Then his shoulders. Then back up to his jaw, cupping his face in both hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
"I love your face," you said softly. "I love your jaw. I love the way you look at me like I'm the only person in the world."
"You are," he said immediately. Desperate. Earnest. "You are, baby. You're everything. I can't—I can't think about anything else when you're in the room. I can't think about anything else ever. You're in my head all the time."
The sudden confession hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered.
You kissed him again. Softer this time. A reward.
Then you rolled your hips.
A slow, grinding press of your cunt against the hardening length of him through both your clothes. His head fell back against the couch cushion. A moan slipped out of him, broken and raw, punched from his throat.
"Fuck—"
"Yeah?" You did it again. Slower. Dragging. Feeling him thicken beneath your heat. "Feel good, baby?"
"So good. Fuck, baby, you feel so—" His voice cracked. His hands flew to your thighs, gripping tight. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Just—don't stop. Please don't stop. Feels too good, I need—I need you so bad—"
You ground down again, watching his face twist with pleasure. His lips parted. His brows furrowed. Sweat glistened at his temple. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely started.
"That's it," you murmured. "You're taking it so well. Such a good boy for me."
A desperate little sound escaped his throat. His hips bucked up against you involuntarily.
You slowed. Stilled.
He let out a whine, high and needy, pure desperation, his hands tightening on your hips.
"Please, please, baby, why'd you stop—"
"Because I want to taste you first."
His eyes went wide. His cock twitched visibly beneath his sweatpants, straining against the fabric.
The stove crackled in the kitchen. A soft, rhythmic sizzle. Butter and garlic are still warming.
You climbed off his lap. He reached for you immediately, fingers brushing your hip, not wanting you to go even that far.
"Stay," you said softly.
He froze. Hands dropping back to his sides. Obedient. Waiting. His chest heaved with every breath.
You knelt between his legs on the floor.
The position made him whimper, high and embarrassed and so fucking turned on. You could see it in the way his cock strained against his sweatpants, the dark spot of pre-cum already soaking through the grey fabric.
"Look at you," you said, palming him through the material. "So hard for me already. Been thinking about this all night, haven't you?"
"All day," he gasped. "All—all week. Every time you bent over something. Every time you licked seasoning off your fingers. I couldn't—I couldn't stop—"
You squeezed gently. His hips jerked.
"Please, baby, please—"
You pulled his waistband down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head slick and leaking, curving up toward his stomach. You wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the heat, the weight, the way he twitched in your grip.
"God," you breathed. "You're so beautiful. Every single inch of you."
His breath stuttered. "Baby—"
You leaned down and took the head into your mouth.
Just the tip. Slow. Your tongue circled him, tasting salt and want, the slick pre-cum spreading across your lips. His whole body jerked. A low, guttural moan rolled out of him, uncontrolled, shameless, loud.
"Fff, baby— "
You sank lower. Taking more of him into your mouth. Your tongue pressed flat along the underside as you went, feeling every ridge, every vein, every twitch. He was thick, stretching your lips, filling your mouth, and you moaned around him at the feel of it, the vibration making his hips buck.
His hand flew to your hair. Not pulling. Not pushing. Holding. Fingers trembling against your scalp.
"That's it," you murmured, pulling off just enough to breathe. A string of saliva connected your lips to his cock. "You're doing so good for me, Jay. Just relax. Let me take care of you."
His eyes were glassy. His mouth hung open. "I—okay. Okay, baby. I trust you. I trust you so much."
You smiled and took him deep again.
You set a slow, deliberate rhythm. Your hand worked the base while your mouth moved over the head, alternating between deep swallows and teasing kitten licks. You watched him, watched his stomach clench, his chest heave, his lips form words he couldn't quite get out.
"Please, please, please—"
Every plea went straight to your pussy, slick and aching between your thighs.
You pulled off with a wet sound. Stroked him slowly, watching his cock glisten with your saliva.
"You're so loud," you said. "I love it. I love that everyone would know exactly who you belong to if they heard you right now."
"I belong to you," he gasped. "Only you. Just you, baby, always, you own me. I'm yours. I've been yours since the first time you looked at me."
You took him back into your mouth.
Deeper this time. Your throat relaxed, letting him slide further in. He cried out, a broken, desperate sound, and his hips bucked up before he caught himself.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to—"
You hummed around him, and he moaned so loud it echoed off the kitchen tiles. The stove hissed in response, like the apartment itself was reacting to him falling apart.
You pulled off, breathless, saliva slick on your chin.
"Don't apologize," you said, voice rough. "I want you to let go. I want to feel you come down my throat. I want to taste every drop."
His eyes rolled back.
You swallowed him again. Faster now. Your hand working in rhythm, your mouth sucking, tongue pressing, and his sounds got higher, more broken, more desperate.
"Baby, I'm—I'm gonna, fuck— "
You looked up at him. Held his gaze.
And let him come undone.
His release hit your tongue, hot and thick, spilling in pulses. You swallowed around him, taking every drop, working him through it with your mouth and hand until his hips stopped bucking and his body went limp against the couch. His chest heaved. Sweat coated his skin.
You pulled off gently, licking your lips clean, savoring the taste of him.
"Good boy," you whispered. "You did so well. So good for me. I'm so proud of you."
He was panting, wrecked, his eyes half-lidded and dazed. "That was… shit, amazing, baby. Oh my god. I can't— "
"You can," you said softly, kissing his inner thigh. "You can do so much more for me, can't you? You're my good boy."
He nodded immediately. Eager. Desperate. Already half-hard again.
You stood up slowly, keeping eye contact.
"Then watch."
You pulled your shirt over your head. Let it fall to the floor. Your shorts followed, pooling at your ankles. You stepped out of them, standing before him in just your bra and panties.
His hands twitched. Reaching.
"Uh-uh, not yet," you said softly.
He waited. His chest rose and fell. His cock was already thickening again, hard and eager despite having just come.
"You're so greedy," you said, smiling. "So needy for me."
"I'm always needy for you," he breathed. "Every second. I can't help it."
You climbed back onto his lap. His cock pressed against your stomach, hot and hard, as you settled over him. You could feel the slick heat of yourself through your panties, soaking the fabric, making a mess of his thigh.
You reached down and guided him to your entrance.
Just the head. Pressing against you. Teasing through the soaked fabric of your panties.
He whimpered.
"Please, baby, please, I need—"
"I know what you need."
You pushed your panties aside and sank down slowly. Inch by inch. Feeling every ridge, every thick inch stretching you open. His mouth fell open. No sound came out.
"Fuck," you breathed. "You're so big. Always forget how full you make me. How good you feel inside me."
He gripped your hips. Not moving you. Just holding. Trembling.
"Take it," you said softly. "Take all of it. You can take it, can't you, baby?"
"Yes, yes, I can—"
"Good boy."
You lowered yourself fully. Seated. His cock buried deep inside you, filling you completely. You both stilled.
The heat. The stretch. The weight of him inside you.
You didn't move.
"I want you to feel this," you murmured, running your fingers through his damp hair. "Just feel it. Being inside me. Being mine. You feel that? How tight I am around you? How perfectly you fit?"
His hands slid up your back. Pulling you closer. His face pressed into your neck, breath hot and shaky.
"Mmgh, baby, I feel it," he whispered against your skin. "I feel everything. You're so—you're so perfect. So warm. I don't ever want to leave."
"Don’t leave then."
You stayed like that. Cockwarming him. Letting him feel every twitch, every clench of your cunt around him. The stove hissed in the kitchen. Water bubbling. Butter popping softly. The world existed somewhere outside, but here there was only this.
His hands moved to your back. Tracing your spine. Then up to your bra strap.
"Can I—" he started, voice small.
"Unclasp it."
He fumbled. His fingers slipped once, twice. You smiled, watching him struggle, watching the concentration on his face.
"Having trouble, baby?"
"Your bra is… it's tricky—"
"Try again."
He got it. The clasp gave, and the straps slid loose. You let the fabric fall away, baring your chest to him. His eyes went dark, hungry, reverent. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Touch me," you said softly.
His hands came up immediately. Cupping your breasts. Thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped at the contact, sensitive and aching.
"It's okay, baby," you murmured. "I'll feed you."
He leaned forward without hesitation. His mouth closed over your nipple, hot and wet, sucking gently. His tongue circled the peak, and you moaned, head falling back, fingers tangling in his hair.
"That's it. Good boy. Just like that."
His other hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. He switched sides, mouth latching onto the neglected one, and you felt it everywhere, the pull of his lips, the graze of his teeth, the way his tongue soothed each sensitive peak.
His hips twitched beneath you. A tiny, involuntary thrust.
"Hungry already?" You laughed breathlessly. "Needy already, after just stuffing all that into my mouth?"
He whined against your breast. The vibration made you gasp.
"You're so fucking greedy," you whispered, but there was no complaint in it. Only wonder. Only adoration.
You rolled your hips. The barest movement. Just enough to make him moan around your nipple.
"Tell me what you want, baby."
He pulled off just long enough to speak, chest heaving. "More. Please, baby, please—more, I need more, I need you to move—"
"Beg me."
He didn't hesitate.
"Please. Please, baby, I'll do anything, I'll be so good, I'll be so good for you, just please… I need you to fuck me—I need to feel you—I need—"
"Good boy," you murmured. "Good, sweet boy. That's all you had to say."
You lifted your hips. Slowly. Letting him feel every inch of the drag, the friction, the slick heat of your cunt gripping him.
Then you sank back down.
And you started to move.
Slow. Deep. Grinding in circles at the bottom of every thrust. He moaned with every roll of your hips, his hands gripping your ass, guiding but not controlling.
"Look at you," you breathed. "Taking me so well. My perfect boy. My good, perfect boy."
His head fell back. His throat exposed, that sharp jawline you loved, the column of his neck, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
You leaned in and sucked a mark onto his throat.
He cried out. His hips bucked up, driving himself deeper.
"You like that?" you murmured against his skin.
"Yes, fuck, baby, yes—"
You sucked another mark lower. On his collarbone. Then his chest. Your hips never stopped moving — slow, deep, grinding, filling.
His hands roamed your body like he couldn't believe you were real. Over your hips. Your stomach. Up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples.
"That's it," you encouraged. "Touch me. Take what you need."
"I just need you," he gasped. "Just you. Only you. Always—oh god—"
You sped up. Just a fraction. Enough to make his breath catch.
"Please," he begged. "Please, baby, please can I—can I come?"
"Not yet."
He whimpered. Rocked his hips up to meet yours.
"Please, I've been so good—"
"Have you?" You slowed down. "Let me think about that."
"Please, please, baby, I've been so good, I took everything you gave me, I was quiet, I— "
"You weren't quiet at all," you said, smiling. "You were so loud. I loved every second of it."
He blushed furiously. "Then please—"
"Beg me again."
Another desperate plea. Higher pitched than the last, his voice cracking.
"I'm begging you, please let me come, I need it so bad, I need to come inside you, please, baby—I need to feel you—I need to come, please. "
"What do you call me?"
"Baby. My baby. My pretty girl. My... fuck—my everything. Please."
You leaned down and kissed him. Slow and deep. He melted into it, moaning against your lips.
"Be a good boy and come with me, won't you?"
His eyes flew open. "Yes. Yes, yes—"
You rode him faster. Harder. The couch creaked beneath you. His hands gripped your ass, guiding your rhythm, and you could feel your climax building, hot and tight and desperate, coiling in your belly.
"Come for me, Jay."
He shattered.
His release flooded you, hot and pulsing, his whole body shuddering beneath you. The feeling of it pushed you over the edge. You came around him, clenching, milking him through it, moaning his name like a prayer.
"Jay, fuck—that's it, good boy, my good boy—"
He kept coming, kept spilling into you, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. You didn't care. You wanted them.
You collapsed against his chest.
His arms wrapped around you immediately. Holding you close. His heart hammered against your ear, wild and fast and alive.
For a long moment, there was only breathing. The soft hiss of the stove in the kitchen. The warmth of his skin against yours. The sticky heat between your thighs.
"That was—" His voice was wrecked. Gone. "I don't have words."
You lifted your head and kissed his jaw.
His stubbly, sharp, beautiful jaw. You traced it with your lips, pressing soft kisses along the edge of it, feeling him shiver under your touch.
"I love your jaw," you murmured against his skin. "I've always loved your jaw. Did you know that?"
He shook his head, eyes closed, a soft smile playing at his lips.
"I do. It's one of my favorite things about you. That and your hands. And your eyes. And the way you look at me like I hung the moon."
"You did," he whispered. "You hung everything."
You kissed him again. Soft. Sweet. A promise.
"Thank you," he breathed. "For—for taking care of me. For being so good to me."
"Always," you said. "You're my good boy. My perfect boy. I'll always take care of you."
His arms tightened around you.
The seafood boil sat between you both on the low table, still steaming, still heavily seasoned with Cajun spices and butter glistening under the warm kitchen light. The corn cobs looked borderline excessive in the best way possible, stacked like you had fully lost control and decided more was always better.
You had barely settled onto the couch when Jay was already beside you, closer than necessary, knees brushing yours as he pulled the tray a little nearer like he was in charge of it now.
“You should eat first,” he said, softer than usual.
You blinked at him. “Since when do you say that?”
“Since you look tired.”
That alone made you pause.
Jay had always been clingy, yes. Affectionate, yes. But this was different. Less teasing, more attentive in a way that made your chest feel warm in a quieter direction.
He peeled a piece of shrimp for you without asking, careful and slow, like it mattered, then held it out with a small expectant look.
“You’re spoiling me,” you murmured, but you leaned in anyway.
“Good,” he said simply. “Let me.”
The way he said it made it feel less like a joke and more like something he meant completely.
He shifted closer again, shoulder pressing lightly against yours, then nudged a corn cob onto your plate like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing this.
“You always do this for me,” he added after a moment.
“Do what?”
“Take care of me.”
You exhaled softly, watching him more than the food now. “You’re acting like I don’t enjoy it.”
His gaze flicked to yours briefly, then away like he was suddenly shy about admitting something obvious.
“I just like doing it for you too,” he said.
A small silence settled between you two, but it wasn’t awkward. Just full. Warm. Familiar in a different way than before.
Jay handed you another bite before taking one for himself, but his knee stayed pressed against yours the whole time, like he wasn’t fully satisfied unless he was close enough to feel you there.
“Eat more,” he said quietly after a while. “You barely touched yours.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Yes, my chef.”
That earned you a small laugh from him, soft, fond, and a little clingy in the way only he could manage, even while trying to take care of you for once.
⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @psychicdazestrawberry @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @ixnotmee @emvss @simjaeyunslut @luvlyjaemin @kikizzz0 @ilovhoonie | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙
⌗ in which . . . you and park jongseong, engaged by an arrangement, lose all restraint in one jealous penthouse night
流星 ໑ . . fiancé!jay x fem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), possessive partner, arranged engagement, vulgar language, oral sex (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, so much overstimulation, jay is aggressive as shit, degradation & praise mix, creampie, shit ton of filthy talk, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (don’t), just a lot of filthy things in general, please don’t imprison me 💔 ➜ mdni ! or do.. it's up to you ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this is real | wc 5.9k
♪ el’s bubble: man, i miss jay ya’ll i dug real hard into my saved documents to find this beast from back in december (this was made because i was stuck in an airport and i was feeling FREAKY 😛 i just remember making this incredibly freaky.. like multiple rounds type shit.. & i had to time out and stuff because what the hell was this 🥀 yes, even president el spiraled over the filthiness of this ! I’M A CHANGED & LESS FREAKED OUT EL NOW, OKAY ☹️) so, yes, this is five months old. i was incredibly obsessed with this song too so there’s that . . gotta keep pushing even though i’m lowkenuinely going insane over the mafialeader!riki fic 💪 not proofread, enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are always open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ
tags: @wonscapes @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @kristynaaah @psychicdazestrawberry @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll | just ask if you want to be a part of my tag list ˙𐃷˙
now playing . . . love me harder by ariana grande & the weeknd
The night begins in a polished silence that feels heavier than conversation.
It's the kind that follows a public dinner where everything was perfectly performed but nothing felt real, and in the private elevator ride upward, you and Jay stand side by side without touching, yet hyper-aware of each other's presence in a way that makes even the smallest movement feel loaded with things neither of you are saying.
You don't look at him.
You don't need to.
You can feel the restrained energy radiating off him, the way he's holding himself with that infuriating composure that makes everyone else look slightly unsure of themselves.
The elevator's soft lighting catches the sharp line of his jaw, the fitted polo shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and chest in a way that should be illegal at a formal event.
You've spent too long pretending you don't notice these things, the way he fills a room without trying, the calm authority in his posture, how unfairly put-together he looks even now in private.
But tonight it's way, way, way worse.
Tonight you keep catching the small things you're not supposed to care about.
The way he looked across the table when someone else made you laugh.
The controlled silence he kept instead of reacting.
The fact that he never asks questions he doesn't already know the answer to.
Worse than anything else is the realization you refuse to say out loud, that you don't just see him clearly, you always have.
Even when you were supposed to be treating him like a contract, not a weakness.
The dinner replays in your mind on a loop.
The rival heir, some visiting businessman's son with a silver tongue and wandering eyes, had spent the entire evening making his intentions so damn clear.
He'd leaned too close when he spoke to you, laughed too loudly at your quiet responses, let his gaze drag over you like he had every right to look.
His hand had found your arm at one point, fingers lingering on your bare skin, and you'd felt Jay's attention sharpen from across the table.
Though he hadn't said a word, he had just watched you both, composed as marble.
It stung more than anger would have.
When the elevator doors open to the penthouse, the space is vast, expensive, and quiet in a way that should feel comforting but instead feels isolating.
Floor-to-ceiling windows display the glittering sprawl of the city below, but neither of you pauses to admire it.
You move through the room separately, shedding the weight of public appearances without acknowledging how tense the air between you has become.
You head toward the walk-in closet without a word, a room so large it feels like its own world, and begin removing your jewelry slowly, methodically.
The diamond earrings first, then the bracelet, each piece placed with deliberate care on the velvet tray.
Your fingers find the clasp of your necklace, but the angle is awkward, and you abandon it in favor of working on the pins in your hair.
It's something to do with your hands.
Something to ground you while your thoughts stay tangled on the dinner, on the way Jay barely reacted, on everything he didn't say.
You're so lost in your own head that you don't hear him approach.
He enters without announcing himself, stopping just inside the doorway rather than fully stepping in.
The silence stretches.
For a moment there's only the sound of fabric shifting and the distant hum of the city filtering through glass walls.
You don't turn around.
"Jay, can you help me with the zipper?"
It comes out casually.
Almost way too casually, like you're trying to ignore how aware you are of him standing there.
How the temperature in the room seems to have risen ten degrees just from his proximity.
He approaches in silence.
You feel him before you see him, the warmth of his body, the subtle shift of air as he moves closer.
His hands are steady when they reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, but there's a pause before he touches you that feels like hesitation he doesn't allow himself to name.
Then the zipper begins to move.
He takes his time.
Slowly, with deliberate patience that feels almost like punishment.
The metal teeth give way one by one, exposing the smooth skin of your back inch by inch, and you can feel his gaze following the progress like a physical touch.
You exhale in frustration.
"Damn it, Jay, speed it up."
Your voice is sharper than you intended.
Behind you, Jay goes entirely still.
"This isn't part of the agreement people think exists between us."
His voice is calm and controlled.
But you can tell that there's something underneath it, something dark and tightly leashed.
You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his profile in your peripheral vision.
"Neither is the way you keep acting like you're unaffected when you clearly notice everything."
That makes him pause.
The zipper stops halfway down your back.
"Excuse me?"
You turn more fully now, and there's something dangerous in the way his dark eyes meet yours.
You've spent too many nights biting your tongue, too many public events swallowing the words that want to spill out.
Tonight, something in you snaps.
"You deadass just sat there all evening, watching that guy come close to me. You didn’t even bother saying a fucking word at all while he—" You cut yourself off, jaw tightening.
"While he what?" Jay's voice drops lower. "While he looked at you like you belonged to him? While he touched your arm and made you smile? While he spent the entire dinner trying to fuck you with his eyes?"
The crudeness in his tone catches you off guard.
He never speaks like this, never lets the polished veneer slip enough to show the raw hunger underneath.
"Please, just look at your pathetic self," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "You're shaking."
He is.
Just barely, a fine tremor in his hands that he's trying to hide.
"God, it eats me alive."
The confession comes out in a low, controlled voice that cracks at the edges.
"Watching someone else look at you tonight. Having to sit there pretending it didn't matter. Pretending I don't—" He stops himself, jaw clenching so hard you swear you can see the muscle jump.
You should step away.
You should remind him of all the practical reasons this arrangement exists, all the boundaries you've carefully maintained.
Instead, you hear yourself saying:
"Our arrangement was built on exactly that kind of emotional distance."
The words come out pointed, almost cruel.
You're pushing him.
You know damn well you're pushing him.
"Is jealousy really the first thing you've decided to break the rules over?"
Something shifts in his expression.
The mask slips, just for a moment, and beneath it you see something raw and unguarded desperation, maybe.
Want.
Hunger that's been starved for too long.
"It's not just jealousy."
He steps closer.
Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest, close enough that his breath ghosts across your temple.
"It's the fact that I can't tell anymore where the performance ends and what I actually feel begins."
The words hang between you.
Your heart pounds against your ribs so hard you're certain he can hear it.
This is the closest either of you has ever come to saying it, the thing that's been building for months in loaded glances and accidentally tender moments and nights spent lying awake thinking about the person sleeping in the next room.
Then he reaches for you.
His hand cups your cheek, gentle despite the tension radiating through every line of his body.
His thumb traces the line of your jaw, and his eyes search your face like he's looking for permission, for rejection, for anything that might stop him from doing what he's about to do.
You don't stop him.
He leans in and kisses you.
It starts soft — almost tentative, a question more than a demand.
Then, without warning, you make a sound against his mouth, something small and involuntary, and whatever restraint he had left shatters completely.
His other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.
The zipper, still halfway down, becomes irrelevant as his hands find your waist, your hips, pulling you against him with an urgency that makes your knees weak.
You feel the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms as he holds you, and something hot and demanding pools low in your abdomen.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against your lips. "Tell me this is just… tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away. I'll never bring it up again."
You don't tell him to stop.
Because who are you to tell him to stop?
Instead, you reach for the hem of his polo shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion.
The fabric falls to the floor, forgotten, and for a moment you just look at him.
The defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, the way the low light plays across his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
"You're staring."
"I'm just appreciating." Your voice is dry, but there's no hiding the way your gaze keeps dropping. "Don't pretend you don't know what you look like."
Something like a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Then his hands are on you again, sliding the dress off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet in a whisper of expensive fabric.
You stand before him in a pair of silk shorts, a bra, and underwear, suddenly aware of how exposed you are, how hungry his eyes look as they travel over you.
"Beautiful," he breathes. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. How long I’ve thought about when this would finally come. About—"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Instead, he pulls you into another kiss, this one deeper, more demanding.
His hands find the waistband of your shorts and tug them down without hesitation, leaving you in just your undergarments.
The cool air hits your heated skin, but you barely notice because he's looking at you like you're an oasis in the middle of a dessert.
You can see the effect this is having on him.
The prominent outline of his erection pressing against his tailored pants, straining against the fabric.
The way his chest rises and falls more quickly now.
The dark intensity in his eyes that makes you feel both powerful and completely at his mercy.
"Jay." His name comes out as a whisper. "Fuck, just… touch me already, please."
He doesn't need to be asked twice.
His hands slide up your sides, thumbs tracing the curve of your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra.
Your head falls back as he explores, learning the map of your body with agonizing thoroughness.
When he finally unclasps the bra and lets it fall, the sound you make is embarrassingly needy, a soft, desperate whimper that you can't hold back.
"Already making sounds for me?" His voice is rough, pleased. "And I've barely even touched you yet."
"I'm not—" You try to protest, but his hand slides lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a gasp.
"Oh, you're not what? Not wet? Because I can feel how soaked you are through these panties." He presses his palm against you, and your hips jerk involuntarily. "Feel that? That's all for me, because of me."
Your usual silence is crumbling.
Every brush of his fingers, every press of his palms against your heated skin, pulls another sound from your throat, louder than the last.
For someone who's spent the entire relationship holding your tongue, keeping your thoughts locked away, you're making an awful lot of noise now.
And he notices.
Of course he does.
"You're so vocal tonight." His voice is ragged, thick with desire. "I've never heard you make these sounds before. The quiet, composed woman I'm engaged to, the one who barely says two words at dinner, look at you now. Whimpering for me like I’m all that matters."
"I hate you," you manage, but it comes out breathless and unconvincing.
"No, you don't." He presses a finger inside you, and your knees buckle. "You love this. You love, love, love that I can make you fall apart like this. Damn it, just admit it already, won’t you.”
"I—"
"Admit it."
"Fuck, yes." The word tears out of you, louder than you intended. "Yes, I love it. I love your hands on me so, so much. I've thought about this—about you, god—"
He groans against your neck, the sound vibrating through your whole body. "Tell me. Tell me what you've thought about."
"Your mouth." You're past embarrassment now, past holding back. "Your hands. Shit, how you'd feel inside me. How you'd sound when you lose control, things like that."
"Fuck." He pulls his hand away, and you nearly sob at the loss. "I need to taste you right now, pretty ."
He turns you around, walking you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed.
You fall onto the plush mattress, and he follows you down, settling his weight over you.
For a moment he just looks at you, hair fanned across the pillows, chest heaving, eyes dark with want.
"Tell me what you want," he says. "I’ll hear you out… I need to hear you say it, use your words for me, pretty."
You reach up, palms flat against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers.
"You, god, it’s you, Jay. I want you, all of you, actually. Your mouth, your fingers, your cock—I want everything."
He exhales shakily.
Then he's kissing down your body, lips trailing fire across your collarbone, your sternum, the soft skin of your stomach.
When he hooks his fingers into your underwear and pulls it off, you're completely bare beneath him.
"Spread your legs for me, gorgeous."
The command makes heat flood through you.
You obey, and he settles between your thighs, breath warm against your most sensitive skin.
Then his mouth is on you, and you genuinely forgot how to keep your mouth shut.
A loud, broken moan tears from your throat.
Your back arches off the bed as his tongue works against you, slow, deliberate strokes that make your thighs tremble.
He finds the spots that make you gasp, the pressure that makes your hands fist in the sheets, and he exploits every single one.
"Jay—oh god—oh fuck—"
"That's it." The vibration of his voice against you makes you jerk. "Let me hear you. I want the whole building to know who's making you feel this good."
Your usual silence shatters completely.
Moans and gasps and desperate cries spill from your lips without permission, each one louder than the last.
You can't control it, can't hold back, not when he's doing that with his tongue, not when his hands are gripping your thighs to hold you open for him.
"More, please, please, fuck—don't stop—"
He hums against you, and the pleasure spikes. Your hips roll against his face without your permission, chasing the sensation, and he lets you.
Encourages it, even.
His hands slide under your ass to tilt you closer to his mouth.
"You taste so fucking good," he growls against your flesh. "I could do this for hours, gorgeous. Eat this pretty pussy until you can't think, can't speak, can't do anything but come on my tongue."
The filthy words send a jolt through you.
You've never heard him talk like this, never imagined the composed, controlled man you're engaged to had this side to him.
"You're close, aren't you?" He sucks on your clit, and you scream. "I can feel it. You're shaking. Come for me. Come on my face."
"Jay—Jay—I'm—"
The orgasm crashes through you without warning.
Your whole body seizes, back bowing off the bed as pleasure whites out your vision.
You hear yourself screaming his name, but it sounds distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears.
He works you through it, tongue never stopping, drawing out every last aftershock until you're twitching and oversensitive.
When he finally pulls back, you're trembling and breathless.
He rises over you again, lips glistening with your arousal, and you can see how much this has affected him, the heavy-lidded desire in his eyes, the way his body is straining toward yours.
"I want to be inside you," he growls. "Now, literally now. I can't fucking wait anymore."
He reaches for his pants, undoing them with shaking hands and shoving them down his thighs.
His boxers follow, and then he's naked before you, and you have a moment to appreciate the body he's been hiding under all those perfectly fitted polo shirts.
He's gorgeous.
Lean muscle and defined lines and hard, flushed cock jutting from a nest of dark hair.
Thick.
The tip glistening with precum.
He catches you staring and smirks. "See something you like?"
"Stop fishing for compliments and just fuck me already."
A surprised laugh escapes him, the first genuine sound you've heard from him all night.
Then he's climbing over you, positioning himself at your entrance, and the laughter fades into something much more intense.
"Tell me if you need me to stop."
You nod.
He pushes forward, slowly, letting your body adjust to the stretch.
The sensation is overwhelming, the fullness, the intimacy of being connected like this after months of careful distance.
"Fuck—you're so tight, so sexy." His voice is strained. "So wet, so fucking wet. You're dripping around me."
"Move. Please. I need you to move."
He obeys.
Slow at first, deep strokes that make you gasp with each thrust.
His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling, eyes locked on your face like he's memorizing every reaction.
"You feel incredible." He groans, hips rolling. "Better than I could’ve ever imagined, and I imagined this a lot, baby. Every night. Fucking my fist thinking about you."
"Jay—"
"I'd think about your face when you come. The sounds you'd make. Now… shit—here you are, underneath me, taking my cock so well."
His words make you clench around him, and he hisses.
You're being vocal again, gasps and moans and cries that fill the room, each sound spilling out without your permission.
"You like that? You like hearing how much I want you?" He thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes you cry out. "You like knowing that your fake fiancé has been obsessing over you? That I've been desperate to get my hands on you?"
"Yes—yes—fuck, more—harder—"
"Harder?" He obeys, snapping his hips faster. "Like this? You want me to ruin you?"
"Yes! God, yes, ruin me—please—"
His pace increases.
You're being so loud now, louder than you've ever been during sex, louder than you thought possible.
Each thrust punches another sound out of you, and the more noise you make, the faster he goes.
"That's it. Scream for me. Let me hear you." His voice is ragged, barely controlled. "The neighbors are going to know exactly who's making you feel this good. They're going to hear you screaming my name and know that you're mine."
He shifts your leg higher over his hip, changing the angle, and suddenly he's hitting that spot with every thrust.
The pleasure is overwhelming, building inside you like a wave about to break.
"You're going to come for me again, aren't you? I can feel you squeezing me. You're so, so close."
"Yes—so close—please—"
"Fuck, come—come on my cock. Let me feel you."
The orgasm tears through you, even more intense than the first.
You scream his name, back arching, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.
He groans above you, hips stuttering as your walls clench around him, but he doesn't stop.
He fucks you through it, maintaining the pace, drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling and overstimulated.
"One more," he growls. "Give me one more."
"I can't—too much—"
"You can, you will. For me—just for me."
He pulls out suddenly, and you whimper at the loss.
But then he's flipping you over, pulling your hips up until you're on your hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow.
"This position." His hands smooth over your ass, squeezing. "I've thought about this. Having you like this. Face down, ass up, completely at my mercy."
He pushes back inside in one smooth thrust, and you moan into the pillow.
"No." He tangles a hand in your hair, pulling your head back. "I want to hear you, pretty. Don't muffle those lovely sounds."
He starts moving, harder now, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
You're loud again, cries and moans and desperate sounds that echo off the walls.
"You take me so deep like this." His grip tightens in your hair. "Feel that? Feel how deep I am? I'm hitting spots you didn't even know existed."
"Yes—yes—so deep—fuck—"
"This is what you do to me." His hips snap forward, relentless. "You drive me insane. Walking around this penthouse in those tiny ass shorts. Cooking dinner with that concentrated look on your face. Making me want you when I'm supposed to be pretending I don't."
"Jay—"
"I've jerked off to the thought of you more times than I can count. Thought about bending you over every surface in this apartment. About making you scream so loud the whole city knows you belong to me."
His words are pushing you toward another peak.
You're so loud now, practically screaming with each thrust, and every sound you make seems to drive him faster.
"I love hearing you." His voice is strained, desperate. "I love knowing I'm the one making you lose control. The quiet, composed woman everyone else sees—she doesn't exist when I'm inside you. It's just me. Just us."
"Harder—please—I'm going to—"
"Come for me, pretty. Come on my cock again. I want to feel you fall apart."
The third orgasm hits you like a freight train. You scream, body convulsing, and he groans behind you as your walls clench around him.
This time he doesn't hold back, his rhythm becomes erratic, hips pistoning faster, chasing his own release.
"I'm going to come," he growls. "Where do you want it? Inside? On your ass? Tell me—"
"Inside, please—fuck, Jay, I need to feel you—"
He thrusts deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a guttural groan.
You feel the pulse of his release, the heat flooding your insides, and it triggers one last small orgasm that makes you whimper.
He collapses beside you, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.
For a long moment, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city.
Then he laughs, low and exhausted and genuine.
"I had no idea you were that loud."
You bury your face in the pillow, suddenly self-conscious. "I've never—I'm not usually—"
"I'm not complaining." He pulls you against him, pressing a kiss to your temple. "It was the hottest thing I've ever experienced, seriously. Every sound you made just made me want you more."
You're quiet for a moment, tracing patterns on his chest.
"We should do this again," you murmur.
He snorts. "Give me ten minutes and we will."
"That's not what I—" You swat at his chest. "I meant—this. Us, you know… not pretending to hate each other's asses anymore."
His expression softens.
He tilts your chin up, making you meet his eyes.
"I don't want to pretend anymore either. I haven't wanted to for a long time."
"You could have said something."
"So could you."
Fair point.
He rolls onto his side, facing you, one hand propping up his head.
"I have a confession." His voice is lighter now, teasing. "When you said you wanted to 'do this again'—I was hoping you meant right now. I'm not done with you yet."
"Already? Most men need recovery time."
"I'm not most men." He grins, and there's something predatory in it. "And you haven't seen everything I want to do to you yet."
You raise an eyebrow. "Such as?"
"Ride me."
The command makes heat pool in your stomach again, despite your exhaustion.
"You want me on top?"
"I want to watch you. Want to see your face when you take what you need from me. Want to see how pretty you look bouncing on my dick."
"Wow, you’re so eloquent… you have a way with words."
"I have a lot of things." His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip. "And I plan to show you all of them before this night is over."
True to his word, he's hard again within minutes, helped along by your hand wrapping around him, stroking him to fullness while he groans and bit your shoulder.
"Get up here," he demands, pulling you on top of him. "Straddle me. Face me."
You position yourself over him, sinking down slowly.
The angle is different, deeper in some ways, shallower in others, and you have control for the first time in your whole life.
"Take what you want," he says, hands settling on your thighs. "Use me."
You start to move, experimenting with different rhythms and angles.
His eyes never leave your face, watching every expression, every flicker of pleasure.
"That's it. Just like that." His thumbs stroke over your hip bones. "You look so fucking good like this. Taking what you need. Using me for your pleasure."
"You feel—" You break off with a moan as you find the right angle. "So good, so, so, so fucking good. You fill me up so perfectly."
"Made for me." His hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. "This pussy was made for my cock. We fit together perfectly like jigsaw puzzles.”
You're getting loud again, moans filling the room as you ride him faster.
He groans beneath you, hips lifting to meet each of your movements.
"That's it, baby. Ride me. Take what you need." He pinches your nipples, and you cry out. "You're so sexy when you're loud. I love hearing how good I make you feel."
"Jay, I'm—"
"Uh-uh, wait for me, gorgeous. I want to come with you this time."
You slow down, trying to hold back, and he growls his approval.
"Good girl. So good for me. You listen so well."
He sits up suddenly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest.
The new angle presses your clit against his pelvis with every movement, and you keen at the sensation.
"I want to feel you fall apart around me while I come inside you." His voice is rough against your ear. "Can you do that for me? Can you come with me?"
"Yes—yes—please—"
"Good. Now."
He thrusts up into you hard, and you both shatter at the same time.
You scream his name as pleasure crashes through you, feeling him pulse inside you, filling you up again.
He groans against your neck, teeth grazing your shoulder, hands tight enough on your hips to bruise.
When it's over, you collapse against his chest, completely spent.
"Round three in five minutes," he murmurs against your hair.
You laugh—weak and exhausted but genuine. "You're going to kill me."
"What a way to go."
But he's not joking.
True to his word, he's hard again within minutes, his stamina is inhuman, and you're beginning to wonder if you've created a monster.
What kind of shit has this guy been pulling off in the gym to achieve so much?
"Turn around," he says, hands guiding your hips. "I want you facing the other way. I want to watch that pretty ass bounce on my cock."
You hesitate. "You want—"
"Now." His voice leaves no room for argument. "I want to see you from behind while you ride me. I want to watch my cock disappear inside you."
Heat floods through you at his words.
You've never been particularly adventurous in bed before, mostly because you've never had a partner who made you want to be.
But Jay is looking at you like you're a feast he's been starved for, and you find yourself turning around, positioning yourself over him with your back to his chest.
"That's it." His hands smooth over your ass, kneading the flesh. "God, look at you. So eager. So desperate for my cock."
You sink down onto him slowly, and the new angle makes you gasp.
He fills you differently like this, deeper in some ways, the pressure concentrated against your front wall.
"Fuck—you feel even bigger like this—"
"I am bigger." He grips your hips, helping you find a rhythm. "And you're going to take all of me. Every. Single. Inch."
You start to move, lifting yourself up and sliding back down.
The sensation is overwhelming, the way he stretches you, the way his hands feel on your ass, the knowledge that he's watching himself disappear inside you.
"That's it. Ride me. Show me how much you want it."
"I do—I want it—want you—"
"Then take it harder. Faster. Fuck yourself on my cock like you mean it."
You obey, moving faster, grinding down with each stroke.
You're loud again, moans and gasps and desperate little cries that fill the room.
True to form, the louder you get, the more responsive he becomes.
"Yes—yes—oh god—right there—"
"Right there?" He thrusts up to meet you, hitting that spot perfectly. "Like this? You want me to keep hitting that spot while you scream for me?"
"Yes! Please—don't stop—harder—"
"Harder?" His grip tightens on your hips, and he starts fucking up into you with purpose. "You want me to ruin this pussy? Make it so no one else will ever feel right inside you?"
You're screaming now, completely beyond controlling the sounds coming out of your mouth.
Every thrust punches another cry from your throat, and you can hear how wet you are, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting echoing through the room.
"Jay—Jay—I'm—oh fuck—I'm going to—"
"Not yet." He stills your hips, and you whimper. "You don't come until I say. You understand? You hold it."
"I can't—it's too much—please—"
"You can. And you will." He starts moving again, slower this time, torturously slow. "I want to feel you clench around me when I tell you to come. I want you begging for it."
"Please—please, fuck, just let me—"
"Tell me you're mine first."
"I'm yours—I'm yours—only yours—"
"Say it louder."
"I’m yours! Jay, I'm yours—please—please let me come—"
"Good girl. Now come for me. Come all over my cock."
The orgasm crashes through you like a tsunami.
You scream, actually scream, back arching, body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure tears through you.
He moans beneath you, and you feel him pulsing inside, filling you up again as he follows you over the edge.
You collapse forward, barely catching yourself on your hands, breathing ragged and uneven.
He's still inside you, still half-hard, and when he shifts, you whimper from the oversensitivity.
"One more," he growls. "I know you have one more in you."
"Jay, I literally cannot—I can't feel my legs—I… what the fuck are you even made out of?"
"I'll do the work then." He maneuvers you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so your ass is in the air. "You just lie there and take it. Let me use you."
"Use me?"
"Did I stutter?" He runs a hand down your spine, making you shiver. "I've been fantasizing about you for months. Years, maybe. And now that I have you, I'm going to take everything you'll give me."
He enters you from behind again, this time with your face pressed into the mattress, your hips propped up on a pillow.
The position is sinful, animalistic, and you feel so deliciously full.
"This is my favorite position," he admits, voice strained. "Having you like this. Face down, ass up. Unable to do anything but take what I give you."
"Then give it to me." Your voice is muffled by the sheets. "Give me everything."
He starts moving, slow, deep strokes that make your toes curl.
The sounds you're making are embarrassing now, whimpers and moans and desperate little cries that you can't control.
"You're so loud tonight." He groans, thrusting deeper. "I love it. I love hearing how good I make you feel. The woman who barely speaks at dinner being reduced to this. Screaming my name. Begging for my cock."
"More—please—more—"
"More?" He snaps his hips forward, and you yelp. "Like this? You want me to fuck you harder?"
"Yes! Harder—faster—please—"
He obeys.
His pace increases, and you're being fucked into the mattress so hard the headboard is hitting the wall.
Each thrust is punctuated by a slap of skin against skin and a desperate sound from your throat.
"This what you wanted?" He grunts. "Wanted me to use this pretty pussy? Wanted to be ruined?"
"Yes—yes—ruin me—please—"
"You're close again, aren't you? I can feel you tightening around me. You're going to come on my cock again like a good girl."
"I can't—I've already—"
"You can. You will. And you're going to scream my name when you do."
His hand snakes around to your front, fingers finding your clit, and you sob at the dual sensation.
He's thrusting into you and rubbing circles on your most sensitive spot, and it's too much, it's everything.
"Come for me. Now."
Your final orgasm rips through you with an intensity that makes your vision go white.
You scream his name, scream it like a prayer, like a plea, like the only word you know, and you feel him follow you over the edge with a guttural groan.
He collapses on top of you, both of you shaking, sweat-slicked and thoroughly spent.
For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the pounding of your hearts.
Later, much later, you're both tangled in silk sheets, bodies exhausted and satisfied.
You've lost count of how many times he's made you come, how many positions he's bent you into, how many filthy things he's whispered in your ear.
"You know," you say, voice hoarse from screaming, "I always thought you were the composed, controlled type."
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "I was. Until you."
"Me? I didn't do anything."
"You exist." His arm tightens around your waist. "You walk around this apartment looking like that. You cook meals in those tiny shorts. You bite your lip when you're concentrating. You exist, and it drives me insane."
You're quiet for a moment, processing this.
"I've been pretending too," you admit softly. "Pretending I didn't notice you. Pretending the arrangement didn't feel like anything."
"And now?"
"Now I don't want to pretend anymore."
He smiles against your skin, genuine and warm.
"Good, I have no intention of letting you go."
"Possessive."
"You love it."
You consider protesting, but then again, he's not wrong.
"Maybe a little."
"Good answer." He shifts, pulling you closer. "Sleep now. I have plans for you in the morning."
"More? What the fuck?"
"Many, many more."
You drift off with his arm around your waist and his breath warm against your shoulder, thinking maybe the arrangement was always going to lead here.
Maybe there was never a version of this story where you remained indifferent to each other.
Warnings: cussing; breast play; fingering; protected sex
Word count: 5.2k words
Summary: You and Seungcheol are navigating co-parenting when you cut your son's camping trip short. As old routines resurface and lines blur, a moment of vulnerability leads you from a tentative goodbye to an impulsive reconnection.
A/N: Coming out of my writing rut with another Cheol fic? With yet another laundry reference? Who am I??? 😂 Idk. I blame Cheol brainrot (per uze). Plus, the storm out here is getting to me, and I needed an outlet. Hope you all like it!
Tagging @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs. You're a gem! And @yoongukie-ff, because I mentioned writing this fic that would make her suffer lol
The last text came over an hour ago: Already left the campsite, don’t worry. But the flash-flood alert that lit up your screen minutes ago has your stomach in knots. It’s a two-hour drive—1.5 if he books it—which he usually does. Today, you’d begged him to stick to the speed limit. It’s the first storm in months, making the roads slick and unpredictable.
Any minute now… you said to yourself.
A car pulled into the driveway and your body jolted. You snatched the umbrella you’d propped by the door earlier and rushed outside.
Seungcheol moved quickly, unbuckling your son from his car seat. He barely stirred as the three of you huddled under the umbrella and hurried back toward the house.
Inside, your son shifted in Seungcheol’s arms, murmuring something with his cheek still pressed to his dad’s shoulder.
“Shit…his bag—”
“I got it. Just take him to his room,” you called over your shoulder, already heading back out.
When you returned, Seungcheol was crouched by the bed, easing your son’s shoes off. You headed straight for the dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas. Skipping his bedtime bath made you wince, especially after camping. He smelled like campfire smoke and wet dirt. Lord knows if he’d had a proper shower in the last two days.
Tonight you let it go. There was no use waking him up, and you could always wash the sheets in the morning.
He wasn’t supposed to be back for another two. But the storm shifted course overnight, and was headed straight for the camping ground area. You’d called Seungcheol this morning, asking him to pack up early. Surprisingly, he hadn’t argued.
“He conked out right away,” he whispered. “Didn’t even make it past the park exit.”
“Sounds like he had a lot of fun,” you said, then paused. “Sorry I had to cut it short. I know he’s been looking forward to this trip all month.”
“No, no—it’s fine, really. Better safe than sorry.”
Redressing your sleeping son was a delicate balancing act. His limbs hung limp, head heavy against his dad’s chest, making every movement challenging. You reached for the hem of his shirt, and Seungcheol instinctively shifted his grip, steadying your son’s upper body so you could peel the fabric away. Your fingers brushed his as you tugged the sleeve free, and for a moment, neither of you pulled away.
You moved around each other without speaking, with Seungcheol adjusting his hold, and you working quickly to replace dirty clothes with clean ones. A hand on your wrist to help guide a pant leg. Panicked glances when your son stirred. It was a routine you hadn’t shared in a while, but it came back easily. Like muscle memory.
Once changed, Seungcheol gently laid him down. But the moment his head hit the pillow, his eyes fluttered open, bleary and disoriented.
“Mommy?” he croaked drowsily.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re home,” you murmured, brushing his hair back. “Go back to sleep.”
Seungcheol leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Love you, bud. I’ll see you next week, okay?”
Strangely, that made him more alert now. “Wait—where are you going?”
“Daddy has to go,” you said gently.
“Go where?”
He was still half-asleep, you told yourself. He knows this routine. “To his house.”
“No, don’t go. Please?” he begged, clutching his father’s wrist.
You forced a smile, smoothing his hair again. “Sweetheart, he has a long drive back, and I bet he’s tired. You’ll stay with him the whole week next week though.”
“Noooo, I want you both,” he insisted, voice cracking. “Please?”
You glanced at Seungcheol, torn. He gave a small shrug, already lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.
“I can stay a few more minutes,” he told him tentatively, then turned his gaze to you. “If…that’s okay with mommy?”
You sighed, then nodded. “Just until you fall asleep.” Your son squealed softly, eyes already fluttering shut in relief.
You settled opposite Seungcheol. Your son reached out and grabbed both your hands in a death grip—just in case one of you tried to slip away before he was fully asleep.
You hummed softly, threading your fingers through your son’s hair. Seungcheol flicked the nightlight switch, and the room was instantly filled with glowing constellations. You remembered when your son unwrapped it for his birthday—how he gasped in wonder, then whispered, It’s like camping…but inside. The memory elicited a quiet laugh from you.
Seungcheol caught the sound and glanced over. His eyes lingered on you, like he was seeing something he hadn’t in a long time. Something he forgot he missed.
Eventually, your son’s grip loosened. His face was peaceful again, lashes matching his dad’s resting against his cheeks. You eased your hand free, and Seungcheol did the same, rising first. You followed behind, pausing at the doorway for one last look before pulling the door closed.
In the kitchen, Seungcheol was rubbing his eyes. He looked away mid-yawn when he saw you coming down the hallway.
“Coffee?”
He hesitated. “I don’t want to impose—”
“Not at all. I offered,” you said, already reaching for the mugs. “Besides, I’d rather you not fall asleep on the drive home. Especially in this weather.”
He nodded, then smiled faintly.
You set a mug beneath the dispenser. “Still take it the same way?”
He was caught off-guard at the question, but eventually nodded slowly.
You handed him the mug, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, as the storm hummed steadily outside. Standing opposite each other in the kitchen wrapped in silence.
Seungcheol’s eyes flicked toward the hallway as he took a sip. “He’s getting so big. He was so excited to help me set up the tent.”
“Interesting.” You leaned against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. “Last time you let him help, he got tangled in the rainfly and cried for twenty minutes. I thought you were going to throw him into the river,” you snorted.
He clicked his teeth, rolling his eyes at the accusation. “I was not going to throw him,” he muttered, but his smile faded. “I had a short fuse back then. I’m working on it.”
He swirled the coffee in his mug, then chuckled. “He’s just a very strong-willed kid. Like someone I know…” He arched his brow at you.
You shrugged, feigning innocence. “It builds character!”
“Yeah, no shit.” His laugh was soft, but tired.
You sipped your coffee, watching the way he stared into his mug, thumb tracing the rim.
“He asked if we could all go next time.”
You let out a small laugh. “Did you tell him no?”
“I said maybe.” He paused, eyes still on the mug. “He said he missed when we did things together.”
The words settled between you. You nodded slowly, unsure what to do with that. And tonight was hardly the moment to unpack it. “I think he just misses the idea of it.” Your eyes dropped to the floor.
“Sometimes I miss it too.” His voice came so quietly, as if he didn’t mean to say his thoughts out loud. You took a few beats before answering.
“I mostly miss the parts that didn’t hurt.” The words cut deeper than you intended. You weren’t trying to be cruel, just honest.
As much as you wished your son could grow up with both parents under one roof, you and Seungcheol knew that wasn’t possible. Not without reopening wounds that hadn’t fully healed. For all the things you disagreed on, there was one thing you had agreed on: you wanted your son to be happy. And in order to make that happen, you would not raise him in a warzone.
He nodded, quietly acknowledging.
He glanced at the clock behind you, cleared his throat. “I should probably get going.”
You watched him drain the last sip, then move towards the sink.
“Cheol, just leave it.” You tried to intercept him, but he was already rinsing his mug clean.
“Nah, I got it.” He set the mug on the rack and wiped his hands on his pants before heading toward the door. You rolled your eyes at the gesture, but bit your tongue. That’s not your job anymore, you reminded yourself then followed him toward the front door.
He paused at the threshold. “Thanks for the coffee.”
His hand hovered near the door latch, the other tucked into his pocket like he was restraining himself from reaching for you. His jaw tightened and shoulders lifted slightly, as if bracing against a familiar pull.
It had taken months of therapy to stand this close without recoiling. To be in the same room without wanting to rip each other’s head off. Still, tonight felt different. Heavier. Like something was pressing in from the edges.
You gave a small nod. “Drive safe,” you said automatically.
“Yeah.” His mouth tugged faintly, somewhere between a smile and a sigh.
“You should go before the wind picks up.” It was a half-hearted nudge, more suggestion than insistence.
“Guess I should.” But he didn’t move.
His gaze drifted—not to your eyes this time, but lower, to your mouth. You felt it again, that subtle shift in the air.
You looked away first, clearing your throat, but the tension didn’t ease. You swallowed hard. “Goodnight.”
“‘Night,” he echoed. He shifted his weight, hesitating—then stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you. You felt the uncertainty of his hold, but once you leaned in, it settled into something familiar.
It’s just muscle memory, you convinced yourself.
Your hands found the back of his jacket, and for a moment, you let yourself rest there. Into that nook between his chest, the warmth from it, the steady thrum of his pulse beating…It all came rushing back. The ache beneath. Not quite yearning, but something close to it. A whisper of what used to live between you, before the fights, before the silence. Before it all fell apart.
His hold slightly tightened, making you wonder if he felt it too.
He pulled back slowly, reluctantly. Then he opened the door. The cool air slipped in, and you flinched—not from the sudden chill, but from the thought of letting that door close behind him.
“Cheol!” His name tumbled out before you could stop it.
He turned immediately, brows furrowed.
Heart racing, you took a step, close enough to hear the subtle hitch in his breath.
Before your brain could process, your hand lifted, brushing along his jawline. His lashes fluttered, leaning into your touch instinctively.
But logic cut through. You shouldn’t reach for him. You shouldn’t want him. You just…shouldn’t.
You shook your head and stepped back. “Sorry. I… I need to stop.”
He caught your wrist, his hold gentle but firm. “Is that what you want?”
What you wanted was to talk yourself out of this.
He moved closer, crowding your space, whispering, “Tell me to stop.”
But the words wouldn’t come. You were standing at the edge of a cliff, telling yourself not to jump, and yet your body leaned forward anyway.
“Don’t.”
His arm banded around your waist, pulling you against him as his mouth claimed yours. No hesitation left—only the inevitable you’d been running from. He broke the kiss long enough to kick the door shut, the lock clicking into place.
And then you’re freefalling.
***********************
His lips crashed against yours, with raw, desperate hunger that took your breath away. Your hands flew to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer in response.
Every step toward the bedroom was careful, breaths ragged but hushed—the kind of restraint born from not wanting to wake your son.
A loose floorboard betrayed you. It gave a sharp, sudden creak beneath Seungcheol’s foot, making you both go still. You both held your breaths, listening for any stirring from across the narrow hallway.
Nothing. Just the long stretch of silence.
Relief flickered, and desire resumed. Your fingers curled at his nape, tugging him back down to your mouth.
You moved again, a tangle of limbs and mouths stumbling through the dark hallway. The sound of the bedroom latch barely registered before you spun him, shoving him backward until he fell onto the mattress with a laugh. He barely had a moment to sit up before you were straddling him, settling into his lap and claiming his mouth again. It was as if the last two years had been erased. Just this—the heated, possessive slide of his tongue against yours, so intoxicating it made you ache with the regret of ever letting it go. His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks with a tenderness that made your chest hurt, your body molding to his like it had never left.
Your mouth broke from his, trailing a path of wet kisses down the column of his throat. You nipped at his collarbone, and he arched into you. His hands slid down your spine, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. He ground his hard length against the ache blooming between your legs.
“A little eager, are we?” you teased, your voice breathless.
“I don’t want to play games,” he rasped, his hand already sliding under your shirt to palm your breast, the material of your bra a rough tease against your skin. He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”
You shook your head, a shaky breath escaping you. With a dark smirk, he peeled your shirt off, his movements sure. Your bra followed, his fingers expertly working the clasp. He leaned back, his gaze raking over you, hungry and unabashed.
You cleared your throat. “My eyes are up here, sir,” you joked, though your voice was weaker than you intended.
He chuckled softly. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice thick with awe.
The warmth that spread through your chest was dangerous, a feeling you couldn’t afford tonight. What you needed was raw, not soft. The cool air on your bare skin was a shock, but it was nothing compared to the searing heat of his mouth as it closed over a peaked nipple. You gasped, your back bowing as your fingers knotted in his hair. His tongue swirled and teased, his teeth grazing the sensitive tip with just enough pressure to make you whimper. Shocks of pleasure ricocheted through you, settling between your thighs, where the need for him was so painful you could physically feel it.
Your bottoms felt like a flimsy barrier against the slick heat that begged for him. You moaned, your hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt until he growled in frustration and yanked it over his head himself. You splayed your palms across the warm, solid expanse of his chest, the sight of him bare and wanting making your head spin. He kissed you again, a deep, claiming kiss, before his hand dipped past your waistband.
Without hesitation, his fingers slipped through your slick folds. “Oh, shit… all this for me?” he murmured, his voice a low growl that made your knees weak.
“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, rocking your hips against his hand, shamelessly chasing the friction. He found your clit, swollen and desperate, and began to circle it with the exact, maddening pressure he knew you liked. Your eyes rolled back as white-hot pleasure shot up your spine.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered against your ear. “Let me hear you.” He slipped two fingers inside you, making you whimper at the sudden, perfect stretch. “So wet. So fucking perfect for me.”
Your hips moved on their own, riding his hand as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. You were so close, teetering on the edge from his touch alone, but it wasn’t enough.
“I need you.”
“Let me get you off like this,” he urged, his fingers stroking deeper. “You’re right there. I can feel it.”
Damn him and every damn secret of your body he still owned.
“No,” you choked out, forcing your hand past his to palm the hard length straining against his pants. You gave him a firm squeeze, pausing his movements as his hips jerked with a groan. “I said, I need you. Now.”
He relented, withdrawing his fingers, the loss a brief, hollow ache. But then his hands were on your bottoms, tugging them down your legs in one rough, urgent motion. You kicked them away, completely bare before him, consumed by a need so visceral it burned away every last shred of control you had.
He made quick work of his bottoms, and when you turned from the nightstand, he was gloriously naked and fully hard. A sight you knew by heart, yet one that still made your breath catch. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto the bed effortlessly. The air thickened instantly with his scent—and that fucking cologne. The smell that had been absent for a while was back, and you knew it would haunt your sheets for days.
As he settled between your thighs, he paused. His gaze landed on the foil square in your hand, brows furrowing with surprise. It was a silent but loaded question.
“What?” You pushed the packet into his palm, chuckling. “Safety first.”
A wry smile touched his lips, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and a hint of jealousy. “Who are you fucking?”
You held his stare, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make it feel like a power play. “Right now, you,” you finally answered.
A slow grin spread across his face. The condom was forgotten for a second as he crushed his mouth to yours, the kiss deeper, hungrier. He broke away to tear the foil with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours. The rustle was loud in the quiet room. You watched as his hands rolled it down his length—a riveting yet unfamiliar sight you’d hated yourself for wanting.
When he finally settled back over you, the skin-on-skin contact you craved was gone, replaced by a thin, sterile barrier that was a stark reminder that you were no longer the same people you used to be.
But the beauty of muscle memory is that it doesn’t care about time. All it takes is the right prompt, and your body flows right back into its old rhythm instinctively. His touch was that prompt.
He positioned himself at your entrance, the heat of him an insistent pressure against your slick flesh. He slid in, and the stretch and fullness took your breath away. A delicious ache that chased away every thought that wasn’t him, here, now.
“Missed this,” he grunted, more to himself than to you.
You didn’t answer. You just hooked your legs around his waist, your heels digging into the small of his back, and pulled him deeper. “Fuck… you’re so tight.”
A whimper was all you could manage, your nails scraping desperate lines down his shoulders. The feeling of being so utterly filled, the familiar shape of him, the alien friction of the latex—it overwhelmed your senses.
This was Seungcheol. Your Seungcheol. And yet, at the same time, he wasn’t.
His hips slowly pulled back—almost all the way out—before a rolling thrust buried him to the hilt again, forcing your back to arch off the bed. He set a punishing rhythm from the first stroke, deep and relentless, each one hitting a place inside you that made your eyes roll back and flutter shut.
“Eyes on me,” he demanded.
Your eyes flew open, meeting his with that same fierce, stubborn energy he’d always known. Neither of you said a word, but the argument was right there in the air between you. Every snap of his hips was a question: Remember this? And every helpless gasp he elicited from your lips was your only answer: Yes.
He shifted, angling his hips, and the next thrust dragged directly over your clit. You clenched around him again, milking his length as he drove into you, his rhythm unyielding.
“God, you fuck me so good,” you admitted shamelessly.
You were completely and utterly blinded by how good he made you feel. A cocky smirk touched his lips.
He withdrew, leaving you achingly empty for a heartbeat. He manhandled you onto your side, folding your legs together until your knees touched, then he entered you from behind. The new angle was devastating. The coil inside you tightened violently, pleasure building with every rut of his hips.
You could feel your climax approaching, a tidal wave gathering force just offshore. A cry tore from your throat, the intensity of his movement combined with the utter helplessness of your position hurtling you toward the edge.
“I’m close,” you gasped.
He grunted, his voice strained. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
His words were the final trigger. The room spun into a blur. Your body seized, muscles clamping down on him in rhythmic waves. The sharp and all-consuming pleasure ripped through you, leaving you trembling and boneless.
He fucked you through it, his movements becoming more frantic, chasing his own release. The sound of skin slapping against skin, his ragged breaths, your own whimpers filled the room.
“Fuck,” he growled, his voice raw as his body seized above yours, then you felt that deep, rhythmic pulse as he spilled into you. For a moment, his full weight crushed you, his face buried in your neck, his breath ragged against your skin. Then he propped himself up, his chest heaving, his cock still inside you. The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and confusion. His eyes met yours before he rolled off, collapsing beside you. The air on your sweat-slicked skin felt cold with the absence of his warmth surrounding you.
You stared blankly at the ceiling for a few moments, until unspoken instinct drew your heads to turn, your movements sickeningly synchronized. The raw hunger in his gaze had faded, leaving behind a chilling clarity that was a perfect reflection of the horror dawning in your own gut. What the fuck did we just do?
The question hung in the air, joining the tense silence that had replaced the frantic sounds moments before.
***********************
While Seungcheol showered, you dressed by muscle memory, each layer settling on your skin like a reminder you didn’t want. The soft fabric felt foreign against skin still marked by the raw scrape of his stubble. The elastic of your underwear dug in like a bruising echo of his fingers on your flesh. Every piece of clothing carried its own impossible weight, yet none of it compared to the phantom heaviness of him on top of you.
You floated in those memories, untethered, until a single thought yanked you back to reality: your son.
You slipped out of the bedroom and padded down the hall. You eased the door open, and there he was—your beautiful boy, in a perfect, peaceful heap under the blankets. Mouth parted, one leg dangling free.
A pang of guilt twisted in your stomach. You’d been just feet away, his father pinning you to the bed while the storm raged outside. And here he’d remained, safe in his quiet sanctuary—completely oblivious.
You watched the steady rise and fall of his small chest, forcing your racing thoughts to slow and sync with his breathing, summoning your soul back to the one thing in your world that was still pure.
***********************
It was quieter when you made your way back to the bedroom. The shower was off. The door was ajar, and steam drifted out into the hallway, and with it, the scent of your shower gel and shampoo. It was another jarring reminder that he had been in your space.
He stood with his back to you, a towel slung low on his hips, water tracing paths over the expanse of his shoulders as he dried his hair. You pursed your lips, taking in the sight in front of you. Even now, the sheer sight of him was a physical blow, undoing you all over again.
He turned, and a slow, knowing smirk curved as he caught you staring. Heat flooded your face. You tore your gaze away, feeling like some flustered prude, instead of somebody who’d just been thoroughly fucked.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he chuckled, his voice a low rasp. “It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.” The light, teasing tone was an attempt to bridge this chasm of awkwardness that had opened between you. He was right, though. You knew every ridge of his chest, the deep V that tapered below his navel, down to the way his skin tasted. But that was before. In another life. Now, that knowledge felt like contraband you were still carrying—and you had to get rid of it.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” you muttered tightly. You pulled the door shut, attempting to contain the potent, dangerous temptation of him on the other side.
***********************
Down the hall, you heard your son’s bedroom door open and close. Moments later, Seungcheol appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair still damp from the shower.
“Sounds like there’s a break in the storm,” he said, his voice soft.
“Yeah. It looked nasty for a moment there.” You turned back to the coffee machine, your back a rigid line.
He leaned against the counter, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you. “Looks like you finally remodeled the bathroom.”
“Sure did.”
“Looks amazing. Better than what I could have done,” he joked, a weak echo of his old bragging.
He cleared his throat. “So, uhm… are you okay?”
You glanced over, your expression carefully neutral. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You were quiet after. I got worried when I got out of the shower and you were gone.”
“I just went to check on him,” you said, brushing it off.
He nodded slowly, his eyes searching yours, refusing to let it go. “And after that? You kind of ran off.” His voice dropped, the question a direct challenge.
You let out a sharp exasperated breath. “Look. So we had a moment. We’re both adults, right? Do we really need a post-mortem?”
You felt him retreat, the walls you’d just thrown up brick by brick coming up again. The silence stretched, and in your desperation to break it, you grasped for the first weapon you could find.
“So, I heard she took him to the zoo last week,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “Without you.”
The accusation hung in the air. It stopped him dead. She.
“S-sorry,” he stammered, running a hand through his damp hair. “I know we agreed I have to always be there, but the office called, and we were in crisis mode. I just didn’t want to let him down. She assured me she wouldn’t let—”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off, your tone deceptively calm. “I’ve resigned myself to the fact that there would be times when he’d have to be alone with her when you have him. I mean, she lives there.”
Hearing the calmness in your voice didn’t ease his worries, so you met his gaze with a small smile. “Relax. All I’m saying is that if she’s alone with our son, I’d like to know.” You knew you’d regret the next words even as you said them. “If you want, you can give her my number for emergencies. Tell her I don’t bite.”
“Thanks,” he said, the relief washing over him. “It… means a lot that you would offer that.”
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “He, uh, also wouldn’t shut up about her sea lion impression. He brings that little plushie she got him everywhere.” The words spilled out too fast. You were talking just to fill the quiet, anything to drown out your thoughts—whether she made him groan like that, whether her taste lingered on his tongue, whether he was already counting the minutes until he could see her again. Stop! You bit the inside of your cheek.
“Yeah. She’s great with him.” He smiled fondly.
She’s great.
That was the sound of a door closing, a line drawn in the sand. The mind‑blowing sex was a distant memory, just like the version of him that had once been yours. What stood here now was just Seungcheol. Your son’s father. Her partner.
“So, about next week,” he began, hands sinking into his pockets.
“You can pick him up whenever. Just call. I’m working from home anyway,” you cut in, a tight smile stretched across your face.
“Oh. Okay. So… meet at the usual neutral pickup point?”
“Actually,” you said, the thought forming even as it left your mouth, a reckless impulse disguised as efficiency. “It might be easier if you pick him up here after I get him from school. It’s on your way, right?”
He froze. Not shocked, but slightly confused. As if he was replaying the sentence in his head, checking if he’d heard it right. You’d never let him pick your son up from the house. Not since the custody agreement. And for a beat too long, he let himself believe this meant something else.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice softer than it should have been.
“Yeah, it’s only practical!” You shrugged like it was nothing, hoping it would dash whatever internal monologue he was having in his head.
“Right. Practical.” He nodded slowly. The moment stretched, his eyes searching your face for a crack you weren’t offering. Then he redirected, building on the practicality of your offer, to make it sound more justifiable.
“Or… what if I just grab him from school? I get off early Tuesday. I can swing by, pick up his things, save you the interruption.”
You’d only meant to extend an olive branch, to prove you were unaffected. Yet his counteroffer hung there, reasonable and simple, and a reminder that you inadvertently cracked open a door you weren’t sure you wanted open.
“He gets out at 1:15, right? I can come by at 12:30?” he added, nudging that door wider.
The silence weighed heavily with words trapped in your chests. He was trying to be helpful. You were trying to pretend you didn’t need it. Neither attempt succeeded.
“Sure. I’ll have his bag ready.”
“Great. Tuesday at 12:30?”
“Tuesday at 12:30,” you echoed.
He leaned in, aiming for your mouth, but you turned at the last second. His lips brushed your cheek. Tonight was a one‑off. A lapse in judgment. Nothing more.
“See you,” he murmured awkwardly.
“Bye,” you whispered, your throat tightening around the word.
You listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, the creak of the door, the soft click as it shut. The sound brought a dull ache in your chest. You stayed where you were, surrounded by the scent he left behind and the echo of things you didn’t say.
But as your gaze drifted to the small pile of your son’s toys on the floor, the ache settled into something steadier, something you can almost convince yourself is peace. You didn’t lose everything. You just outgrew what wasn’t meant to last. Even if a part of you still wished it had.
Damn muscle memory.
Main SVT Fic Masterlist
Thank you for reading!
Interaction/feedback is appreciated but *not* required. But just in case you feel comfortable enough to comment or just say hello, my inbox 📩 is open 💜💎
Genre: Established relationship; domestic AU; smut; some fluff
Warnings: mentions of ovulation/menstrual cycle; cussing; breast play; fingering; oral (both giving/receiving); unprotected sex; PIV sex; ass smacking; dirty talk; creampie
Word count: 3.3k words
Summary: Sure, a man doing chores is hot. But a man who does the laundry, folds it, and puts it away? Absolutely irresistible.
A/N: The monkey is off my back and I finally channeled my Cheol Burstday comeback brainrot into this!!! Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs. This is for you!
Throughout the workweek, you and Seungcheol text frequently. It’s your way of letting each other know you’re thinking of one another. You share the most mundane things, like mismatched socks on laundry day, or talk shit about coworkers you’d gladly dump on a deserted island along with your other annoying acquaintances.
Occasionally, the messages turn spicier, sent during quiet moments at your desks.
But today has been brutal. The kind of nonstop insanity that barely lets you glance at your phone, let alone reply. You feel guilty for leaving him on ‘read’, but you couldn’t get a moment to break away since there were too many fires to put out.
Seungcheol could tell the week was eating you alive. You’d been venting about that looming deadline, and judging by your radio silence, he connected the dots. Without saying anything to you, he heads out of work early to start dinner and knock out a few chores, just so you can walk in the door and finally decompress.
Back at your desk, you glance at the clock. Just a couple more hours until you can escape the madness and burn off every last ounce of tension with him. The thought alone has you pressing your thighs together. You lick your lips, letting the anticipation settle into the base of your belly, using it as motivation to power through the rest of the day. And you can come home and claim your well-deserved reward.
******
The scent of dinner cooking welcomes you as you walk through the door after a long and trying day. At the end of the hallway, you catch a glimpse of Seungcheol in the kitchen, his broad back turned to you while he unloads the dishwasher.
The exhaust fan hums softly, and music is blasting in the background. You figure this is why he hasn’t responded to your text that told him you were on your way.
You cock your head and watch him for a moment. Your heart swells with appreciation at the sight of him taking care of some chores at home without you asking him.
He looks up at the jangle of your keys as you hang them on the wall. He beams instantly when his gaze lands on you. “Hey, love! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
He’s in sweats and one of his old college shirts, whose sleeves he proudly hacked off himself. It used to hang loose around his shoulders, but now it clings and stretches nicely over his biceps. They’ve been looking more defined lately, and you’ve mentioned more than once how good he looks in that shirt.
You spot the V-shaped sweat mark beneath his collar that tells you he just finished a workout. You can’t help but hope he’s not completely spent, and that he’s saved some energy for you.
Honestly, you’re hoping for a little more than “some.” You want—no—need to be manhandled tonight. After hours of trying to hold things together today, you’d want nothing more than to give up control and have him take over.
He strolls over and greets you with a kiss. A grin spreads across your face. “You didn’t have to cook!” you say. “I was going to order takeout, because I thought you’d be working late tonight.”
He turns back to the stove, lowering the flame beneath one of the simmering pots. “I was,” he says, “But Joshua owes me a favor, so I asked him to finish up the rest of the cases. Told him there was an emergency at home.”
You tilt your head, brows knitting in curiosity. “Oh? What kind of emergency?”
He crosses the room again, cups your cheeks, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. His eyes soften as he meets yours. “The kind where I need to take care of you.”
He’s so cheesy—but your heart still melts. “Ugh... I love you,” you gush.
“Love you too. Now go get changed—dinner’s almost ready.”
******
After dinner, as the food coma settles, you and Seungcheol curl up on the couch to catch up on your favorite show. You’ve changed into an oversized sleep shirt and stretched out sideways, your legs draped across his lap. His eyes are on the screen while his thumb traces lazy circles over your knee.
You’re not really watching the show—your gaze keeps drifting to his profile, bathed in the soft, warm light of the nearby lamp.
“Thank you for dinner,” you murmur. “It was perfect… especially after today.” A slow smile spreads across your face.
He turns to you with a gentle look. “You’re welcome. I know this week’s been a lot,” he says, his voice low and warm. “I thought if I came home early and took care of a few things, maybe you could just… breathe a little easier this weekend.”
“Like what things?”
“Just a few chores. After grocery shopping, I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up your prescription…”
You could cry listening to him list many of the errands you planned to do this week, but never found the time for. How is it possible to love him even more than you already do?
“Then, before I started cooking, I did the laundry.”
Your shoulders tense up.
Every time he did the laundry, it was utter chaos—darks, lights, and delicates tossed into the same load. You never knew if your white tees would survive unscathed or come out with a tinge of pink. The last time, he left everything in the dryer overnight, and you spent the next morning re-running cycles just to tame the wrinkles. Since then, he’s been unofficially banned from doing laundry unsupervised.
He sees your expression shift and quickly adds, “Don’t worry. I sorted everything. Even used the pre-wash on the sheets—just like you showed me.” He gives you a reassuring look, promising there wouldn’t be a repeat of last time.
Your eyes go wide. “You did what?”
He hesitates. “I… did the laundry?” He breaks into a sweat as he starts to question every decision he’s made in the last couple of hours.
You shake your head. “No, no—what did you say after that?”
“I sorted it and ran a pre-wash cycle?” He winces, hoping this answer will get him in less trouble.
When he sees your jaw drop with a gasp, he assumes the worst and scrambles for an explanation.
“Okay, hear me out. I know I messed up before, but I swear, I did it properly this time. I even folded the clothes and put them away in our closet. I’m just waiting for the last load to finish in the dryer.”
You find yourself…inexplicably aroused by all of this. The thought of him in his cutoff shirt, doing a load of laundry, and carefully folding everything. Not only that, but most importantly, doing it exactly the way you like it—is enough to get you hot and bothered.
He sits there anxiously, completely unaware of the effect this has on you.
“I was just trying to help. Are you mad?”
Instead of answering him, you lunge forward and kiss him.
“Whoa, what? What’s happening?” He’s perplexed, yet pleasantly surprised by your sudden aggressiveness.
You shift to straddle his hips. “You had me at ‘sorting the laundry,’” you breathe against his lips before kissing him again, harder this time.
He pulls away again, still looking confused. “Wait, seriously? The laundry?”
It’s not just the laundry. Your hormones are already raging from ovulating, which not only piles onto your stress and irritability at work, but it also leaves you feeling unbearably horny.
The dinner he made had briefly distracted you, but now he’s stirred the memory of what you’d really been looking forward to since walking through the door.
You glare at him in exasperation for trying to derail your plans again. “Yes! Now, are you going to interrupt me again or do you want to get your dick sucked?”
He blinks slowly, your words echoing in his head. Then a slow smirk tugs at his lips, and his gaze darkens. He mimes zipping his mouth shut, hands lifting in mock surrender. He sinks back into the couch, arms stretched, eyes locked on you with quiet amusement.
“Good choice!” You cup his nape and pull his mouth to yours.
You kiss him with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue—each one driving him crazy with want. Your hunger is intoxicating, only rivaling his scent: a heady mix of body wash, sweat, and the savory aromatics from the dish he cooked. It’s the perfect cocktail that sends your senses into overdrive.
When you break the kiss, you tug his shirt over his head. Then you lower yourself again, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, tracing it with gentle licks that elicit a low moan from his throat. Your mouth travels down his chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses as you slide from his lap, then finally sinking to your knees between his legs.
He lifts his hips when you tug at his waistband, helping you slide his bottoms, just enough to pull his cock out.
You tease the tip with a gentle flick of your tongue, making him inhale sharply. You slide your mouth down his length, drawing another gasp from him. At the first hint of suction, he sinks his head deeper into the cushions and groans in pleasure.
“Holy…f…uck…” The rush of wet heat from your mouth over his sensitive tip is so intense, he struggles to catch his breath. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue massaging that perfect spot on his cock that you know makes his toes curl.
You pull upward, then tease him with your fingers, stroking with just enough pressure to make him crave more.
His hands are in your hair, his neck straining to get a glimpse of your mouth sliding up and down his cock.
“Fuck, baby…” he hisses through his teeth, “So good.”
You peer up at him and see his lip caught between his teeth, eyes heavy-lidded, face etched with pleasure—the visual intensifies the throbbing between your legs. Unable to resist, you slip your fingers into your panties to ease the ache. Being extra sensitive during this phase of your cycle, it doesn’t take long before your fingers are coated in your slick.
The hum of your moans vibrates through him, fueling his torment and driving him closer to the edge. You can feel it in the way his thighs tense, hear it in the way his breath stutters. Then suddenly, his hands grab your sides, breaking your suction as he pulls you upward.
“C’mere.”
His hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, gliding to cup the backs of your thighs and the curve of your ass. He pulls you in until your center hovers right over his face.
“Take it off,” he whispers, eyes gazing up at you with dark anticipation.
Without hesitation, your top comes off in one fluid motion.
He presses slow kisses across your stomach, each one making you sigh with pleasure and weak in the knees. His fingers hook into your panties, easing them down your legs, and he guides you back onto his lap.
You gasp as your overly sensitive nipples brush against his bare chest, sending a burst of sensation straight to your core.
“I want you inside me,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours.
“Yeah?” His fingers find your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. You whimper when the sharp but pleasurable pain makes goosebumps race across your skin.
“How bad?”
You grind your soaked folds shamelessly along the length of him, then tease the seam of his lips with your tongue. “Really, really bad.”
Seungcheol flashes a cocky grin, clearly pleased with your answer. For a second, you think he’s about to finally put you out of your misery. But instead, he surprises you, lifting you off the couch.
His hands steady beneath you, he tightens your legs around his waist. You band your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he carries you down the hall—both of you giggling and kissing between breaths.
He angles his body and bumps your bedroom door wider. Your thighs hit the edge of the mattress first, and then he lowers you gently onto your back.
With a sly, teasing smile, he leans down and kisses you quickly.
“My turn.”
He hovers over you, then down—his hot mouth trailing over your breasts, your stomach, and finally, your center. You gasp, arching as his tongue flutters over your clit, every flick sending jolts through your body.
His hands slide up to cup your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples while his mouth devours you with unrelenting focus. The more you beg him to fuck you, the longer he makes you wait, savoring every sound you make, every tremble of your body.
“Cheol, please…”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just slips two fingers inside you and curls them, pressing and stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you.
You’re close to tears when he makes you come once. Then again. And again. By the time he finally lets up, your legs are shaky, your body limp with aftershocks. You lie still, your limbs heavy, your clit still pulsing from his relentless mouth.
You barely register him speaking when his finger strokes you gently across your cheek. “Are you okay?”
You nod weakly.
He chuckles, clearly pleased with the satiated look on your face.
“Time for bed?”
The second the words register, your eyes snap open, and you push up onto your elbows, protesting. “What? No!”
The corners of his mouth twitch. That’s exactly the response he wanted. He leans in close, his breath fanning against your skin.
“Can you take more?”
His teeth graze the shell of your ear, then his lips trace a path down your cheek before claiming your mouth again.
“Please. I just want you inside me.”
He’s seen that look in your eyes before—hunger, need. And because Seungcheol aims to please, he gives in.
“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You give a vague nod and your body’s already moving, scrambling upright, too eager to wait another second.
He leans in again, his breath warm on your cheek as he gently tucks a few loose strands behind your ear.
“Say it.”
A small smile curves your lips as you kneel on the bed, hands resting obediently on your thighs, sitting back on your heels–like a good girl.
His teeth catch his bottom lip. God, he could come just from seeing you like this.
“Ask me again.”
He steadies himself, shifting his focus to hang onto his last shred of control. He wants to make this last—for both of you.
“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”
“Yes.”
He takes a couple of steps back, and your mouth waters as you watch him peel off his sweats. His hand wraps around himself, slowly stroking, before he climbs onto the bed with you.
“Lean into me,” he murmurs.
You shift until your back presses against his chest, resting your cheek against his shoulder. One hand cups your face, tilting your mouth up to his for a kiss, while the other slips between your legs, fingers pumping steadily inside you.
“You ready?” he purrs.
“I’ve been ready,” you whine breathlessly.
He chuckles. “Go ahead,” he coaxes, his tongue touching yours with teasing licks. “Put me in then.”
Reaching back, your hand wraps around his length. He adjusts to line himself up for you. You sink your hips as he pushes up simultaneously, both groaning at the sensation of stretch and constriction.
He wraps his hand gently around your throat, his palm flat against your stomach. He withdraws, then thrusts so hard into you that you could swear you see stars. He holds you firmly in his arms, pumping in and out of you steadily, his groans thrumming against your spine.
“Yes, yes…harder,” you pant, reaching behind and sinking your nails into the flesh of his ass, beyond needy.
You don’t have to ask him twice—he’s already on it. He pulls out, guides you down to the bed, and steadies you as you bend at the waist, cheek pressing into the mattress. His hands grip your hips firmly, and he slides in deep, pulling a whimper from your lips. This is exactly what you wanted, and he’s all too happy to give it to you.
Your insides tense, clenching desperately around him. He grunts through clenched teeth, pulling out just enough before pushing back in intensely. Again and again. Each time, hitting every one of those tight bundles of nerves inside you.
“Don’t stop…” You whine.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me hear you.”
He smacks your ass hard, the stinging sensation causing your insides to clench around him in a vice-like grip. Your fingers claw at the sheets, deep moans rumbling from your throat.
Your legs tremble with a particularly rough stroke, but you’re still desperate and hungry for more. The steady rhythm of his hips and the sounds you make only add to his own insatiable need for you.
He spanks you again, before he picks up the pace, pounding into you, his fingers circling your clit add to the torment. Your cunt squeezes around him as another orgasm nears.
His movements grow unsteady and erratic—after delaying his gratification for so long, he’s now racing toward his orgasm.
He comes with a drawn-out, throaty growl, your knees buckling with the rush of his release melding with yours.
You both collapse onto the bed, skin flushed with a gleam of sweat, limbs tangled in the mess of sheets that he had, ironically, just washed.
He lets out a hoarse, breathless laugh. “Sorry if I went too hard.”
You giggle. “Are you kidding? No complaints here—at all!”
You both settle into a comfortable silence as your breathing steadies and heartbeats slow to normal.
After a moment, he glances over at you and asks, “Hey… are you ovulating, by any chance?” His tone is light, but there’s a hint of apprehension to it.
You narrow your gaze, intrigued. “Y-eah,” you draw out the word. “Why?”
He nods, as if that confirms something. “Figured.”
You tilt your head in amusement. “And how exactly could you tell the difference?”
His voice drops as he locks eyes with you. “Because I can feel it.”
Sure enough, you’re much wetter, and he slips right into you with ease.
You bite back a grin. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on that kind of thing.”
He shrugs, all nonchalant about it. “We’ve been together long enough for me to know you tend to like it rough around this time.”
You glance at him, cheeks warming. He wasn’t wrong. You wanted to be manhandled, and he delivered, as he always does. “Is that weird for you?”
His mouth curves into a smirk. “Weird? Nah. Hot?” He gives an exaggerated nod, eyes trailing over you, and blows out a slow whistle.
You tilt your head back, laughing softly at the ceiling. “Well, I never thought properly done laundry would end up on my list of turn-ons, and yet, here we are.”
You catch his cheeky grin from the corner of your eye.
“Well, in that case,” he drawls, “I should mention that I ran the delicates cycle. Even used that little mesh bag you keep stashed above the washer.”
You roll onto your side and slow-blink at him, as if he’d just grown an extra head.
“And,” he adds, his voice dropping, “I vacuumed.” His eyebrow arches in that cocky way that sends your pulse racing and your self-control straight out the window.
You sit up slowly, crawling toward him with purpose. “Oooh, Mr. Choi,” you whisper, fingers trailing up his chest, “Keep talking dirty to me.”
He breaks into that throaty laugh you love so much. “Round two, then?”
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It’s only natural, isn’t it? To look in the mirror and cry? It’s not that you hate yourself, it’s mostly just that the world wants you to.
Or the one where Jay is enamored and doesn’t mind reminding you that there’s nothing about you that will stop him from falling harder every day.
PATREON REQUEST
WORDCOUNT― 8.3k
PAIRING― park jongseong x afab chubby!reader
CONTENT― jay is very very in love, sex positivity, body positivity but also…see warnings. It’s also a little messy, they have an argument if you squint. He lifts you up and moves you around to prove a point.
WARNINGS― self hate, body dysmorphia, insecurity. There are descriptions of chub, both in a negative and positive light depending on who is thinking what.
NOTE― Reminder that I do not hold negative views of any body type, including hot sexy chubby babes [i actually very much like it]. The reader is intended to be insecure so there are bound to be negative things thought about her own body, i utilize my own insecurities quite a bit here and it makes me feel a bit vulnerable so… don’t be going off on me over it.
ANOTHER NOTE ― SURPRISE? This fic is a request, but i wanted to give you guys something if anything. I do not typically write for a reader with any specific body type, but i feel fond of this one after completion, so take it as you may. this was a patreon request from someone i care for dearly, so rules didn't apply to them lol
smut tags ― big dick jay, LOVE MAKING, grinding/frottage, it’s very fluffy and loving but like…also rough, deep penetration, making out, eye contact, pinching/groping, pussy eating, titty kissing, cream pie, unprotected sex, caressing, sweet-talking rather than dirty-talking.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
You still remember the first date and how Jay looked at you. Your brain fought hard to lie, to tell you that the joke would be over soon, that he hadn’t tried for months to work up the courage to ask you out.
He told you that himself, that it took a lot of courage to ask you, that he even felt anxious over the possibility that you wouldn’t like him back, and still your mind told you the opposite.
No matter how often he found reasons to sit with you in class, or how he would carry your heavy book bag alongside his own all the way to your parked car across campus just so he could tell you to drive home safely…
Still didn’t matter how he said in the softest voice, right next to you as you sat with him for the first time inside of his dorm room, “I think– since the moment I saw you, I had a crush. I never thought you’d actually hang out with me.” He said that before he even asked you on the first date. You thought it was a joke, some sick prank he was put up to.
Yet, still, he looked at you that night in a restaurant neither of you could afford, admitting that he saved up from his part time job for weeks just to bring you here. His eyes shined. Like he was proud to be there with you, almost telling you that it wasn’t a joke, that he truly meant everything he’s ever said to you.
And when he kissed you that night, just for a moment, you really believed that you were good enough.
Six months into your relationship, those negative thoughts faded slowly. All of the negativity, the things everyone always said about you were able to disappear when he held your hand or kissed your forehead. Jay truly seemed utterly enamoured with you, constantly wanting to see you, always wanting to touch, and be close to you. Essentially healing, one by one, every horrible thing ever pounded into your brain from family, friends, and strangers alike.
But…sometimes, like today, those negative thoughts come back and they’re louder than you remember them being before. He can only silence other voices, not your own. Twenty minutes ago you texted him.
You: can we raincheck?
Jaybie: what?
Jaybie: why?
You: I’m not really feeling it today
And for nineteen minutes, your phone has been blowing up.
You imagine Jay would tilt his head at you with a face of concern like he’s done so many times before if he were in front of you right now. You don’t need pity, it’s too embarrassing when he says all those nice things to you and you end up deflecting, making the whole situation worse.
You stare in the mirror, alleviated at the cancellation despite what he’s probably spamming your phone with. Encouragement, reassurances, whatever. Sometimes you just need to isolate and detach, to avoid the mirror, or being seen by anyone. Sometimes, maybe, you even just need to wallow in your own contempt for a bit before facing not just your boyfriend, but anyone at all.
And that sometimes, is right now as you curl up in that ratty t-shirt, flopping back on your bed and trusting that the phone vibrations will go silent after a while. You always feel so guilty when you do this, but it’s just a part of you, it’s what he signed up for.
You need time to get past this block in your head.
Unfortunately, Jay doesn’t.
Knock, knock, knock.
Great, just fucking great. You hadn’t expected him to come anyway, and he’s probably just going to give you that pitied look before dragging you out the door with him.
This type of thing has happened before, and he’s well aware by now to just leave it be, to try again another time, to just text and not facetime, to do this, to do that. Yet he’s on the other side of your door knocking and you’re just sitting here, wondering if you should face him. This isn’t one of those times where he can make it all better with a kiss to your forehead and words of reassurance.
What’s worse is that it used to work. But over time, as you grew comfortable in the relationship, the stray thoughts became louder. “It’s been three weeks now, and he hasn’t changed his mind?”
“Four weeks, two months, three months…”
Month six, and he’s on the other side of your door. He never comes over when you ask him not to. Maybe he’s here to tell you he’s done with all this, that you finally pushed him away for the last time.
Your makeup is slightly smeared from the silent tears, and you’ve already undressed and thrown back on that t-shirt. A t-shirt, mind you, that doesn’t hug nor imply any type of human body beneath. Arguably, it’s your most comfortable one because at least in this, looking like a cotton-blend garbage bag is better than witnessing your own being exist in peace, full of what’s needed, rejuvenated in ways you find yourself hating the most.
There’s nothing to see in you right now, so…you really, really don’t want Jay to be here right now. He wouldn’t find you attractive like this, he would get one look at you and walk away, right? You’re right, he’s here to break up with you for cancelling again.
Knock, knock, knock.
You huff, sniffling and stumbling to your feet, trying to wipe away the remnants of that insecurity that’s hitting you so hard today. And when you look at yourself again, somehow it seems worse than before. You don’t even look like you.
Knockknockknock, more frantic.
You hear the emotion in his knocks, making you hurry to the door, hesitating only for a moment before opening it to find him standing there. So handsome with his hair all neat and fixed like it always is. God, you’d be so heartbroken if he ever looked in the mirror the same way you do. For him to not see how handsome, gorgeous, utterly perfect he is in any given room. Any given light, situation, emotion. Always so handsome.
Always too good for you.
And he looks at you the same as before, tilting his head in the confusion you knew he would, he gives you a once over before inviting himself inside and closing the door, saying nothing, but gently guiding you with his big, warm hand.
You’re surprised, actually.
“No more of this.” He finally mumbles as he makes his way to your bedroom with you in hand, closing every door behind him. As if allowing you to be in the state you want to be in right now. Where no one can see you, where you don’t have to look at yourself and worry.
Truthfully, you want nothing more than to be behind two locked doors, curled up and away from the world for the day. What you don’t want is for Jay to be stuck here with you, witnessing you at your worst. If he wasn’t here to break up with you, surely he will be by the end of this.
“No more pushing me away.” He says this time in a fuller voice, somehow knowing to silence your inner voice as he starts kicking his shoes off and turning to face you. He ignores the uncharacteristic mess of your room and places both hands on your shoulders now. “What’s wrong?”
Oh no, the dreaded question that makes everything rush to surface, making you struggle to hold back tears. It’s harder when he’s looking at you, harder when he’s taking a hand and lifting your chin so you have to look back at him.
He already knows what’s wrong by the look in your eyes alone. Here he was thinking it could’ve been something else this time. Usually you’d text him back, asking for reassurance in your own little way. Timid, almost cute. Usually, you don’t cut him off like this, you let him text you and you respond back every single time.
When you left him on read, he knew that this time had to be different.
He truly does know he’s supposed to leave you alone, but it hurts him too when you get like this. Maybe it’s selfish, maybe he’s the one in the wrong here, but it kills him to know that someone he cares for so deeply has felt so horrible, is feeling so horrible, to the point that even he gets shut out. Over and over again, no matter what he does.
He’s humble even in his thinking though.
The truth from his perspective? He’s tired of it. He’s exhausted with you telling yourself all these things, throwing out every word of love and adoration he’s truly and meaningfully given to you. Always saying there’s something wrong with you, silent jabs at yourself while using him. “She’s pretty, why are you even with someone like me?” You said all those weeks ago, on a day he thought you really felt better about yourself. “It’s okay to look at other people, I get it.” You had said again, blatantly showing insecurity and writing him off because he glanced for just a moment at someone you deem more beautiful. “I can’t buy that, I wouldn’t be able to pull it off–”, “Oh, I’m not hungry.”, “Sorry, I look kind of gross today–”
It goes on and on.
It’s not all easy, pretty, or loving. Sure, you can look exhausted sometimes, so can he. He’s not always feeling the best either, but the difference is that he wants you to see him at his worst. You refuse to let him see you though. Even on your best days, you write yourself off. You write him off, deciding what he must feel about you despite his actions and words trying desperately to prove you wrong.
Looking at you standing in front of him right now is no different. You’re just as beautiful as you were the day he first saw you. Still entirely his type, not a hair out of place in his mind, even if he knows you’d disagree.
The mess of you is sometimes even better than when you’re trying because he knows you feel the same regardless. He prefers you in the state you hate the most, vulnerable, swollen eyes. There’s something about the rawness compared to when you’re plastering on that false smile.
Don’t get him wrong, he loves when you dress up too but it hurts him to know it’s not for yourself, not for him, it’s for everyone outside of this bubble. You fear being looked at, and looking at you just so happens to be one of his favorite things.
In any shape, any form.
Right now, that smeared charcoal makeup shows him that you tried to go out with him today, that you wanted to go. But goddamn, it makes your eyes look so pretty even messed up like this. Clumped lashes and what seems like a permanent frown on your face. Perhaps it’s guilt, or self-pity, he doesn’t know. The point is, even like this, you’d shine in any room you’re in and he’s so, so happy that you opened door for him.
Honestly? He expected you to not answer it just like you did with the texts and calls. He truly thought he’d be spending all night alone wondering if you are the one about to break up with him.
Yet, still. He can’t keep torturing himself loving someone who so aggressively pushes him away, who always believes the lies before his own tears or cracked voice trying to prove, and prove, and prove that you’ll always be enough for him. He could tell you right now how much he wants to kiss you, but he’s afraid you’ll push him away.
Rejection after rejection, all because you fear he will be the one doing it eventually.
“What’s wrong?” He asks again, expression hardening because he knows what it is and he’s desperate for you to just…believe him when he tries to make it better this time.
“I’m sorry, I just–” You try to say, looking down at the floor again despite his hand trying to keep your face angled up.
“Don’t want me to see you like this?” He interrupts, answering for you. “Don’t want me to take care of you when you’re feeling bad?”
You keep staring at the floor as he talks.
“Don’t want this, don’t want that. Do you want me?” He pauses, letting out a sigh because that’s not entirely what he meant to say, but he’s so, so frustrated right now. He can’t help it. There’s panic within him every time you get like this. It’s been six months, he wants to add another six more, but he can’t if you don’t fucking let him.
And fuck, fuck, you’re doing it again. Like so many times before, pushing and pushing away until they finally walk away. You’re shocked he lasted this long putting up with you. Another thing to add to the list, another name of someone who realizes the mistake in picking you.
“Of course I do!” Your voice cracks when the tears start again, taking a step back and away from him.
“Then look at me.” He says, more calm now. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go out today, but to ignore me after texting me? Not even answering when I call? I come over and you can’t even look at me.”
There’s a pause in his frustration here, seeing you cry in front of him like this. He never wants to be the reason you feel bad, even if you’re always his reason for the same negative feelings. He’s tired, but he’s not done being fucking tired. Not yet, at least.
“I won’t look back, if it helps.” He looks away from you now, but fills the gap of space you’ve created. “I just need you to understand that however it is you’re feeling right now, it doesn’t mean I feel the same.”
Your eyes trail to him, noting the way he keeps his eyes averted in the sake of you and it makes you feel…dumb. This whole insecurity thing, it’s something so many people feel and you can’t understand how they push through it on a day to day basis. Are you the only one who curls up inside, unable to allow yourself to be seen?
Are you the only one with a boyfriend who is telling you to see him, rather than only seeing yourself and whatever monster the mirror forces back at you? Where he promises to not look at you, as long as you let him stay? As long as you hear what he needs to say?
“Jay…” Your voice cracks when your hands reach for him. For some reason, him not looking at you makes you worse.
You didn’t want to be touched today, knowing he’d feel the dimples and weight under your skin. Yet here you are, reaching out, inching closer, hugging him as tightly as you can. And still, you feel his chin against you indicating that he’s keeping to his promise. He’s looking away.
“I don’t know why I get like this.” You comment against his chest, nuzzling into him and the tears that soak through his shirt. “Today is worse than usual.”
“You’re allowed to have bad days,” He says calmly, almost numbly. “but I need you to let me be here for them. I don’t know how to make you understand how shitty it makes me feel when you start acting like I wouldn’t want to see you.”
You breathe in as he speaks, letting his cologne calm your mind like it always does.
“I always want to see you.”
There’s something crawling in your brain when he says things like that. You don’t know what it is. It slithers in, makes you smile, makes you feel all warm. Like you can pull back from this hug and look him in the eye, or maybe even go to the grocery store without a thirty minute session of trying to look decent first. It’s confidence, something you only feel when he’s around.
“Why?” You question him still, even while believing him for a moment.
Seeking reassurance. At his expense, you will always seek it.
“Why?” He pulls back, finally looking at you again with a dumbfounded expression. Then, he chuckles. “Still? You still don’t know?”
His tone seems like he’s going to argue with you again, but before you can even look back at him with a nod, you feel him lift you entirely. Instinctively, you squirm to try and get away.
And when you can’t wiggle away, you try and listen to see if he struggles in the act. Just to shame yourself further. Just to deny his strength, and call yourself huge again.
“Stop, I’m too heavy!” You squeal out, almost laughing because it feels nice to be…well, picked up. “You’ll hurt yourself!”
He drops you on your bed without a huff, without dry-heaving, and crawls on top of you, easily sitting on your legs. Yes, Jay is tired of this. You’re just going to ignore the way he goes to the gym specifically so you don’t have to worry? He could have lifted you six months ago, maybe with a bit of a breath or huff, but he can do it just fine now, and you still think you’re too big?
You’ve never been too big. In fact, there’s a genuine fear that there will never be enough of you for him to love.
Goddamn. He’s exhausted with the way you see yourself, and the way you almost demand he sees your imperfections too– because he can’t. There’s nothing about you he doesn’t love. If he were to be out of breath right now, it’s not because you’re too heavy, it’s not because you are too much of anything.
It’s because you knock the breath out of him every time he sees you.
And he’s sick of you not understanding him. He’s tired of trying to understand what you feel about yourself. Because in all honesty? It’s bullshit, it’s stupid, none of that shit matters to him.
He can’t see what you see, regardless of how much you think he does. You can point it out, cry about it, and think whatever you want. He will never agree with you. Reassurance comes too naturally to him, except in his mind it’s not reassurance at all. It’s something he would say to you every minute of every day if you’d give him the space to actually love you, rather than fighting with him on why he should hate you.
“Too heavy? What?” He says as he hovers over you, dipping down to nuzzle his nose against your neck. “How weak do you think I am?”
You throw your arm over your face, your other hand reaching down to pull down the large t-shirt that had ridden up in your fall to the bed. Jay, on the other hand, keeps you pinned down as he nuzzles.
“Anything else?” He asks against your ear.
You pause, opening your eyes behind your arm and taking in a breath. Is he really doing this right now? Asking you to just…tell him?
“Anything else what?” You ask quietly, feeling the way he kisses all over your jaw and hairline, ignoring the heavy feeling of his legs sinking your lower half into the bed as he straddles you in place.
“Tell me why you didn’t want to see me.” He reiterates, kissing and kissing, not stopping, now slowly moving to push himself between your legs. “Tell me what else there is that you think will make me not want you. All the things you think I can’t or won’t do.”
“I–” You pause, swallowing hard before squeezing your eyes shut as your legs pry open around him. God, why is he pulling this out of you? Why is it harder to hate yourself when he’s not hating you too?
“I look like a mess, you deserve someone who–”
“No.” He instantly responds, knocking your arm away from your face and cupping your cheeks with both hands, forcing you to look at him as he presses his hips forward, letting you feel how attracted he is to you.
“Not a mess. My favorite.” He adds, moving his assault of kisses across your cheeks, nose, forehead, then to your lips. “I don’t even deserve you.”
A pause as he pulls back to look at you, assessing the damage.
“What else?”
“I feel like you should be ashamed to be seen with me.” You start, feeling even more stupid when it’s spoken out loud. “I can’t wear all those cute clothes you think I’d like, because nothing looks good on me– doesn’t that disappoint you?”
“Oh?” He smiles cheekily, and you truly will never understand how he could get, like, turned on by you when you feel like this. When you act like this. “Who says I prefer you in clothes anyway?” Then he narrows his eyes at you, pushing his hips forward again to remind you.
That little breath he takes in before speaking again doesn’t go unnoticed either. Like he’s holding back so much. Frustration, lust, love.
“And I want to be seen with you. Wanna show you off, let everyone know that I managed to get someone like you to be with me.”
You stare at him when he pulls back, now looking down at you and toying with the hem of your shirt. You could argue that he actually seems a bit…shy now, looking at you from under his lashes as he pretends to focus on what his hands are doing.
“Anything else?”
“How—?” You start again, trying to throw your arm back over your face, but he catches it, shooting forward again and this time, pinning your arms down against your pillows. “How are you looking at me right now and getting hard?”
“Because I think you’re sexy.” He smiles just inches from your face, trying to make you understand that he’s not lying. He needs you to see the shine in his eyes, the pure love he feels for you, not just the way he very clearly wants you. Not even words can truly explain it, and maybe that’s why he can’t pull you out of his hole of self hate– but fuck if he isn’t trying.
“Do you seriously think I’m not attracted to you?” Another push of his hips. He flexes his muscles around you as he does it, and lets out a little breathy sound. “Seriously?”
That question makes you feel stupid for thinking otherwise. If you look outside of yourself for once, you feel worse than you have today in weeks, yet he’s on top of you right now. He’s clearly turned on, kissing all over your face, making those little sounds as if he’s slowly losing it…
Strangely enough, all of the things he’s said to you throughout your relationship felt like a band-aid. Like he was saying stuff to get you to feel better, well aware that it wasn’t going to happen. Today though, right now, it feels like he’s stabbing these words into you, forcing you to look at them, begging you to listen and believe him.
He’s using his body alongside his words, which isn’t something that normally happens. Mostly because, well, you’ve never let him when the days get this bad. Has it always been like this, or is he just now realizing that a band-aid of sweet kisses can’t fix you? His kisses right now aren’t sweet or docile though, they’re meaningful, almost bruising.
Everything he’s doing feels more bruising than usual, like he’s trying to make you feel him rather than your own skin.
All you can do is look back at him when he pulls back again, noting how still, no one has ever looked at you the way Jay does. He’s never said a bad thing about you, never made you feel disgusting or hard to love. Even when he’s upset with you, he never excludes himself from the issue at hand. It’s never all about you unless it’s…good?
Oh. Wait.
“Maybe you just have bad taste in women.” You say casually, as if writing his feelings off again. You see his eyebrow raise at that, his smile faltering, but you huff.
Then, you smile. You really smile at him, and he…smiles back.
“You need to work on that.” He says, nodding to himself as if what you said just went through one ear and out the other. “My taste is you, and I think you should just accept that or else you’ll have to fight me off, or break up with me or something– because–”
Ah!
You half-groan-half-giggle, falling in love with how he can be so playful on such a bad day. So fast with it too, with the way he scoots back, and dips down and under your shirt before you can even fight him on it. You feel his warm cheek rub against your belly, his hands moving to your waist and holding you there before he moves upwards, blatantly lying against your left breast.
“I love everything about you.” He sighs as if he’s in his own little world now, landing a sideways kiss to the flesh of your chest. “I mean it– fucking everything. Drives me crazy.”
Your arms instinctively wrap around his hidden head, hugging it as you listen to him mumble praise against your skin.
“I love this.” He whispers, kissing your breast again before sliding himself up and kissing against your collar bone, letting out another little moan as he simultaneously grinds his lower half on you.
God, he’s essentially rendering the purpose of this shirt entirely useless to you now. You’re not hidden anymore, he won’t let you be.
“And this.” He continues.
“And this,” He moves down, kissing right between your breasts. “This, this, and this.” He mumbles, kissing down to your belly, nuzzling against your belly button before kissing that too.
“Know what else I love?” He finally asks, pulling himself from under your shirt and letting you get a good look at his blushed cheeks and ears, hair now a mess, slightly frizzy, but still so gorgeous.
You stare at his drowsy, half-closed eyes in awe, wondering over and over again how anyone could ever be good enough for him, somehow feeling entirely lucky that you’re who he picked.
“That you let me do this.” He says, gripping the chub on your hips and kneading it before moving to your belly and doing the same. “That you let me appreciate everything about you, even when you hate it.”
And truly, you can’t stand it. Yet, you do. The way his fingers dig into your flesh so warmly, with the purpose of loving, of feeling, rather than wanting to rip it off of your body like you so wish you could do…it’s…kind of igniting?
After so long of being called all sorts of names. Disgusting, fat, unworthy. Even more words of “You’d be so hot if you’d just–” and “Should you really be eating that?” and yet, he’s digging into their hatred with love and kissing every dimple, looking at you with hearts fluttering from his pupils.
“Could touch you forever,” He continues talking through those same heart eyes, as if more to himself than you. “Kiss and love on you, let you cry it out, then do it more.”
You look down at the way his fingers nearly bruise you, and still you don’t wiggle away, especially not when he blinks up at you over and over again, as if there’s so much to look at, and for the first time, it’s okay that there is.
“So, so, fucking pretty–” He mumbles as he watches you think too hard, nuzzling his nose against your hips now, inhaling the way you smell across your legs, down your thighs, right between your legs. So lovely too, having not had any pants on. Ah, perfect.
You’re perfect.
“Jay…” You warn him, your voice croaking at the tears threatening to fall. “I’m not sure if I like th–”
“Sh, cry it out then.” He pauses to look at you, scooting back and now placing both of his hands on your thighs, spreading them out even more. “I already told you. If you want to cry, cry. I’ll make it better.”
“Eventually, you’ll believe me.” He adds in a sultry whisper after a few silent seconds, eyes leaving yours and trailing down, mouth nearly watering at the sight of you like this.
For some reason, you don’t cry. Even when you feel him groping the parts of yourself that you can’t stand, when you feel it dimple and shake at his movements– all you can focus on is how pretty he looks against you. How happy he looks down there as he leans back in to kiss and nibble, as if it’s all he could ever want.
How could you stop him? How can you deny him something he seems to genuinely like enough to touch and kiss? Jay deserves everything in life, even if you’re not someone who can fill his cup and keep him happy. You can…be happy with him right now, at least, right?
Because it’s hard to not feel good when he does it. Being touched on a bad day is something you’ve always dreaded, yet it feels good. It feels better. Like he’s forcing you to let him see every single thing that’s bothering you, proving that sometimes it’s better to stop hiding. No more stressing that he will see you in the wrong lighting, the worst angle, that he somehow didn’t catch on that you aren’t the skinniest girl in the world. He’s seen it all now, and he’s not running. Only his view should matter, and he so desperately needs it to.
“Hm?” He hums from below, assaulting your thighs with kisses as you watch him retract one hand and grab himself between the legs. You can’t tell if he’s just adjusting, or if he’s kneading it, but you don’t really care.
He’s…too hot when he looks like this. God.
It’s like something is shifting. He’s different today than he was on all those other days with you. He was always so handsome, but you only saw him as a man who would grow tired and bored of you. A man who was just out of reach despite him clinging to you. You didn’t cling back, you didn’t want it to hurt when he pried you off of him.
But now? He’s somehow more handsome. More beautiful, more masculine, more of this, and more of that. He’s Jay amplified to the point that he nearly glows in the sunlight from your window. Sharp features leaving little shadows on his cheeks and neck as he does his boyfriendly duties. And maybe you’re just realizing that he genuinely picked you. This isn’t a duty if he doesn’t want it to be at all. Being with you…isn’t a job for him?
If he was tired, today would’ve been the day he left, wouldn’t it? Is it really just natural for him to be like this with you? He’s not leaving. He’s doing everything you never thought anyone would want to do, and he’s beautiful while doing it.
Maybe you are too? At least in his eyes. Maybe, it’s okay to believe him.
“What’re you looking at me for?” He smirks after a long moment and nuzzling all over you.
“You just–” You swallow thickly, feeling your heart thumping against every sensitive spot on your body. “You’re so handsome.”
“Mm,” He hums with a short nod before sinking his head down further, landing his lips over your panties before blinking up at you. “You think so?”
That need for confirmation from you brings floods of comfort, knowing that Jay has insecurities too and sets them aside if it means he gets to believe you and what you think of him. Like your opinion on himself matters more than his own.
“I do–” You sigh, feeling his lips ghost over you, his hands holding you so firmly, his eyes still blinking up at you. Fuck.
“Handsome enough to wrap your legs around me?” He questions cheekily, smirking against your clit before pressing his lips down in a harsh kiss against it, feeling the swell of it himself.
He knew you’d have to breathe before giving him the “no” and smiles when it’s exactly what happens.
“N-no-” You groan, body twitching at the slight pressure he offers over your panties.
“No?” He smirks again, pulling his lips back and looking at you. “I’m not handsome enough? You don’t want to do that to me?”
“No!” You retort in slight panic, never wanting Jay to feel bad about himself. “I do!”
He hums a pleasant sound in response, knowing it couldn’t hurt to shoot his shot, hoping that one day you really will stop being so afraid to smother him. He wants that. He wants to feel your thighs press against his ears as your legs pull his mouth ever closer to–
“Someday, though?” He whines over his fantasy, now using one hand to toy with your panties, slowly pulling them to the side.
You nod with a shiver, blinking down at him as he awaits the answer he wants to hear. It’s the way you know that’s what he wants too, the way you don’t doubt him in this moment.
He smiles at your nod before darting his eyes back down, seeing the swell of your clit and feeling like he’s making it through to you at this point. You’re wet, you’ve been wet, you’re letting him, you want it.
Even on a bad day, you want it.
So, he’s not going to sit here and fuck around. No more playing, teasing, or expecting you to say things out loud. He doesn’t want to push his luck, anyway. He goes straight into it too, barely kitten-licking against your clit as he holds your panties to the side, glancing up at you just to get a good look at his beautiful girlfriend before he closes his eyes entirely, and focuses.
He’ll be damned if he doesn’t have you screaming for him, asking for more. He’d be so fucking happy if you even just…thrusted up a bit, chasing his tongue, losing yourself even for a moment in the pleasure where you’re not overthinking what your body is doing.
Jay is dead set on that, actually. Licking hard and fast against your clit in all sorts of directions. Swirling it around, drooling warm saliva all over you, flicking, sucking, then moving lower to lick long, languid stripes up and down to clean you up. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until finally, you’re making sounds.
Cute little sounds that he knows probably embarrasses you even more, but he eats them up. He presses his tongue harder, grips your leg tighter, nearly rips the panties from you as a whole over how turned on he is by the sound and taste of you.
And then, he pulls back just for a moment to glance up.
“Fuck–” He whispers to himself out of breath, seeing the way you’re chewing on your bottom lip and gripping onto your shirt as if to pull it over your own stomach. You’re so hot, so, so fucking sexy to him. “My hair, grab it.”
It’s a ploy so he can busy your hands and, well, get your shirt back up. He wants to see you, all of you, and– well, he’s into the whole hair pulling thing.
Jay really, though, really loves the idea of you showing him exactly where you want it. Even now, after so long together, you’ve very rarely asked or indicated what you want.
He’s actually shocked that you do it. With a bit of guidance anyway, as he lifts slightly to grab your hand in his, placing it in his hair, and the other trapping your hand under his and pushing your shirt up as he moans all the while.
Then, he’s back at it, one hand pulling your panties out of the way, the other hand flat on your belly, and you’re lying here exposed, watching him ravish you as if no weight on your body could stop him. It’s arguable that he doesn’t care at all about the insecure aspect of yourself. He’ll ignore your self hate if he could, but you don’t let him. You make it so loud.
Jay is louder though, and he makes damn sure of it as he re-adjusts as he continues to lick and suck against you. He loves the feeling of your fingers in his hair, and really, really loves the way your fingers grip harder when he does that thing.
So he keeps doing it. Slurping your clit into his mouth before practically making out with it. Full open mouth on you, licking hard, with purpose, then moaning a little vibration to help push you further into that pleasure.
And oh, there it is. That grip in his hair tightens, he feels you slightly press his face harder and all he can manage is a small “mhm,” against you to encourage more. He’s losing you to the pleasure, which is the exact fucking goal here.
You deserve this, to feel good without worry.
He could do this all day if you’d let him too. Arguably, he almost thinks you would if it weren’t for the fact that he feels the grip in his hair loosen and your legs shaking around him.
He pulls back again to check on you, noting the darkened look in your eye. He thought you were about to ask him to stop, saying that it’s too much, but no. This is…better.
You, for some reason, felt something in your brain shift through all of this. He’s kind of being forceful. Making you let him see everything, wanting you to put in some work too, and you’re into it. Weirdly, you’re very into it right now that the words come out easy.
Well, kind of. You can’t really think straight right now.
“Jay–” Your voice shakes as you look down at him, the wet on his chin and lips shining in the light as he looks at you with concern. “Please.”
Then, a smile from him before he’s licking his lips and crawling up and over you.
“Aw,” He coos, pressing a kiss to your lips before looking directly into your eyes. “You want more now?”
You nod with glassy eyes, looking up at him like a docile pet, very animalistic both internally and externally. Like nothing exists outside of you aside from him, a very willing boyfriend to give you what you want.
He likes it. Loves it, really, with the way you’re being so vulnerable now. He’ll take care of you always.
“What do you want, baby?”
You blink up again. Suddenly feeling, not insecure, but shy. He doesn’t expect you to answer though, solidifying the understanding part of his personality in your mind. He, instead, grabs your hand and drags it down his own body, right to his cock.
“This?”
You moan in response, entirely accidental but, it still happened. His smile at that is something to die for too. Really, really handsome with his sharp features as he presses himself into your palm, urging you to squeeze.
“Really?” He puts emphasis on reassurance, confirmation. “You sure you’re feeling up for it?”
And god, you know if you were a normal person, and he had a normal girlfriend, he probably would have to ask for a confirmation after already being begged to do something, yet here he is.
“Please,” You smile in your shy bliss when you say it, feeling how hard he is and how wet he’s made you dripping between your legs.
He nods, leaning down for one more kiss before trailing your hand up to his zipper, allowing you to be the one to take it out. And you do, unzipping his pants and now using both hands to undo his button.
He watches you do it, utterly in love with the way your shirt stays above your collar bone, and your stomach folds as you lean up to do it for him. He stands up tall on his knees to let you, admiring the view from above before he feels your cold hands slide his pants down and grip him right where he needs it most.
You finally glance up at him now, noting the way he’s looking at you without a hint of disgust. God, you really like Jay. You really, really, might even love him. Which is scary, but weirdly welcomed right now. He’s in love with you, right? To be looking at you like this? To be so hard, leaking all over himself at the sight of you, the taste of you?
“Oh, you’re so pretty.” He sighs, watching your face, scanning your body, and then moving his eyes to where your hand holds his cock in place. “Lay back.”
You listen solely because of his softened voice. You lay yourself back against your pillows, suddenly feeling a bit better in your skin when his cock twitches at the view. Still half clothed, whatever, he uses his knees to pry your legs open again as he grips himself now.
“Baby–” He pauses for a moment, still gripping himself but only looking at your face now. “Can we– um,” He trails off now, looking away and feeling a bit shy himself now.
You tilt your head so fucking cutely at him that he nearly dies on the spot. God, fuck, how did he manage to be your boyfriend? You’re lying here like this for him, because of him. He’s slightly obsessed, and so badly he wishes you knew. Then, you let out the smallest “What is it?” and his brain malfunctions before he’s throwing himself forward on you, leaving one hand between you to aggressively shove your panties back to the side.
Lips just inches from you, he’s already bumping the head of his cock against your hole, trying to pry it inside without the conversation needed. And to be fair, he can’t really help it. You just look so pretty, you’re acting so cute, he’s so…so in love with you. He’d stop if you told him to.
He’d get on his knees and beg you for forgiveness. Yet, still, he has to ask before he goes any further. So, he tries to control it, leaving the head of his cock right there, as if your pussy isn’t begging for it–
“Please, can I just do it?” He groans, one arm shaking as he tries to hold himself up. “Please let me, just this once.”
It takes you a moment or two to comprehend what he’s asking and…oh. You…forgot? You didn’t even think about it. And the fact that he’s asking–
You nod shyly, well aware that you’ve taken your birth control religiously anyway.
“Oh, fuck–” Jay groans deeply into your ear as he drops back down, instantly sliding his full length into you, raw. The slide is overwhelming for him, surely it’s a lot for you too.
No matter how many times the two of you have had sex, it’s always different without a condom. And this is the first time he’s felt you like this. Both of you always responsible, always so fucking careful with each other.
You mimic his sounds at the thickness opening you up. It’s hard to adjust when he’s already so deep inside, and you can’t help but squeeze around him with pained little groan. He kisses you through it too, mumbling little words of “thank you, baby, fuck, mmf, you’re so–” before he slides out again.
All the way, he slides out all the way before pushing back in again without stopping. Wanting to feel all of it, wanting you to feel all of it too. And he still groans into your mouth, losing himself alongside you with how tightly you’re gripping him even through the wet seeping out of you.
It’s like he forgot how to use words in this moment, which is fine, given the situation. He’s never been good with words anyway, clearly. And hearing you moan with him, feeling you kiss him harder, your legs wrapping around him as if to shove him in deeper– it’s all he needs.
“Yeah,” He manages to whisper in a deep breath, still pulling out entirely before pushing back in. “Fuck– y-yeah, like this?” He pulls back and looks at you.
“Yeah–” You parrot him, pussy still quivering around him to the point it’s all he can feel right now, and it drives him to shorten his thrusts.
No longer pulling all the way out, but now just to where his tip is inside of you, then pushing in again, and again, and again.
You make little sounds each time he bottoms out, and he can feel the way your warm belly flutters under him. It’s so much, so perfect, everything he could ever want. He wants to see it, all of you, the entirety of you take him so well, loving him the way he’s always wanted, letting him love you back.
So, he pulls up now, leaning back and holding your thighs open as he stares down at where his cock, now more quickly, slams into you. The view of your body from this angle drives him to do it harder, harder, watching your whole body move with the act and goddamn– how could you not find yourself sexy?
“I’m already so fucking close,” he seethes to himself, eyes zoning in on your stomach. Because from here, he can see your face in his peripheral as well as his cock sliding in and out and it’s just, “perfect—god.”
You’ve already lost feeling in your toes at the pleasure as he talks away above you. You’ve only just adjusted to his size and you can’t even focus on covering your body because he seems so lost in a daze at it. Like he really is going to cum right now, regardless of how hard or fast he’s fucking you, regardless of if he had a condom or not. He’s…so focused on you.
You can feel your weight shifting with each thrust, but somehow it just feels better and better as you feel his hand unhook from your panties and shoot to your clit, rubbing it relentlessly. You stare up at his now pleading eyes.
“Need you to cum first–” He whines, flexing his body as if to hold off. “Please, baby, are you close?”
Well, you are now.
Maybe it’s something about him losing himself, or maybe it’s the way he’s rubbing circles around your clit threatening an orgasm whether you want it or not. You can barely answer before he feels it.
Your body tries to push him out at the tight squeeze of muscles, but he points his thrusts in you much harder, watching your face and focusing entirely on what you look like when he’s giving you what you need.
Usually, you hide your face, usually, you don’t let him sit up like this to really see you. Now? You’re not hiding your face. Even if both of you are still partially clothed, this is the most natural state he’s ever seen you and in, god, you squeeze so tight, you get so wet–
“Ah-” He groans in surprise as he stares at you and the way your eyes squeeze shut, with your mouth hung open through your orgasm. “Ahhh–” He bellows out as he feels his own release pumping into you so deeply.
He shoves his hips forward even more, almost shoving you entirely up the bed in one single thrust because, let’s be honest, weight is never an issue. He can and will shove you up this bed with his cock alone just to reach deeper.
You feel it, so deep inside of you that it almost hurts as you come down from your orgasm. But god, the way his hands grab at you, squeezing your flesh as he pumps ropes into you, practically drooling as he falls forward against your neck and continues his panting and groaning.
In all fairness, he’s never wanted to cum in a girl more. Raw or not, the fact that it’s you just, means something to him. You let him see, let him feel, finally, you let him, and it makes the orgasm last longer.
Makes it feel better.
So good that his ears pop and his entire body twitches on top of you as he finally comes down.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“I’m supposed to be doing this for you, you know?” Jay pouts as he lays spread eagle on your beg, feeling you drab against his skin with a warm towel.
“Hmm.” You mostly let his argument fly through one ear and out the other.
“Hey, are you listening?” He grabs your hand to stop the pampering before pulling you down on him.
You try to get off of him instantly on instinct, but he knew you would. He holds you tightly, not letting you move even an inch off of him before he can finally feel you relax.
“Really, why are you the one spoiling me right now?” He asks in a softer voice, much less whiny.
“Jay,” You whisper against him, hiding your face in his neck. “You literally stood up and got light headed–”
He hums in disapproval.
“Still, I wanted to be the one–”
“Sh,” You hush him with a lighter voice than what you had when he came over. “We can shower in a minute. You needed to rest after–”
“Pfft,” He blows his hair up and out of his face with a short breath. “I’m bothered that you weren’t the one getting light headed, why don’t you need rest?”
You pause, dumbfounded as you pull yourself from his grip and stare right at him.
“Jay. My legs are literally still shaking.”
And with a small sound of approval, your boyfriend looks proud, not just of what he did to you, but to be with you.
› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader
› aus: dilf jeonghan, boyfriend jeonghan, jeonghan is a girl dad
› genres: angst, fluff, smut (18+)
› word count: 23k
READ PART ONE HERE
› warnings: toxic family dynamics: jeonghan's ex is a bad person in general (a neglectful parent), talks about speech therapy, speech impediment. jeonghan is an idiot. reader is emotionally constipated. so there's A LOT OF drama.
› smut warnings: smut with plot (this part has more plot than the previous one, you're warned), they're both crazy for each other, dirty talk, pussy eating, jeonghan is pussy drunk, quickies, make up sex, breeding kink, cowgirl, daddy kink, edging, bathroom sex, silence play, unprotected p in v sex (i'm such a bad influence, wrap it up!), creampies, mating press, yn is slightly 🤏🏻 bratty, dom jeonghan, aftercare. pet names: babe, baby, beautiful, darling, sweetheart, (hers) babe, daddy (his)
› author's note: hiiii! i'm here to say thank you guys for the support in the pineapple on pizza? post! it was really nice to see that so many of you enjoyed it, so here is a part two! honestly i enjoyed writing dilf!hannie quite a lot and couldn't get him out of my brain for months so here it is, a part two lol. and this chapter is looooong, so buckle in!
also another note: this is incredibly self indulgent. like everything i write. but i think this one takes the cake.
› disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂
“Have you seen my keys?”
Morning routines were always a mess. Something different happened every time, and somehow, even though you’ve done this more than a dozen times, it was still hard to catch up.
But you were getting the hang of it.
The apartment was a controlled chaos, as you liked calling it. The air smelled of coffee and the soft fragrance that Jeonghan wore to work. Repetition was starting to have its effect as you began to associate your mornings with those two scents.
“Have you tried looking under the couch?” you asked, turning around with a small bowl in your hands. You placed it carefully on the small tabletop of Sohee’s booster seat and watched quietly as she sank her little spoon into her bowl of cereal and milk.
“I should’ve added more milk,” you mumbled, biting on the inside of your cheek.
The little girl didn’t seem to notice, though. She ate happily, kicking her feet in the air and clapping her tiny hands together as she chewed, milk dripping from the corners of her pouty mouth.
You heard a sigh, and then the sound of footsteps approaching from the hall, and you lifted your head.
Jeonghan was still buttoning his perfectly ironed shirt, his hands going lower and lower, distracting you from your initial task. You felt your lips parting before forcing any kind of control onto your facial expression. His black trousers were also yet to be fixed, but as he finished buttoning his shirt, he tucked it inside his pants, quickly fastening his belt.
You lowered your gaze to the little girl slamming her palms onto the tabletop. Sohee was dancing happily. And you were glad that you had zero witnesses to your ogling your boyfriend quite shamelessly.
You brushed crumbs off the table, picked up the empty bowl and put it away. “Alright,” you said with a sigh, pretending to be deeply focused on the morning routine. “Did you find them?”
When you looked up, you found that Jeonghan had also been staring. His eyes were trained on the scene happening before him. His mouth parted, and he appeared to be confused for a split second—giving himself a very brief shake. “Yeah,” he smiled shyly and patted the pocket of his trousers. “Under the bed.”
“Huh,” you grinned. “How could they have gotten there?” you asked, innocently tilting your head.
Jeonghan sighed. The smile was still glued to his face, but it slowly brushed off as he raised his wrist to his face, looking at his watch. “I’m late,” he said, delivering the words with an annoyed edge in his tone. “Fuck. I’m so late,” he added, turning around to grab the jacket that had been previously placed on the couch.
Panic rushed in your veins. It was a big day for Jeonghan at his work—he had a big meeting in which it was certain that he would get some good news about a project that he had proposed for the company he worked for. You knew what this meant for him.
You looked at the time. His shift started earlier than yours did, and with another twist to your stomach, you knew that he wouldn’t be able to drop Sohee off at the daycare and then make it on time to his meeting.
“Go. I’ll drop Sohee at daycare,” you blurted right as he was throwing Sohee’s things into her bag.
His gaze snapped up and locked onto your face. The shock was flitting, but you were able to catch it before he blinked and parted his mouth to say something.
But you were quicker— “Here. Take my car and I’ll take yours so I can put Sohee in her car seat. We can switch later,” you said, stumbling over your words as you fished your car keys from the pocket of your smart trousers, handing them to him.
Jeonghan straightened, fixing the wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose—you always went a little crazy when he did that—but this time he placed his hands on his hips, his face thoughtful, calculating. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause an inconvenience with—”
“Babe, you’re not causing anything,” you insisted, thrusting your fist holding the keys into the space between you and him. “Take my car. Go to your meeting. I’ve got Sohee.”
At that, Jeonghan’s face relaxed, starting to approach you with a softened look on his face—like he could melt just at the sight of you. He took the keys from your hand. “You’re godsent, did you know that?” he asked, his tone low as he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you to his body.
“I’m just here to help,” you said lightly, meeting his gaze as he bent his head to meet your lips with his own.
Jeonghan gave you one feathery kiss. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered, pushing his lips on yours again. “Be careful, okay? Call me if anything happens.”
You smiled against his lips. “I got this,” you repeated in a sweeter tone.
Part of you was sure that Jeonghan knew this as well. But Sohee was his entire world. And he was quite literally leaving her in your hands.
And you were unsure as to what to think about it.
Jeonghan turned, peeling himself from your lips with a begrudged groan and placed a kiss on top of Sohee’s head. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” he cooed gently.
Your tummy twisted again. This time, the reaction was from the way Jeonghan switched into dad mode in the blink of an eye. The switch from hot boyfriend to diligent father never failed to mess with you.
Sohee lifted her head, her eyes looking at her dad, but she didn’t respond.
“Be good today, okay? Eat all of your meals and try not to miss me too much,” Jeonghan insisted, trying to get her to utter something. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart. Byeee,” he cooed again.
But Sohee kept looking at her father fixedly.
“Sweetheart, say bye,” Jeonghan encouraged Sohee again, this time lower but still gentle.
“Maybe she’s not feeling it today, babe,” you muttered behind him.
A few weeks ago, Jeonghan confided in you that he started to notice that Sohee often froze at the moment of speaking full sentences. Initially, he had brushed it off, thinking that his daughter was innately shy, just like himself. But as months passed by and she continued developing other social skills, he began to believe that it was something else.
“Right,” Jeonghan mumbled, not hiding the slight look of worry on his face. But he leaned and propped another kiss on her forehead before stepping back. He kissed you on the cheek, handing you the keys to his car.
“Good luck,” you mumbled, and he replied with a quick nod. You and Sohee watched quietly as Jeonghan slipped through the door.
As soon as the door clicked shut, you realized what you had gotten yourself into. It was supposed to be a simple task, yes. But it had a thousand layers of meaning beneath it. Taking Sohee to daycare was something you could do every day, gladly—but something felt off.
Like you were starting to cross a line, and neither Jeonghan nor you knew how to talk about it.
Taking Sohee to her daycare was one thing—driving Jeonghan’s SUV was another.
It wasn’t a particularly daring task either, but it also put your nerves on edge. After fixing Sohee’s daycare bag and your own stuff, you grabbed her first, hoisting her up your hip, and then you swung your bag and Sohee’s on your shoulder.
“Ready to see your friends today, Sohee?” you asked, raising your tone into a sweet one. It felt practiced, and you remembered the first few times you ever did it—how it made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. But after a time, you could say that you understood why people would talk in a cute way to kids, it came naturally.
“Yeah,” Sohee replied, the word landing almost aloofly. Like you had just caught her in a moment where she didn’t find any barriers for her to speak.
You pushed the button of the elevator and slowly moved your head to look at her.
Sohee was a perfect little girl of almost three years of age. When you met her over half a year ago, you were sure you were holding a little angel. She was gentle and sweet. Her head was full of dark hair that matched her long eyelashes, just like her father’s.
“Oh, yeah? What are their names?” you asked, eyeing her as you stepped into the elevator with her still attached to your hip.
“Dany,” she mumbled perfectly, raising her tone as though she were about to make a list of names.
“Dany? Okay, and who else?”
“Nora,” she said, quieter this time.
The elevator paused on its way down, opening the doors for another person to step in. You knew the conversation was over.
Sohee fell silent, lowering her gaze from you and fixing it on one point on your shirt. You realized after a few seconds that she was staring at your hand, at your painted fingernails. What made you certain was the way she raised her hands to her gaze, comparing her fingernails to your own.
Something twisted inside you, the idea of her and you doing each other’s nails dawned in your head. And you knew what that pang in your stomach was—possibility. You were thinking of the future.
“Here we go,” you mumbled as you approached Jeonghan’s navy blue Kia Seltos. The fresh smell of new and clean leather still lingered inside it as you opened the door and put Sohee in her chair.
She never complained, just quietly sat on the chair and looked at you as you fixed the buckle of her safety belt.
“Safety first,” you said, trying to fill in the silence. You grabbed one of the toys from the toy basket sitting beneath her seat and showed it to her. “Look, it’s Rory!” you cried dramatically, showing her the dinosaur plushie that you knew she loved.
Sohee extended her arms and made grabby hands at the green and very cute T. rex. She didn’t speak again, no matter how hard you tried to get her to say something.
The parking lot was buzzing with activity, cars coming and going, hustling parents coming in and out of the building, dropping their kids off—and you for sure felt like a fish out of water, but you didn’t want to entertain the thought for too long. You signed Sohee in without an issue—the staff mentioned that as you were dropping Sohee off, Jeonghan had phoned them to let them know you were coming in his stead.
You soothed Sohee’s hair and gave her a quick kiss on her head as she scrunched her fingers on your back, almost affectionately. “You be good, sweetie,” you said before leaving her and turning to the parking lot, feeling strangely empty when you climbed inside the SUV.
You carried out work as usual. You didn’t think about the odd feeling clawing at your heart for the rest of the morning. The second the clock hit one o’clock, your phone started vibrating, snapping you out of your monitor screen. You scrambled to get your phone, only to see Jeonghan’s face on the screen.
“Hello?” you responded with a hushed tone, looking over to see if you had interrupted the workflow in the office. But you realized the space was nearly empty, and everyone had left for lunch.
“Am I interrupting?” Jeonghan noticed immediately by your tone alone.
“No. I just didn’t look at the time,” you told him, pushing yourself off the chair and walking in the direction of the elevator.
“Oh, I see. Is this still a good time to speak with you?” he asked.
You smirked at his choice of words. “I don’t know, you tell me. Is this a good time for you?” you retorted, noticing that he was also in his cubicle.
“You got me,” he said, and you could imagine the shy smile on his face. “I’m stepping outside, hold on.”
You pushed the button to the elevator and waited while on the other side of the line, you heard Jeonghan moving.
“Okay, I’m out,” he said with a sigh. “Are you going to the food court?” he asked.
Jeonghan knew your schedule well, and he was also very familiar with your routine since you always kept him in the loop of the things you did. When you started dating, you would quite practically narrate to him your daily life through text messages, to the point that he knew all of your co-workers by name without knowing them in person.
“Yes,” you replied, stepping out of the elevator.
“Chicken salad?” he asked with a low tone, making you think that he probably had some co-worker passed him by.
“Oh, I think I’m moving on from that,” you told him. “I want a burrito. A chicken burrito.”
“Oof, how different,” he teased.
“Let me be,” you bit back and then frowned, suspecting something was off.
“I will. But I’m going to tease you about it either way,” he said with a brief laugh. “How is work going?”
“Fine,” you replied simply. But it was then that you dared to ask, “Is something going on, babe? You’re never this weird.”
Jeonghan sighed, and you knew he was smiling. “Am I being that obvious?” he said, and then, before you could say something, he continued. “I just wanted to tell you to come tonight and have dinner with Sohee and me.”
“Mmn, why do I feel like this could’ve been a text,” you said as you sat down at an empty table that was cluttered with a tray and a single French fry sitting on its box.
He laughed. “I am trying to get somewhere here,” he said.
“You’re taking a lot of detours!” you laughed with him. “Of course, babe. You know I love having dinner with you and Sohee.”
“Good. Great,” he mumbled, and something about the dejected way his words came out made your ears perk.
A long moment of silence happened between you, where you could hear the sound of his breathing and nothing else. Your gaze fell out of focus, landing on a single grain of salt on the dirty table in the very crowded food court.
“Is everything alright, babe?” you asked, your tone lower. “Did the meeting go well?”
“Yeah. It’s not that. I want—” he cut himself off, but then, “I want us to talk,” he said.
Your heart fell to your stomach, the feeling so impactful that it left you completely stunned. There was nothing in the world that could replace the feeling you’d get when you heard the words we need to talk, and all of its variations.
“Oh, then—t-that changes things,” you mumbled awkwardly, not forgoing that he ignored your initial question.
“Wait, no,” he started, noticing the tension in your words. “It’s nothing bad.”
“Okay,” you said under a heavy sigh. “Then tell me now,” you said.
“I’d rather wait until tonight—”
“Did I do something wrong?” you asked instead. And perhaps you could’ve controlled yourself better, but you were fully induced in anxiety now.
“No. I swear it’s nothing bad,” he told you firmly. “It’s something I have been wanting to ask you.”
You started toying with the lonely grain of salt with the tip of your finger. “If it really is nothing bad, then you could ask me now,” you said, fully aware of how shaky your tone was.
“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, stretching out each word.
“Very.”
Jeonghan sighed and then paused. You could picture him clearly—standing on the balcony of the building where he worked, looking very polished on the outside but probably tense, judging by his tone alone.
“I was just thinking that we’re always so busy, you with work and me with—well, with everything and…” You heard him pause, and then release a sigh, and that’s how you knew he was also steadying himself. “I wanted to know if you would like to move in with us. With Sohee and me.”
In all of the things you could’ve possibly imagined him saying, this wasn’t one of them. You straightened in your seat as a chill ran down your spine. “Jeonghan, are you serious?” you asked, unable to control how firm you sounded.
“I don’t mean now, but sometime in the future. We can plan and see how things go from there,” he offered, and he sounded steady, but you could notice the slight edge of nervousness in it.
The feeling invading your body made you feel as if you had been dropped from a very tall building.
“Babe…” you started, looking for the words to say.
“It’s okay if you want to say no,” he said. “I just wanted to talk about it with you tonight over dinner.”
You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “I’m not saying no,” you told him.
“You’re not saying yes either,” he sighed in defeat. “I’m rushing into things.”
Your chest caved in. You wanted to say yes, you wanted this. But there were so many things that you thought needed to happen before you moved in with him and his daughter. In your book, things like the first I love you had to happen before sharing a roof with that person. Or at least knowing them for a full year.
Oh, and the judgment. Your friends already thought you were insane for dating a single parent, and now you were moving in with him eight months after meeting him? Not only that, your whole life had taken a turn when you started dating Jeonghan—to the point that the person you were a year ago wouldn’t recognize the person you were now.
“Can we talk about it tonight over dinner?” you asked, your tone tiny.
“Of course. We can talk about it more calmly,” he said, and you couldn’t ignore the note of sadness in his words. “I get it, baby. I should’ve waited. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jeonghan. You did nothing wrong,” you said, but then something felt off.
“Listen, I have to go back. See you tonight?” he asked, and you caught the way his tone picked up. Something had come up.
You deflated completely. “See you tonight, Jeonghan.”
And then something hung in the air. An unspoken thing between you, something that needed to be said.
Your heart started to hope.
But then the line went dead.
There was a thought that you couldn’t quite keep away. When you met Jeonghan, you instantly knew this man was for you—every bone, every nerve ending in your body told you that. Then, when you knew he was a single father, you knew that a relationship with him would be challenging. But it turned out to be easier than expected.
However, things started to shift from the first night you and he took things to the next level. Spending the night in his bed was a very conscious decision you both made. You were both ready, and truth be told, aching for each other. What you didn’t foresee was that you were climbing those steps into a serious relationship without paying attention to how fast and how uncontrolled you were.
Now, it felt as though you were in too deep, but there were no rules or boundaries in place.
You gnawed on your lower lip, debating whether to write him a text telling him that you knew he meant well by his proposition.
Instead, you got up and went to the nearest convenience store, got a sandwich, and ate half of it on the elevator ride back to your office.
The rest of your shift happened in a blink. Thankfully, you were so busy that the aftermath of that call with Jeonghan was pushed to the second plane of your brain. You would sometimes remember it with a jolt in your stomach. And he also didn’t text you afterwards, which meant that he was also probably busy—or that’s what you wanted to believe anyway.
You came out of the office some four hours after the phone call, scrambling inside your handbag to get your car keys.
Your phone started vibrating furiously somewhere in one of the many pockets, your heart deflating stressfully in the thought that it could possibly be Jeonghan. A flashing thought drove that anxiousness right into your soul, telling you that he would be telling you that tonight’s plans were off.
But it was an unknown caller. And you picked up solely on the thought that it would be a work-related thing.
“Yes?” you said, putting your bag on top of the trunk of your car.
The caller was a woman with a very polite tone, asking for you using your full name.
“This is her,” you replied almost routinely.
“Hi! This is Katy from the Speech and Learning Center. Am I speaking to Sohee’s mother?”
“Oh—” you gasped, leaving the task of finding your keys completely abandoned due to the sheer shock that question gave you. “No. I’m her father’s partner. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no. Everything is fine. I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Katy responded kindly. “We have you on Sohee’s file as the emergency contact in case her father doesn’t answer, and we’ve tried him three times just now, but no answer. Are you able to make choices about her appointments with us?”
“God,” you mouthed to yourself, screwing your eyes shut. “Um, Sohee’s birthday is on Friday, so Thursday would probably be better,” you responded automatically, and then you stopped yourself with a shake. “But I think you should try her father again.”
But then you remembered—Jeonghan had mentioned a very important meeting, the one where his boss would determine whether he had the promotion or not.
“I believe he was in a meeting. Maybe you should try in…” you checked your watch. “Twenty minutes. He should be off by then.”
“Understood. I will call him instead. Well, I thank you for picking up this call and wish you a good rest of your day. Bye!”
“Thanks. You too,” you replied shakily.
And then she hung up.
The drive to Jeonghan’s apartment felt like an out-of-body experience. You felt yourself driving, but at the same time, your mind was somewhere else. After being hit with two reality checks, one after another, you were reconsidering what to do, what to say to Jeonghan once you saw him.
He had assigned you as Sohee’s emergency contact. Not her grandmother, not her aunt. And certainly not her mother. You.
It shouldn’t be a big deal—maybe you were making it into a big deal. But after Jeonghan had told you he wanted you to move in with him and his daughter, this just felt like too much.
You turned the doorknob of his apartment door as you released a shaky sigh, trying to drive out all your nervousness. But as you entered and laid eyes on him, you knew it would be impossible not to be nervous for the remainder of the night.
Jeonghan was sitting on the couch, baby Sohee sitting safely on his thigh as he held a triceratops in one hand, making it clash gently against Sohee’s brontosaurus. His gaze immediately switched to the door as you crossed it. Then tension set in, making the features of his face harden.
And you probably were mirroring that same expression. You closed the door behind you quietly and removed your shoes by the entrance.
Jeonghan placed Sohee on the couch carefully as you walked to the living room, feeling strange.
“Hey,” he said, reading your face with his eyes.
Your heart was racing incredibly fast. “Hi,” you replied.
“I got it,” he said with a big sigh.
Understanding dawned on you with a blink. “You got promoted?”
He nodded, but his expression was still blank.
“Oh my god!” you gasped, thinking that the tension in his demeanor was due to the call from earlier. “Congratulations!” you said excitedly, going for a hug.
Jeonghan didn’t appear to be happy, not precisely. But he wrapped your torso in his arms, hugging you tightly. “Thank you, baby,” he sighed, sinking his face into the crook of your neck.
Then you felt a pair of tiny hands palming your leg intuitively. You pulled away from Jeonghan’s arms, looking down to spot Sohee trying to get your attention.
“I think she’s feeling left out,” Jeonghan interpreted keenly.
“Oh, my bad,” you giggled and bent down to hug her. “Come here, princess,” you spoke softly to her as you lifted her in your arms.
“Look,” Sohee said quietly, showing you a new dinosaur toy.
“Wow, what is this?” you asked her, your tone turning into honey.
“Saurus,” she mumbled shyly, still showing you her dinosaur figurine.
“A stegosaurus,” Jeonghan informed you quietly as he watched you carry Sohee in your arms. And there was that look again. The one you had seen in the morning. He was watching intently, calmly—like he wanted to remember this moment forever without missing a thing.
“This is so cool,” you told her, still using that tone. “Is this the one you liked the most?” you asked her.
She listened to you intently, but her gaze was fixed on her figurine. She shook her head.
“Show her your favorite one, sweetheart,” Jeonghan said as you placed her back on the floor.
She ran back to the couch, grabbed the forgotten dinosaur and brought it back to you. You crouched to be at eye level with her as she showed you a new Triceratops.
“Did you just get these?” you asked her sweetly, your tummy twisting in cuteness aggression as she just nodded, ruffling her black hair.
“It was one of her birthday gifts. I thought that it would be safe to keep them stashed in my closet, but I guess that I should’ve known better,” he said guiltily, crouching with you as Sohee went on to show you her new collection of dinosaur toys.
“You’re a very observant girl, aren’t you?” you asked her, to which she ignored completely.
You could feel Jeonghan beside you, his gaze set on you as you continued your silent exchange with Sohee. After some seconds of feeling the weight of his gaze on you, you glanced to his direction.
“Can we talk?” he whispered as soon as he caught your eye.
You nodded, tummy twisting uneasily.
Jeonghan opened and then closed the fridge in one short motion. He placed his empty hands on his hips as he released a sigh. You noticed then that he was anxious. “Sohee’s mother is coming to town.”
You froze in place.
Of course. You should’ve expected her to be for her daughter’s birthday. But part of you was also completely vexed about this piece of information—since you had believed for a moment that Jeonghan wanted to talk about the proposal he’d made earlier. But Sohee’s mother rarely called, to the point that in the eight months you’ve been dating Jeonghan, you had never even seen her in person.
“Oh, I see,” you said, swallowing hard. And then you added quite awkwardly: “Is she… did you… Did she call to see what you would do for Sohee’s birthday?”
Jeonghan understood where your curiosity came from. But he was still looking at you wearily, just like all the times he talked to you about a difficult thing in his life. Like the time he told you about his daughter, or the time he told you about Sohee’s absent mother.
It made your stomach churn.
And you knew what it was. It was selfishness.
“No. I called her,” he said. You knew that he was telling you the truth, and in doing so, he was nervous. “Sohee’s birthday is one of the few times I can get her mother to come see her, so…”
“I understand,” you said, resuming to set the table with the tablecloth and the dishware. “Do you… want me here that day?”
“Of course I do,” he said. You glanced his way, seeing his worried face—his eyebrows knitting softly. “Do you want to be here?”
“As long as you are comfortable with it, yes,” you said, and then added: “I just don’t want to complicate things.”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Believe me, things can’t get more complicated with her. Soomin is just…” he shook his head lightly. “Well, you’ll see.”
You exhaled sharply. “Okay… no pressure,” you mumbled.
All you knew about Soomin was that she was not present in Sohee and Jeonghan’s lives from the moment Sohee turned eight months old. Her reason for parting and leaving everything behind was simply—I don’t want this life—and one day she packed her bags and left. Some months later, Jeonghan asked her for full custody of the baby, receiving it without any fight from her.
“Is she coming the day of?” you asked.
“On Thursday afternoon, after Sohee’s therapy,” he said. And then you noticed that the anxiety hadn’t quite brushed off. “I want you to meet her that day. That way we can have the party without any issues, if any.”
You raised your eyebrows, watching him from the other side of the table. “That bad?”
He nodded silently, throwing a look to the living room, where Sohee was dancing around to the music playing on the TV screen. “I just don’t want her to make a scene on Sohee’s birthday, you know? It’s supposed to be her day.”
The tension in your shoulders dissolved when you turned over your shoulder and saw baby Sohee bending her knees to the rhythm of the music, her tiny hands planted on the sofa to keep herself steady as she danced happily. Your stomach twisted with the realization that you loved Sohee in a way that you wanted to protect her, care for her.
You had gotten irrevocably attached.
You took a deep breath, slowly turning to see Jeonghan. “Don’t worry, babe,” you told him, smiling at him as you approached him again. “We’ll make Sohee’s day just about her, alright?” you said, pushing yourself to your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Jeonghan smiled softly. “Alright,” he said.
You stared at that smile on his face for one long second, and slowly, the memory of the phone call from earlier came back to your mind. Your heart faltered. You carefully thought of how to open the conversation, but nerves got the better of you first— “About earlier…” you said in a whisper, pausing to clear your throat. “Were you serious? About me moving in?”
Jeonghan inhaled slowly, blinking away from your face briefly, glancing to where his daughter was in the living room. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, licking his lips before turning his gaze back to you. “It’s a big step, but it makes sense, right? I mean, you’re already here all the time…”
You studied him for a brief moment. You were hearing him, but all you could think about was the way his shoulders were tight, the way he was gripping the back of the chair with one hand. And more than everything else—the way he wasn’t meeting your eyes.
“It feels fast, Jeonghan,” you said carefully.
“It feels right,” he countered, taking one step towards you. His face had changed now that you could see him with more closeness—his dark eyes were full of certainty, full of tenderness. “I want you here. With us. You’re already here all the time, you do morning routines with us, put her in bed, and drop-offs…”
Your chest tightened. Something felt off. And then by pure instinct, you glanced at Sohee. The baby had stopped moving, her gaze fixed on the flat screen mounted on the wall, sticking her index finger in her mouth quite aloofly.
But the sight of her made your tummy twist even harder. It was the realization hitting you like a train. If you lost this—if Jeonghan and you ever get to a point where you split, you would lose Sohee as well. The mere thought threatened to break your heart.
His gaze shifted—and without following it, you knew that he was looking at Sohee. “I’m just… scared of doing this wrong way, you know?”
You reached for his face, cupping it with your hands to draw his gaze back to you again. “Then we should slow down,” you said, your heart protesting against your words with a stabbing pain. “Just a little.”
He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he breathed.
“Yeah?” you replied in kind. “We slow down for just a little while. We could talk about it again when the timing feels right.”
Jeonghan grabbed one of your wrists, squeezing it gently. He looked relieved, so much so that the next sigh he let out was slow as he leaned his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to rush you,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” you replied, despite your heart deflating a little. “I understand. Just know that I’m not saying no. Okay?” you said, raising your tone just a little bit higher, trying to swallow your nerves.
“Okay,” Jeonghan replied with a breathy giggle, hearing your nervous tone.
You felt his lips grazing yours before he kissed you fully. It was then that you felt those three littlewords sitting on the tip of your tongue. You were falling for him, fast and uncontrollably. But instead of telling him that, you pushed your lips against his, kissing him fervently.
But then a sharp, and very high-pitched laugh pulled you both apart. Baby Sohee was laughing at something happening on the TV. You broke away and stepped back from Jeonghan.
“I’ll… bring her to her chair so she can have dinner,” Jeonghan said. And by the look in his eyes, you knew that there was something else on his mind.
You let out a tired breath. “What a Monday,” you sighed.
“Welcome to my life,” Jeonghan replied.
After dinner, Jeonghan started to ready Sohee for bed, and that usually involved a bath, brushing teeth and then bed. It took him around thirty or forty minutes. And in that time, you usually took it upon yourself to tidy the space up. Initially, you had started doing it to kill the time while waiting for Jeonghan to come back—despite his insistence for you not to do it—but lately, it felt like it was part of your routine too.
You had put all of Sohee’s toys in the basket, folded the blankets and were now doing the dishes. The task had fallen into a steady rhythm, and so you were deeply focused on washing a pan when a pair of arms snaked around your waist, startling you.
“Stay the night,” Jeonghan said, his tone low as he bent his head to rest it on your shoulder.
Your tummy twisted.
Ever since you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you had fallen into a pattern of addiction. You would stay over at every chance you could get, which, granted, weren’t as many since you had a very hectic work schedule as a CEO Assistant and he as a single parent, and now newly ascended to Director. But even as you had finally stepped to that level of intimacy, it was life that constantly would get in the way. It wasn’t as easy to find a time for you to come to his apartment, and it would be nearly impossible for Jeonghan to spend the night at yours.
You felt his lips grazing a particular tender spot on the crook of your neck. “Hannie,” you sighed, recoiling from his sweet kisses.
“What?” he mumbled against your skin, you could tell from his tone that he was smiling. But he didn’t stop kissing your neck slowly.
You swore you could melt. When you took too long to respond, he giggled gently against your skin.
“Want me to stop?”
You had already scrubbed every inch of the pan you were holding under the stream of water; the task had been long forgotten. “No, I want you to let me finish doing the dishes,” you replied with a playful tone.
“Alright, my bad,” he said, stepping back from you and starting to put things away in the kitchen.
You watched him through the corner of your eye as he roamed all over the space. Feeling the absence of his touch on your skin made you swallow hard. “I didn’t say you had to stop,” you mumbled, feeling hot on the cheeks.
Jeonghan huffed, clearly still amused. “Baby, we’ve been going like this for weeks,” he said pointedly, then chuckled as he threw a look at your face, finding your pout.
Since the night when you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you have had very few occasions of true intimacy. However, that didn’t stop Jeonghan from teasing you, touching you in places he hadn’t dared before that night, but now he did it at every chance he could get when no one else was looking.
It got you nervous. You liked him too much. Every time he touched you intimately, your mind would be thrown back to those nights where it was just you and Jeonghan. It made your blood dance, heating your entire body.
Only Jeonghan had that power.
You placed the last item on the drying rack and grabbed the hand towel, drying your hands before returning it to its place. “Fine, I’m done doing the dishes,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “Where were we?”
Jeonghan let out a teasing huff. “You’re cute,” he said with a chuckle.
“You’re a tease,” you bit back, trying to sound as annoyed as you could, but instead your tone denoted how flustered you already were.
Jeonghan rolled his eyes at you, the smirk not washing off his face. “So? Are you staying or not?” he asked, his tone still playful.
“Only if you behave,” you said impishly.
Jeonghan raised his eyebrows, stepping closer to you. “Me?” he asked, his tone rising. He was close enough now that all he had to do was lift his hand to cup your face, fixing your gaze on him. “All I do is what you tell me, baby,” he said, his tone so low and raspy it was almost like a purr.
“So whenever you misbehave, is it because I told you to?” you huffed, not caring that his face was closer to yours now.
He smirked slowly as his eyes outlined your face. “Obviously,” he shrugged lightly. He finally closed the space between your lips and his, kissing you tenderly. “I always behave. While you, on the other hand…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, his gaze dipping to look at your lips briefly before he kissed you again. You smiled into the kiss, despite it being chaste in the way that he was only pressing his lips to yours repeatedly, creating soft, wet noises that only incited you to get more.
“Babe,” you muttered, laughing sweetly. “Kiss me properly,” you told him.
Jeonghan didn’t waste a second. Repositioning his hands around your face, he only leaned in, locking his lips with yours. His kiss was soft, but slow, wet, and so full of heat. You closed your eyes and let him dominate the kiss, parting your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swipe your bottom lip, and then you felt his tongue against yours.
Your legs tensed as an automatic response, a shot of arousal coursing through you like lightning. His hands switched from cupping your cheeks to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. That made a silent moan bubble in your mouth, so you grabbed him by the belt in his jeans, pulling him closer to you.
Jeonghan grunted in your mouth and then pushed you to the kitchen counter by simply taking two steps forward, making you take two steps back. His lips took yours with more vehemency now, kissing you deeply, with a very unique urgency. It made you lose control, it made you feel hot all over.
So you pulled back, but not far. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” you said breathily, running a hand over his clothed chest.
Jeonghan smiled, making you think that he’d say something about your nervousness again. But he grabbed your hand, “Alright,” he said, and then he pulled you in the direction of his bedroom.
Whenever you stayed the night, you would wear Jeonghan’s clothes—mostly oversized t-shirts and sometimes sporty shorts. So much so that you’d noticed Jeonghan kept the clothes he’d lent you in a particular spot in his closet, making you suspect that he probably had stopped wearing them, only to keep them clean in case you came to stay the night.
Your gut twisted when Jeonghan pulled the same oversized t-shirt and handed it to you. “You know, you could bring some stuff in. I’ll empty a drawer for you,” he mumbled, turning on the bedside lamp.
He always said something akin to those words whenever he had the opportunity. It reminded you of his other request—of moving in. “Yeah, I’ll bring some spare pyjamas,” you replied nervously, turning on your feet to start unbuttoning your shirt.
“And maybe clothes for work?” he asked, and you could hear the hint of hope in his tone.
You already had a toothbrush and makeup remover wipes that you once bought to keep in Jeonghan’s bathroom. That time you’d also felt you were stepping over a line, for some reason. But Jeonghan thought it was endearing that you had asked him for permission beforehand. You don’t have to ask, he told you every time.
“Yeah, that too,” you replied, sounding short of breath. When finished unbuttoning your shirt, you threw a look behind you, seeing that Jeonghan had just turned his gaze elsewhere in that instant. You smiled to yourself, noticing that he, too, was acting strange, fidgety.
Or perhaps it was just staying behind the line you always painted. That was another thing that drove you crazy about this man—he always waited for your word. But he kept a keen eye on you, certainly making sure that you were not having trouble initiating. And this time was no different.
You liked Jeonghan. No, you loved him. And tonight, with all those questions roaming about in your mind, questions about moving in, taking care of Sohee, meeting her mother… You were simply too much in your head.
And Jeonghan knew.
After brushing your teeth and cleaning your makeup off, you slid into the bed beside him. He was eyeing you and the screen of his phone back and forth, waiting for you. “Ready?” he asked.
Your stomach twisted again. “Huh?”
Jeonghan smiled at you. “To sleep?” he added.
“Ah. Yes. Oh, yeah,” you stuttered nervously, scooting closer to him.
Jeonghan left the phone on the bedside table and turned the lamp off. He turned around, draping an arm around your waist as you also turned, forming up a spooning situation where he was the bigger spoon. He kissed your shoulder over his clothes, and then your cheek.
“Did you have a good day at work?” he asked, his tone soft and low.
You blinked, turning slightly to look at him. “Yeah. Why?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Hopefully I didn’t distract you too much with my stupid phone call,” he said.
Your heart softened. “It was okay, babe. Today's work was nothing out of the ordinary,” you told him, and then showed him a playful smile. “And I love your phone calls.”
“No matter how inopportune they are?” he asked, his tone waning ever so softly.
You nodded. “They never are. Stupid or inopportune,” you replied, your tone waning too.
He paused, looking briefly at your lips before bringing a hand to pinch your chin softly. “Where were you my whole life?” he asked.
Your heart could burst. You wanted to say a million things to him. You wanted to tell him how you fell in love with him at first glance, you wanted to tell him you loved him.
But you choked up. “I could say the same,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying—despite having had other boyfriends in the past, you had never ever felt love like this in your life. It only made you think that Jeonghan hadn’t either. And the thought broke your heart.
He smiled, moving his head so he could touch your forehead with his. “I’m never letting you go, you hear me?” he said.
You nodded. “Never.” Please.
You and Jeonghan fell asleep shortly after that, going back to your original spooning position. He wrapped an arm around you, and you snuggled close to him under the covers. Sleeping with him was extraordinarily good—he never moved, never snored, and you were careful not to disrupt his sleeping either.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, you felt him stir and slip out of bed. You became too conscious about it because the bed grew colder around you, and it was getting harder to go back to sleep.
You turned over, thinking that you might’ve done something to wake him up. But he was nowhere to be seen. “Jeonghan?” you called.
He stepped into the bedroom, carefully leaving the door ajar. “Did I wake you?” he asked, his tone low.
You watched him as he came back to bed. “What’s wrong?” you asked instead.
He sucked in a breath when he felt your warm body, as though he had been exposed to a chill temperature. “Sohee’s mother called.”
“This late?” you asked. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. I suppose she didn’t look up what our time zone was before calling,” he explained calmly.
“Well, what did she have to say?” you asked, feeling sharply awake now.
He slipped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him. His clothes were cold, as well as his skin. He was probably having the phone call outside on the balcony so as not to wake you or Sohee up. “A bunch of nothings. She cancelled Thursday’s plan. Said she’ll be meeting us at the party.”
You couldn’t help but feel relieved. “Did she say why?”
Jeonghan shrugged. “Yeah. But it was all an excuse.”
Something inside you deflated with shame. Here you were, feeling relieved that you wouldn’t meet Soomin a day sooner; meanwhile, that also meant that Sohee wouldn’t see her mom either until the party. And Jeonghan’s lower tone reflected that pity.
“I’m sorry, babe,” you murmured.
“It’s fine. I had expected something like that,” he replied, but you could still hear the hurt in his tone. “She promised she’d be here for Sohee’s birthday. So, I’ll take whatever at this point.”
Now, you were even more reluctant to meet her. Your gut twisted, but before you could even process what type of feeling you were having, Jeonghan kissed your brow, easing the storm cooking up in your mind.
“Shall we go back to sleep, beautiful?” he whispered, moving his lips to kiss your eyelid, then your cheekbone.
Jeonghan was so sweet, so loving, that it scrambled your brains to think how he was yours.
His lips reached your cheek, and you moved your face so that the next kiss landed on your lips. He planted a sweet kiss, but then you parted your mouth, trapping his bottom lip in. You kissed him deeply, trying to put all of your feelings into one single kiss.
You wanted to show him that you were madly in love with him without having to say the words. You kissed him with such force that had him moaning in your mouth. He said nothing, only letting you lead as you pushed him by the shoulders, wordlessly telling him to lie on his back.
He gave you one confused look that quickly evaporated once you straddled him. His hands snaked on your thighs as you bent forward, taking his face in your hands to kiss him, moaning on his lips once his fingertips grazed the lace hem of your panties. The sound only gave him the green light to continue, exploring your skin with the pads of his fingers as he hiked the t-shirt up your torso.
You pulled back, but only to let him take the t-shirt off, leaving you only in your panties, and your chest bare for his view. His gaze roamed all over your bare skin, but it was for just a moment. You leaned in again, his hands latching to your waist, while the other fisted your hair by the side of your head.
You shifted on your knees, grounding your hips down on him—but just barely. Jeonghan was already hard, and you could feel him just by moving on top of him a little.
Dragging your fingernails down his chest, you crawled back to give yourself space to pull his shorts down. Your fingers hooked around the waistband of both his boxers and shorts, and you pulled, uncovering an inch of skin as one of your fingers traced a line over his thin but dark, happy trail.
Jeonghan sucked in a breath—but this time it was because of something else. “Sweetheart,” he mumbled, looking at your hands as you pulled his cock out, grabbing it with your other hand.
“Mn?” You raised your gaze to him.
His hands slipped on your hips, clutching you gently as you lifted them to move your panty line aside. “Condom?” he mumbled, groaning and clenching his jaw as you guided the head of his cock down your folds.
You pretended not to hear, lowering your hips and slipping him inside your warm walls, all in one go. And fuck, he was perfect—his cock was perfect too. The feeling of having him raw and stretching your pussy was the sweetest feeling you’ve ever felt. Your mouth fell open, eyebrows drawn together as you started bouncing on him gently.
“Fuck,” Jeonghan gasped, closing his eyes before sinking his head back on his pillow.
You anchored your hands on his chest, using him as support to roll your hips on top of him. And yet again, you wondered what the scene would look like—middle of the night, his pants halfway pulled down, you bouncing on top of him with your panties still on and trying your best to be quiet.
But it was nearly impossible. Jeonghan moved his hands from your hips, palming your breasts and caressing your pebbled nipples with the pad of his thumbs. You clenched your teeth together, letting out a soft whine as you ground your hips on him, trying to take his cock deeper into you.
“Quiet, baby,” he said, smirking. But then he moved his hands, one to your hip, the other on your lower abdomen. He pushed your panties further aside, pressing your lower belly with his palm before starting to rub your clit with the pad of his thumb.
“Fuck—Daddy,” you mewled, hips buckling on top of him.
“Do you like that?” he asked, his tone low. He glanced at your face once before his gaze dipped to your cunt, moaning at the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.
You nodded, picking up the pace of your hips. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clit steadily, not switching, unstopping. It was driving you closer to the edge with every second that passed, making your walls tighten around his girth.
“Is this what you wanted, baby? Daddy’s cock?” he asked with that lazy smile still on his face, his tone raw, but waning.
It drove you insane—the switch from being sweet and gentle to talking to you like that. “Mm-mmph,” you admitted.
He tilted his head back slightly, teeth clenched tightly as he tried to exert some control on himself. But as you continued rolling your hips on top of him, you saw him starting to fall apart—his eyes went white before he squeezed them shut. And then, he made a sound, a long, raspy moan that was stuck in his throat. “Baby, I’m not going to last long,” he said.
It was your turn to smile now. “That’s okay, Daddy,” you told him sweetly, and then you tilted your head, showing him a playful side. “I could slow down for you.”
Jeonghan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I don’t think that’ll make a difference,” he gritted, smiling despite himself.
His hands switched to your sides, lifting your hips with one powerful groan that rumbled in his chest. The sound made your pulse quicken, and your gaze immediately shot to the door, as though trying to fish for any kind of sounds coming from down the hall.
Jeonghan acted quickly—rolling your back onto the mattress effortlessly. A gasp spilled from your mouth, eyes locking with his as he slid your panties down your legs. And then he crawled between your thighs before taking his t-shirt off.
“We should be quiet,” you told him, smiling shyly as he placed his palms on your knees, pushing your thighs up to your chest.
“Let’s see how long you can do that,” he replied, letting out a tired giggle.
And he had a point about that. Last time you and Jeonghan had sex, you had been so noisy that the downstairs neighbors made some tacit remarks about a creaky bedframe. So you watched as Jeonghan grabbed a pillow, probably thinking the same as you and placed it behind the headboard.
“Can’t make any promises,” you mumbled, still looking as he pulled his shorts and boxers down, taking his hard cock in one hand and guiding it to your drenched pussy. You swallowed hard, holding your breath as the crown of his cock nuzzled against your entrance, and then he slipped inside you, so fucking slow.
You couldn’t resist it. The sight of his length disappearing in your mound was alluring, and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside you was even more delicious than riding him. He pushed your thighs to the sides of your ribs by climbing on top of you, so he was now fully pressing your body with his.
Jeonghan smiled. “See? Didn’t last long,” he said, hearing your soft whines as he bottomed out inside you.
“Fuck—daddy,” you gritted, breathing hard under the weight of his body, but you loved it. “Move, please, move.”
You didn’t need to beg—he did it right away, pulling back to push right in, creating a steady pace effortlessly. He framed your face with his forearms, his face so close to yours that he only leaned slightly to get a swift kiss. You cupped his head in your hands, lifting your head so you could kiss him deeper, earning a soft moan from him.
It was truly suffocating. The warmth of his body, being so close to him. Looking into his eyes as he claimed your body like it was his. It overwhelmed you—the need to be his woman and have him like this every night, forever. You were going insane with the mere thought—waves of love and lust coursed through you uncontrollably.
The room became flooded with the muffled sounds of pleasure—the small whines you made, the short moans Jeonghan let out in between tired breaths, and the very obvious creaking of the bedframe despite the headboard having a pillow to not slam against the wall.
You loved it. Loved how you both had fallen into an addiction of silent quickies in the middle of the night, stifling moans and speaking filth in hushed tones. The sheer adrenaline of trying and failing to be quiet made you wet. You could even catch the slippery sound of your arousal as Jeonghan pushed his cock deep inside you.
“God,” you gasped when he picked up a pace, fucking you faster, still massaging that glorious spot inside your walls.
And you let pleasure bloom inside your body with a hot, intense shiver. Long ago, it was so rare that you’d cum with penetration alone—but somehow Jeonghan always made you cum like that, effortlessly. Your mouth dropped open, almost tasting your orgasm on the tip of your tongue.
“You close?” he asked with sharp, ragged breaths. He gave you a dazed look, outlining your features with his gaze. When you nodded, he gave you another light smile. “Let go, baby.”
You stared into his eyes, watched him as his jaw twitched when he ground his teeth down—you noticed he was close too. “Cum with me?” you asked, cheeks turning hot as you heard how fucking sweet you sounded.
Oh, you were in love. You had come to this realization a while ago, but now it was becoming more and more unbearable. Your mind spun with questions—did Jeonghan know? Could he see it in your eyes? Hear it in your tone? There you were, riddled with questions while you were begging for him to cum with you, and he wasn’t wearing a condom.
“You’re cumming first, Babygirl,” he replied, his tone waning.
You could’ve sworn that he had a way to hear your thoughts, but you didn’t let that distract you—because you were instantly swept over by an intense wave of pleasure. A gasp tore from your chest, and before you could let out a scream, Jeonghan crushed his mouth against yours, drowning out your sounds of pleasure.
He continued thrusting in that same calculated pace until you became a puddle of pleasure. You were wet. Sweaty, hot, and quivering on his bedsheets. And he was kissing you softly, passionately, like he hadn’t done before.
“Felt good?” he mumbled.
You nodded. “Amazing,” you drawled sweetly.
“Good,” he mouthed, the muscles of his face tightening, like he was in pain—he was close.
Your heart skipped a beat. “Don’t pull out,” you said.
He blinked, his gaze finding you instantly.
“Please,” you whispered, linking your wrists behind his nape, as though trying to hold him right there.
He blinked slowly and then let his forehead rest on top of yours. “Fuck,” he sighed, pushing his hips against yours with tight, deep thrusts. You closed your eyes as another euphoric rush gripped your body wholly. “God—fuck, baby,” Jeonghan drawled, letting out a raw, quiet moan as he gave you a final push, his cock twitching in your walls as he spilled himself deep inside you.
Jeonghan remained there, breathing fitfully, his body completely glued to yours as though unable to move. And then you wished you’d known what to say next. You wished you knew what to do or say after making love. So instead, you moved your face, finding his lips with your own. You kissed him slowly, trying to convey the quick rhythm of your heart, the butterflies swarming inside your chest.
He pressed his lips against the corner of yours, then he kissed your cheek. “You’re okay?” he whispered, gently pushing the tip of your nose with his before pressing another kiss against your lips.
Your heart gave another leap. “Yeah,” you mumbled shakily. “We should probably get ready to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”
Jeonghan pulled back, blinking at you confusedly. “Yeah. Sure,” he replied, his gaze outlining your features. “But after I’ve taken care of you, baby.”
And when he peeled off your body, you knew you had made a mistake. You felt foolish then, because this man was clearly thrown off by the switch in your tone, confused by your evident refusal to talk about what was going on in your mind.
But he took care of you with the utmost gentleness, offering to start a shower for you, which you declined due to how late into the night it was. However, you cleaned up in the bathroom, and when you came out, he had a glass full of water ready on the bedside table, and he’d already changed the bedsheets.
“I put your clothes in the washing machine and programmed it for a quick start early in the morning,” he said thoughtfully as he unstuck the pillow behind the headboard. “They should be clean and dry by the time we both get up.”
It made you smile—the very careful manner in which he was fluffing the pillows as you approached the bed. “Thank you, babe,” you replied, feeling your heart warm up.
“Don’t thank me,” he whispered, lifting his head as you stood beside him before the bed. “Hopefully you will remember to bring in some spare clothes next time?” he insisted, smiling shyly about something, and then— “Sorry. I keep bringing it up.”
Your heart deflated. “Don’t apologize,” you replied, placing your palm on his side, feeling the muscle of his abdomen contract at your touch. “I’ll remember to bring some stuff in. I promise.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, grabbing your hand and taking it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go to sleep.”
You nodded, climbing back on the bed and snuggling him close. Jeonghan wrapped your waist with one arm, the little crook beneath your earlobe.
Your heart fluttered. “Do we already have a cake?” you asked suddenly.
Jeonghan pulled back. “What?” he mumbled.
You turned slightly. “For Sohee’s party. Did you order a cake?”
His brow creased. “Yes. Why?” he asked curiously.
You turned again, face to your pillow. “It’s nothing. I can bake really good chocolate cakes,” you gave him a light shrug. “Thought I could help with something.”
Jeonghan smiled; you felt the change in his breath on your neck, making you shiver. “I’ll remember that,” he said, pressing his lips to the first spot of skin he could find. “For her fourth birthday.”
The knot in your tummy twisted harder. “Yeah…” you trailed off, deciding to snuggle closer to him, silently telling him to hold you tighter to his body.
“Sleep well, pretty,” he whispered, unaware of the shift happening in you.
Your head was about to blow up. You were sure. And every time you blew air out of your lungs, your abdomen screamed in pain and exhaustion.
“Perhaps I’m not made for this,” you mumbled to yourself quietly, wrapping the bead around your fingers to secure a tight knot, and then proceeded to put tape on one side of it, sticking it to the wall.
You had successfully decorated the side of the dining room that had the most cleared space for it. There perched a big and colorful daisy of white and light blue petals, with a Happy B-day Sohee sign sitting in the centre in baby pink colors, made by your hand. You had pulled out your party decorating skills, which you had put away since entering college, but they came in handy the moment you realized Jeonghan wasn’t planning on decorating.
“Okay,” you sighed tiredly, looking at the wall. Now that you had one task done, you needed to tend to the other two tasks you had set for yourself.
Task number one was decorating, done. Task number two was tidying up the place for the guests. And task number three was psyching yourself up for meeting your boyfriend’s ex, and the mother of his daughter.
Your stomach did that thing again—it felt like some deep part of you protested against what you had ahead for you, and it wanted to draw your attention to it by stabbing you right in the gut.
But you went ahead and tidied the place up—putting toys where they belonged, folding blankets and taking them to the bedrooms, cleaning the kitchen counters, and setting the table just nicely.
Two hours had passed since you’d arrived at Jeonghan’s place, and all of your tasks were done. You realized you could sneak fifteen minutes of mirror talk and touching up your makeup before Jeonghan and Sohee arrived back home.
When you came out of the bathroom, you felt like something was shaking inside your veins, leaving a trail of prickled nerves in its wake. But you took a deep breath—catching the sweet smell of vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon from the birthday cake set in the centre of the round dining table. You outlined the entire space with your gaze, mentally checking every single item you told Jeonghan you were in charge of getting for the party.
Balloons. Fruit tray. Candy tray. Banana milk. Peach drinks (Sohee’s favorite), candles and goodie bags, which were dinosaur themed.
The smart lock of the main door clicked and beeped, making your stomach contract and your nerves fire up in different directions inside your limbs. Jeonghan was crossing the door carrying a backpack on one shoulder, gift bags hanging on the same arm he was carrying Sohee with.
“Hello, you two,” you chirped, anxiety instantly swept when you saw Sohee’s adorable face. “What took you so long?”
“Sohee’s teachers,” Jeonghan exhaled tiredly, closing the door behind him and watching you approach him and Sohee. “They had a lot to say to me. One of them even got emotional.”
“And what did they have to say?” you asked, eyes set on the little girl perched on her father’s arm.
“Oh, just how much they appreciate Sohee,” he replied, bumping his daughter on his arm and turning to her. “They said you were the best girl, right? The smartest, kindest and friendliest. She’s been pretty talkative at school,” he added at the end, giving you a meaningful glance.
You made a shocked expression. “Is that true?” you asked, and then giggled at the sound of your own voice.
Sohee was listening to the conversation while she chewed on the tip of her index finger. But she nodded intently.
“They gave her a couple of presents,” Jeonghan said, gesturing to the gift bags on his arm. “Some of them were from her friends, two of them were from her teachers.”
You took one glance at the gift bags. “Oh, shoot,” you muttered.
“What?” Jeonghan said, brow furrowing.
“I forgot the present I got for her back in my apartment,” you said dispiritedly. But you turned to Sohee, extending your hands at her. “Hi, sweetheart!”
Sohee inclined her little body forward, just as you grabbed her by the torso and wrapped her around your hip. The movement was so natural that it went almost unnoticed, but it was Jeonghan’s gaze, the way he blinked, and his eyes lit up as he looked at his daughter, pointing at the wall behind you.
“That’s okay, we can go get it tomorrow morning,” Jeonghan mumbled faintly, still looking at his daughter perched now on your hip.
“Mn,” Sohee hummed softly, kicking her legs up in the air and pointing at the wall slightly harder.
“Oh, right,” you turned on your feet, taking the baby girl to the living room area so she could see the wall decorations. “We made this for you, kiddo,” you chirped, looking at her pretty face.
She pointed again.
“D’you like it?” you whispered, heart warming up at the sight of her sweet brown eyes taking in the big daisy on the wall.
She nodded aloofly. And then kicked her legs, pointing them to the floor.
“Alrighty,” you mumbled, carefully setting her on the floor. You watched her run joyfully to her bedroom, perhaps to get something, a toy for her to show you.
But then you turned, catching Jeonghan still staring at you, hands deep in his pockets, head tilted to one side. But it was the tenderness in his eyes that made your heart flip in that same rhythm as before—the one you had been so keen on avoiding, but was becoming unbearable.
“Do you like it?” you parroted, showing him the wall with your hands. You exhaled, trying to calm your nerves down—but it was futile.
“I love it,” he replied with a warm tone coating his words. Then he approached you with a slow step, slipping a hand on your waist to pull you closer to his frame. He leaned his head forward, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A vehement shudder crossed your entire body, and you let your eyelids fall closed as he planted another kiss on your forehead, this time longer. The words he said were ones you knew your heart was aching to hear—but the noise inside your head didn’t let you form a response.
The doorbell rang loudly, making you cringe visibly and turn to the door. “I’ll get it,” you said, slipping out of his embrace.
“No, I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said kindly.
“Then I’ll go get the birthday girl,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t feel too stiff on your face—but your heart was going a thousand miles per second.
Jeonghan caught something in your face, his eyes outlining your features before you turned around and hurried down the hall and to the toddler’s bedroom.
Sohee was playing with the new dinosaurs that her father had gotten for her birthday. She already got them all lined up on the colorful bookshelf in one corner of the room. Your stomach twisted with cuteness overload when you heard the tiny noises she was making for a triceratops as she made it stomp across the shelf.
“Hey kiddo,” you cooed, approaching her and crouching behind her. “Your friends are here. Do you want to come with me and greet them?”
She turned around and directed a steady look at your face. “Yeap,” she nodded happily, taking another dinosaur in her fist and running out of the room, squealing like she knew she was the star of the day.
You rose, and with a big sigh, you followed the toddler down to the dining room. You greeted the guests, parents of Sohee’s friends from daycare. And before you knew it, the party had already started, and it was going smoothly.
You made light conversation as you got juice boxes for all the kids, who weren’t many, but they felt like a massive multitude when they were swarming around you trying to get juice boxes and goodie bags.
“Alright, alright!” you laughed, holding up both hands. “Everyone will get one, I promise!” you said while handing a goodie bag to each kid.
You felt a hand on the small of your back. “That includes me?” Jeonghan asked close to your ear before planting a kiss on your cheek.
You leaned into the kiss. “If you behave, I’ll consider it,” you replied warmly.
“Mmn,” he hummed, pressing another loving kiss. “You know you’re all I want.”
Your heart stammered, making you blink and find his eyes. Your tongue twisted, and you wished you had been quick enough to quip back something as enticing—but it was already too late. The doorbell rang again, but this time, neither you nor Jeonghan had to go get it.
It was Sohee’s mother, Soomin. She had only rung the doorbell to announce her arrival, since she knew the combination to the smart lock—a thing you had thought only you and Jeonghan knew, but you were proven wrong.
The person who crossed the door was entirely not what you had imagined. In all the scenarios where you had pictured yourself meeting Jeonghan’s ex and the mother of his child, you’d never imagined that it would be like this.
Soomin was beautiful. She was tall and had a bright smile as she crossed the door. “Where’s my girl?” she shouted from across the apartment, and your poor heart fell to your stomach when you saw Jeonghan smile widely.
“Oh, thank god,” he mumbled beside you. He ran quickly to his daughter, snatching her from the floor and making her squeal with the abrupt movement. Sohee laughed, drawing the attention of the room as Jeonghan carried her to see her mother. “Sohee baby, mom’s here!”
“Hi, peanut,” Soomin said in a high-pitched tone. “Happy birthday, sweetheart! Mommy is here,” she said, and then she leaned towards Sohee, who was sitting in Jeonghan’s arms.
But Sohee recoiled, turning her back to her mother. It was only natural, you thought, since the child barely recognized the face in front of her. But the scene before you hurt to watch either way. Jeonghan bounced the toddler in his arms, trying to drag her attention back to Soomin, who was getting something out of her leather handbag.
“Look what mommy got for you!” Soomin said, still speaking in that faux sweet tone. “Look!”
Sohee turned to see her mother getting a red gift bag, small enough that it fit inside the slick black leather bag. Sohee stared at it for a hard second before extending her hand and grabbing it, and then she proceeded to kick her legs to the floor.
“Alright,” Jeonghan said, putting the toddler back on the floor.
Sohee ran freely, and back to her little friends. Your gaze followed back to Jeonghan, who greeted Soomin with a very dry hey, but then approached to give her a quick hug, devoid of all kinds of affection. It was almost like neither of them knew how to treat each other anymore.
“Wow, you really went out this time,” Soomin said, looking at the decorations, the birthday cake carefully set in the centre of the table, birthday plates piled up, and trays of fruit and candy already about to empty.
“Oh, it was all her,” Jeonghan said, extending an arm towards you almost ceremoniously.
Your heart warmed up at the gesture, but your nerves had eaten you up already. You approached them with a stiff step until Jeonghan wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you up to his side, showing you off proudly.
“So I can put a face to the name, finally,” Soomin said, showing you a dashing smile. She extended a hand towards you. “I’m Soomin, Sohee’s mother.”
You took her hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” you said, smiling at her politely.
At that exact second, one of the little kids had pulled one of the candy trays from the table and thrown the candy all over the floor. “Oh—” you uttered, motioning to go clean the candy from the floor.
“I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said, giving you a quick but reassuring look. And then he said to you, “I’ll be back, baby.”
And you knew he didn’t want to leave you alone with his ex, but he also didn’t want you to go and clean up the floor. So you stood there, anxiously watching as Jeonghan picked the candies and put them back on the tray one by one.
“Can I help with anything?” Soomin asked, more for decency than true intentions of helping.
“Nope,” you said awkwardly. “Everything’s set up.”
Soomin leaned her head to one side slightly before throwing one glance to the kids playing with Sohee. “You’ve done a lot already.”
“It’s not that big of a party,” you said, shrugging.
She smiled faintly, and you knew what she was looking at. “It’s big enough,” she said faintly.
You followed her gaze, finding Sohee playing with one of her little friends. They were both sharing a soundboard that someone at the party had gifted her.
“She’s shy, isn’t she?” Soomin said, her tone was devoid of snark, but then she added, “Kind of like her father.”
Although the comment wasn’t ill-natured, it hurt your heart to hear it. “She just takes a minute,” you replied, wishing you hadn’t sounded so harsh towards Soomin. But your heart was beating frantically, making you afraid that it was going to jump out of your chest.
And then you watched as Soomin’s gaze went around the room again, stopping on the wall behind you. Her dark brown eyes went over the balloons forming a giant daisy, and the big birthday sign made by you.
“You’re really good with her,” Soomin said after a moment. Her eyes found you. “Jeonghan has told me about you.”
Your tummy clenched. “I care about her.”
“I can tell,” she replied, and then you caught an edge in her tone. And then added, softer, “Not everyone would step into something like this.”
You frowned. “Like what?”
Soomin raised her eyebrows, gesturing around the apartment, the toddlers. “Well, a life that’s already in progress, you know what I mean?”
You told yourself that the words were neutral. Nothing was targeted towards you. But it still felt like it was.
You forced a smile. “I didn’t see it that way.”
Soomin’s expression didn’t change; it was as though she were having a great time talking with you. “That’s probably why you’ve made it work. It was really brave of you to have stepped in. To do what I couldn’t.”
Your stomach clenched again, and your mouth twitched like you were about to tell her something you’d regret.
“Baby! Where are the candles?” Jeonghan called from the kitchen.
You exhaled, glad. “Excuse me,” you said, and as you walked away, you felt Soomin’s gaze on you, following you.
Your ears were ringing, anger still boiling inside you. Jeonghan was closing a drawer, his expression hardening at once as he took one look at you. “Everything okay there, beautiful?” he asked, glancing towards the living room.
You could still feel Soomin’s eyes on you. You nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, trying to mask your anger. You would talk about it with him later.
His eyes outlined your expression. “Sure?”
“Sure,” you said, opening the top cabinet and then handing him the pack with green and pink candles in it.
Jeonghan grabbed the candles, sighing. “Looks like the party is going well,” he said, giving you a hopeful smile and glimmering eyes.
Despite the rage still tightening your stomach, you smiled at him. “Sohee’s happy,” you said, casting a look at Sohee. “I’ll go get her,” you told him, turning around and walking towards Sohee.
The toddler was happily focused on her toys and her little friends. Her eyes were wide and glimmering in excitement, and candy wrappers were spread all across the floor. Something caught your eye—a red, unopened gift bag, forgotten in one corner of the living room.
“Princess, come here,” you called softly, crouching behind her to see her at eye level. “Do you want cake?”
The question caught her attention immediately, making her turn around and face you. You stretched your hands to her, and she silently responded by stretching her little arms to you. You grabbed her, standing up to secure her at your hip, and she instantly wrapped her legs around you.
“Oh, I got her. Let me.”
Soomin was already behind you, showing you her palms so you could transfer Sohee to her grip. A pang of jealousy sank deep inside your belly, making you want to hold Sohee closer to your body, almost like a protective defence mechanism.
You conceded, though begrudgingly. “Of course,” you replied, but there was no way you could hide the disappointment in your tone.
With a fretful pain lacing your heart, you handed Sohee over to her mother. The toddler kicked her legs anxiously and turned to look at you as though trying to understand she wasn’t in your arms anymore. And with little control over yourself, you glanced in Jeonghan’s direction, almost as knowing he’d be looking. He had watched the whole exchange from afar, and he immediately recognized the dispirited look on your face, because all he did was offer you a solemn smile.
It made your blood boil. What else could he do? A tiny voice called inside your head. You’re not Sohee’s mother. The voice said with painful regret.
It was the truth. No matter how bad it hurt, you weren’t Sohee’s mother. And you were getting attached to her—attached to this life without having a true anchor to it.
And the thought ruined the rest of the night for you.
So you watched as Soomin sat on the table with Sohee sitting on her lap, the toddler forgot about the anxiety of being with a stranger as soon as Jeonghan stepped beside the chair and lit up the candles on the cake.
You debated whether to step closer or just watch from afar. The candles you had picked for Sohee’s cake were green and pink, and a single sparkling candle that, once Jeonghan got to light it up, stole the attention of the toddler. Her big, brown eyes glimmered in the dark against the sparkles that flew up to the ceiling, and instead of gasping or crying out as the other kids did, Sohee just stared at it, fascination spread across her face, parting her little lips.
Your stomach twisted in adoration. And you couldn’t resist it. You pulled out your phone and hit the record button, determined to save this little moment forever—even if in real life it only lasted about fifty seconds.
Sohee was happy. She ate cake happily, shared her toys with her friends and seemed to be getting better at talking with others. And that was the only shining light in your night.
By the time that all the guests had left, the apartment didn’t look as wrecked as you half expected it to be after hosting about fifteen people in it. The paper plates were stacked in a crooked tower, forks and spoons piled next to it on the kitchen counter, breadcrumbs spread all over the surface. There were plastic cups everywhere, toys, gift bags and confetti all over the living room floor.
The front door opened, and Jeonghan slipped inside the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. The minute he stepped in, you decided to busy yourself by looking for a large trash bag that you had left somewhere in the kitchen.
“Well, that’s everyone,” Jeonghan said, pleased that all of the guests had gone home. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
You started shoving trash into the bag as quickly as you could without making too much noise, and you were half glad that there was so much to do before you went home because you needed to think.
But Jeonghan had already noticed you were in a mood, and you could feel him hovering in the kitchen, trying to get a read on you. “The party went really well. Everyone had a lot of fun,” he said, his tone gentle.
You were grabbing a bunch of plastic cups in one hand, throwing them inside the bag without caring that they were still half full. “Yeah. Sure,” you huffed, continuing to clean the dining table.
The silence that followed was truly unsettling, making you weigh on the tone you had used and the manner in which you were moving. You were stepping out of control, and you didn’t care where you were taking this conversation.
By the time you found the courage to raise your gaze, you found Jeonghan frowning at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Air left your lungs like you were suddenly punched in the chest. “Did you have fun today?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “Because I didn’t.”
Jeonghan’s frown didn’t ease; he was confused. But his gaze softened, showing you worry. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone dropping when he added, “Did something happen?”
You left the bag aside on the floor, dropping your arms at your sides in a defeated manner. “I mean, I spent the entire evening running around, trying to make sure everything worked,” you said, gesturing around you. “I made the food, drinks, decorations, and cleanup. I didn’t have the chance to sit down once.”
Jeonghan blinked. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
You sighed. “That’s easy to say now.”
He shifted his weight, motioning to approach you. “That’s not what I meant—”
“I know,” you cut him off, putting a hand between him and you. “I know you meant it nicely.”
You could feel the waves of emotion coming closer, coming to get you. And your body acted off of instinct, picking up one stray napkin on the table and folding it in half, almost as though preparing yourself to have something in your hand for when you started crying.
With a tearless sob, you added. “It would’ve been nice if someone had noticed while it was happening.”
Jeonghan’s frown disappeared. “I noticed.”
“Did you?” you asked, still holding your emotions back.
“Of course I did,” he said, his tone dropping to an even gentler one.
But you could still feel the tears prickling in your eyes, everything you held back making you taste them in your tongue. “Then why was I still doing everything while everyone else was enjoying the party?”
Jeonghan tilted his head to one side, looking at you as though finding you endearing that you were about to cry for something like this, but still approached you with caution. “Why didn’t you ask for help?” he said, and then he hesitated, almost as though wanting to take back his words, so he added instead, “I was busy with things as well, I thought we were both busy, baby.”
You deadpanned to him. “You really didn’t think I wanted to enjoy the party too?”
He opened his mouth, his eyes widening as his mind started to reel, you knew it.
But you kept going. “I wanted to sit down with her when she opened her presents. Or be next to her when she blew out the candles. Honestly, Jeonghan, I felt like a guest at a party I helped throw. I couldn’t even hold Sohee for two minutes!”
His face fell in utter worry, his shoulders going slack. “Is this all because Soomin wanted to hold her?” he asked, his tone hollow, like he now couldn’t believe you were throwing a tantrum over this.
You let out an exasperated sigh. “No—! Yes! But it’s not only that!” you stammered.
Jeonghan stepped back, but just slightly, as though he wanted to take a good look at your face—disbelief still contorting his face. “Soomin was just trying to have a moment with her as well,” he shook his head. “I don’t see that as a bad thing. Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”
“Am I?” you asked, raising your tone.
And Jeonghan sighed. “Baby… she’s Sohee’s mother.”
It wasn’t necessarily cruel. His tone was devoid of venom, but it still hurt—like a bitter truth being forced down your bloodstream, burning and leaving an ache in its wake.
Your entire body shook before a powerful shudder. “Right,” you said slowly.
Jeonghan immediately realized the weight of his words, the pain translating in your features. “Wait—” he said, his jaw set tight as his eyes widened in worry. “Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”
You shook your head. “No, I get it,” you said, but your voice had lost all power, and the wall you had put between reason and emotions crumbled. Tears burst in your eyes, and a sob broke through your chest.
“You’re right. I’m not her mom,” you continued, giving him a brittle smile. “I never forgot that. Not for a second,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “You know, I keep reminding myself of that. Of where I stand.”
Jeonghan took another step towards you, this time more decisive. “Baby, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he said, trying to be nice still, trying to figure out how to calm you down.
You looked down to wipe your tears. Confetti was spread all over the floor, and your stomach twisted at the thought of how this scene might appear from the outside. The apartment was a mess—gift bags, wrapping paper, candy, and new toys scattered across the living room. A half-eaten cake sat on the table, and balloons were stuck to the walls. The lights in the kitchen and living room remained on. You and Jeonghan were arguing, trying to keep your voices down so as not to disturb the little girl’s sleep.
You finally found the strength to look at him again. And when Jeonghan saw your tired face, fear replaced the worry in his eyes. He saw the determination in your eyes—he knew you well. “I think I’m going to go.”
Jeonghan sighed, motioning a step closer. “It’s late. Stay,” he said, his tone still wrapped in a careful gentleness.
You shook your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeonghan,” you said, your tone fading into a mere whisper. “I’m going home.”
He took a pause, studying you with his gaze roaming all over the features of your face, finding something in your eyes that made you wonder what you would look like. Because he seemed to lose all composure. “Baby, come on,” he said, his eyebrows drawn in. “We just had a fight. That doesn’t mean you need to leave.”
You sighed tiredly. “It wasn’t just a fight, Jeonghan,” you said calmly. All need to fight was gone now. You had lost. You shook your head. “I’m done.”
You turned around, heading towards the door. But you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan’s expression, the shock and worry making his eyes wide and glistening. “Baby.”
You grabbed your sweater and your handbag. The only two non-disposable belongings you had in his house.
“Baby,” he insisted again, more firmly now. “You’re not seriously leaving because of something I said.”
You paused, but you didn’t let the moment catch you in your determination. “It’s not just something you said. It’s a fact.”
Jeonghan stiffened, but words got stuck in his mouth, making his throat bob visibly.
You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob. And then all self-control slipped out of your hands. “Today I learned two things. One is that I was changing my whole life to fit into yours,” you told him, pulse quickening when you realized what you were doing, what you were breaking. “And the other thing is that I was the only one doing that.”
Jeonghan took a weak step towards you, his eyes showing the realization of what was about to happen. “We can still figure things out,” he whispered, eyes wide and glossy.
And something reminded you of how easy Soomin walked back into Jeonghan and Sohee’s life, how fleeting her presence was compared to the mess you had in your hands now. Your heart was breaking, and you couldn’t fit in your head how easy it was for her to walk out and walk back in. You envied that for a split second, because now you had a broken heart to fix.
Jeonghan still thought the problem was logical. And not something you had been wanting him to truly see.
You took in a deep breath. “Goodbye, Jeonghan,” you whispered, slipping out through the door and shutting it quietly behind you.
Coming back home to your apartment felt hauntingly out of the ordinary. It was as though you were stepping into a scene that had been put on pause. There was a forgotten glass of juice half empty on the kitchen counter, and you couldn’t remember leaving it there. The ironing board was standing in the middle of the living room, iron unplugged and in the holder—two things you had left there while in a hurry to get to your work in time. Plants all over the apartment were starting to wither, neglected.
A secondary instinct kicked in, telling you that at this hour you’d be helping Jeonghan tidy the place up while Sohee slept. You’d be stacking toys back into their place, folding blankets while Jeonghan did the dishes.
You closed your eyes slowly, finally hurting when you realized that you had walked out on all of it.
And your apartment didn’t feel like home.
You left your things on the counter and decided to plop down on the couch, face down against the cushions. Your pulse hadn’t slowed down since the moment you’d said goodbye to Jeonghan—and when you collapsed on the couch, you realized that you were crying. And you weren’t crying angry tears like when you were having a fight with Jeonghan, no.
You sobbed uncontrollably, tears kept coming and blurring your vision. And there was nothing in your mind except the memory of Jeonghan’s face when you walked out on him. You did the right thing, you told yourself, but your heart felt empty.
It had been the right thing. That much was true.
You loved Jeonghan. You loved Sohee.
Somewhere in the kitchen, you heard your phone buzzing, vibrating furiously inside your handbag. You ignored it. And you ignored it ten times all through the night, until it eventually ceased ringing.
Quiet settled around the empty apartment. An apartment that was yours, with all the things you built on your own. And the worst part is that it didn’t feel like home anymore. You kept wanting to reach for your car keys and leave somewhere.
Did you overreact? You wondered. I probably did blow everything out of proportion. You thought, remembering Soomin’s satisfied face when she told you that you were brave for stepping into her shoes.
Your chest tightened.
But you pushed it down.
The first twenty hours were hell.
That’s how Jeonghan felt. Like a long, gruelling torture that only pushed him to reflect.
The balloons on the wall had started to deflate, but he didn’t want to take them down. The rest of the things that you had prepared for the party had already been cleaned up, one thing that Jeonghan had done the morning after you left. It helped him think instead of bombarding your voicemail with messages pleading with you to call him back.
I could just go to her apartment, he thought. But he imagined the scene—Sohee on his arms as he begged you to come back. And he instantly pushed the idea away.
The apartment was awfully quiet. Until his phone started to vibrate on the dining table, making his stomach drop, and his hand reached for it instantly, thinking it was you, finally calling him back.
Soomin.
Jeonghan sighed, his heart deflating.
But then, a knock came to the front door. And for a moment, he thought he imagined it.
Then it came again. You knocked two quick times, deciding to step back from it and wait, clasping the gift bag with your hands. Standing there, your gaze fell out of focus, and inevitably started comparing the times you had stood there, how quickly Jeonghan would get to the door and welcome you in with open arms.
When Jeonghan finally opened the door, it was the first time you had seen him truly torn. It was normal for you to see him untidy after a long day at work, hair messy, unmade tie, untucked shirt, whatever. But no, this time was different. His face was darkened by the dark circles under his eyes, but it was the deep, conflicted sparkle in them that disheartened you completely.
“Hi,” you croaked, and cleared your throat nervously.
Jeonghan let out a quick sigh, running a palm down his mouth and chin before stepping aside, letting you in.
Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know what you were expecting him to say, but silence was the last thing you had anticipated. But you stepped into the apartment anyway, immediately spotting the quietness, which could only indicate one thing.
“Where is she?” you muttered, turning around to see Jeonghan shutting the door behind him quietly.
“Asleep,” he told you quietly, leaning back against the door with his hands tucked behind his back. You noticed the tired look he gave you, but that wasn’t the only thing that consumed your attention wholly—he was wary. “I just put her to bed.”
Your heart squeezed one more time, and you gave him a reproachful look. “Oh, okay,” you sighed, looking at the green gift bag in your hands. “Then I’ll leave this with you. She’ll like it, I’m sure. It’s a—it’s an axolotl plushie,” you said, stammering over your words with the need to hurry and get this over with. You wanted to run back to your car and cry.
Jeonghan nodded, licking his lips in a way that told you he had a lot to say, but decided to remain quiet. See how things would unfold first.
But this wasn’t going according to your plans. Your eyes began to brim with tears, which you blinked away quite successfully. “I wanted to see her one last time. Say goodbye properly,” you told him, tone lowering as your throat closed up.
He leaned the back of his head against the door, and as he blinked slowly, you saw his walls crumble down. “I know,” he said, his tone lowered too. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly.
You saw him blink up, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “Is that why you put her to bed earlier than usual?” you asked keenly. “So I wouldn’t get to see her?”
Jeonghan nodded slowly, moving his arms and crossing them on his chest. “I didn’t want her to see this. I’m sorry,” he shrugged with a look of pity on his face. “But I think we should talk first.”
You felt your brow furrowing. “I thought we already talked, Jeonghan. Last night,” you said, feeling lost.
“Yeah, but last night you walked out on me,” he said, tilting his head to one side as his gaze changed, quickly being filled with disappointment and resentment. He pushed himself away from the door, approaching you with the same wariness.
“There was nothing left to say,” you muttered, trying to keep down the tight knot sitting in your throat.
“Really?” he gasped, stopping dead in his tracks just one step in front of you. His face had fallen in something that went far beyond resentment now, like uncontrolled exasperation and anger. “We could’ve solved things last night before you ended everything!”
Shame filled your bloodstream, coursing through your body and leaving your skin feeling hot and prickling with anger. You carefully set down the gift bag on the table, deciding to leave. “I won’t let anyone treat me like I’m second-best, Jeonghan. That’s why I walked out.”
It was as though you had slapped him in the face. He stepped back, blinking in a way that told you that your words had hurt him. But before you could have a confirmation on this, Jeonghan took another step, but now in your direction. “I didn’t treat you like second-best,” he replied, his face crumpling with hurt, and most shocking—you saw fear in his eyes.
“No? I was trying to make everything perfect for Sohee. And by the end of it, what did I get? Your ex walking all over me like I’m her stand-in!” you blurted, words coming out raw and shaky. But you were glad that, despite the overwhelming need to cry, you could still speak what troubled your heart.
Jeonghan looked at you like he was finally seeing the truth. Almost as though he had willingly blindfolded himself throughout the party last night, but now, he finally saw something he didn’t want to.
So, with heat flooding your chest, you continued, “You truly didn’t notice, Jeonghan? The tacit remarks she’d make? Or when I wanted to hold Sohee and she would casually step in? Or what about the moment she told me I was brave for doing what she couldn’t?” you said. Your throat tightened, anger burning as tears finally spilled. You wiped them angrily, refusing to look away.
“She said that?” he said with an empty look in his eyes as his shoulders sagged a little. “I didn’t hear her. I actually thought she was being nice. For once.”
“Maybe you didn’t want to see it because she was being nice to you,” you accused, crossing your arms to hold yourself steady. Or to protect yourself. “That’s myproblem. She doesn’t have to fight for a space!”
“That’s not fair. You don’t have to fight for a space—”
“No, but I do,” you interrupted, blood heating up after remembering how it felt. “And what’s not fair was pretending she was being nice. She knew exactly what she was doing, and whether you meant it or not, you let her.”
“I should’ve known she would do things when I wasn’t looking,” Jeonghan replied, his tone firm. But then his gaze softened, right as he too crossed his arms, making you think that he was guarding himself up as well.
You let out a resigned sigh. “But this isn’t truly about your ex, Jeonghan,” you finally said, gulping hard. “This is about us failing to do things right.”
And when he lifted his gaze back to you, you noticed a glint in his eyes, like sorrow taking over him. He wasn’t crying, but your heart slowed down at seeing that torn-up look on him. Your words had struck a nerve. “This isn’t on me—I tried making things right!” he said, not lifting his tone, his words devoid of heat.
“You were rushing into things! Asking me to move in? Putting me as the emergency contact on Sohee’s file without telling me?” you said, trying to keep your tone light, but instead you sounded like you were on the brink of tears again.
He still looked hurt, but now, he was beginning to detach himself from you—and you could tell. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe you, running a hand down his mouth, frustratedly. “I thought that you moving in with us would make us stronger. But now I know we weren’t on the same page with that.”
You understood why he delivered his words dryly, but it still made your aching heart deflate even more. Tears burst from your eyes again, and you hated that you were now out of control. “I just wanted to know that you weren’t just looking for someone to share the burden with.”
He let out a huff, a cold smile painting his face. “I don’t need someone to share the burden with; I have been doing fine on my own since Soomin left.”
You rolled your eyes—he was missing the point. “I wanted to be certain that you wanted me.”
That left him cold. His arms were still crossed on his chest, but you saw the smallest of budges, as though the very air had left his lungs, cracking that wall he was putting between you. “Is that it? Is that why you said no?” he asked, his tone softer. He motioned to approach you, but the look on your face stopped him.
You were fully crying now. No sobbing, no hiccupping, no runny nose. Just unstoppable tears streaking down your cheeks. Your lip trembled, just as you were looking for the words to tell him what you needed to hear from him.
His mind reeled—you could tell from the way his gaze shifted quickly, dropping from your face to the ground and then back to you. His brow twitched. “I thought you knew.”
You nodded. “I still needed to hear it, Jeonghan.”
His gaze fell to the space between you, as though trying to untangle this mess in his mind.
But it didn’t matter now. Nothing he could say now would ease the pain in your chest. You were done now. You wanted to go home.
You didn’t say goodbye this time. You didn’t want to drag it any further.
You walked past him, rushing to the door before he could stop you—or to be quick and have the confirmation that he wouldn’t try to stop you. And when you were safe in the elevator, your heart broke anew when you blinked and saw the image of Jeonghan standing in the dining room, a grief-stricken look on his face.
Oh, this would take you months to heal.
Your friends were right. Getting into a relationship with someone like Jeonghan would only bring you pain. Nothing else.
The walk from the elevator to where you had parked your car was excruciatingly long. Your chest was constricting more and more as you fished your key out of the pocket of your jeans, unlocking the car door from afar.
“Wait!”
Jeonghan’s raw voice crossed the parking lot like lightning shooting through the night sky. You stopped, not because you wanted to follow the request, but because of the sheer shock of knowing that he’d chased you down to the parking lot.
Jeonghan was catching up, running to where you stood, frozen to the ground. “Wait,” he pleaded, breathing hard as he reached you. “Don’t go… please.”
Had he run down the emergency stairs just to catch you before you got in your car? Had he left Sohee alone just to get to you? You stared at him, beyond disbelief.
He composed himself with one deep breath, raising his palms at you warily. “I know I don’t deserve this, but please hear me out.”
When you didn’t respond, a wild look of fear shot across his face, making his eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t ask you to move in with us because I wanted someone to share the burden of being a parent,” he said, his words honest despite the tremble in his tone. “I said those things because Sohee is my priority. I was dumb, and that was the first thing that popped into my mind. I wasn’t thinking of how I sounded.”
He gulped air, hard. “I asked you to move in with us because I feel empty when you’re not around,” he said, more fiercely, his eyes glimmering as he took another step towards you. “I asked you to move in with me because of the most selfish reason—because I don’t want to be without you.”
And then the look in his eyes turned to complete despair when you remained motionless. His confession had done nothing to you, or so he appeared to believe. But your heart was beating wildly, thumping in your eardrums. You stood there, torn between holding your ground and giving in to him.
His mouth parted, and he took half a pace to where you stood. But he stopped, as though all strength and courage had dissipated the moment your eyes began to brim with tears again. “Please,” he whispered, gulping hard once again. And you knew what he was feeling—his heart thrumming in his throat. “Don’t do this.”
He wasn’t scared of losing a perfect candidate for his ex’s stand-in. No—and you were a fool to have believed that. You had seen the terrible person his ex was and still decided to run with that idea.
What you had failed to remember was that Jeonghan had gone through difficult breakups before. His ex left him with a baby in his arms. And even if his relationship with Soomin had been loveless from the start, it was still hard, and it still hurt.
God knows how long it had been since Jeonghan felt love.
And the truth is, you trusted that not even he remembers it as well.
Jeonghan was exceptionally bad at sharing his feelings aloud. That is one thing you’ve learned in all eight months you’ve been with him. But then you saw his posture change, the strength in him waning. “I won’t let things go this way again,” he told you, his eyes pleading.
A brutal shudder coursed through you. You loved this man. There was no way you could just turn around and walk away.
Your lip trembled. “You promise?”
It was as though life had been injected into him, hope glimmering in his eyes now. “I promise,” he replied.
With just a couple of paces, you closed the space between you and him, grabbing him by the collar of his black t-shirt and pulling him in. And he simply let you, receiving the impact of your smaller body against his by grabbing you by the waist, already knowing you were aiming for a kiss.
Your lips clashed with his in a crushing kiss; it almost hurt, but you didn’t care. Your body brimmed with energy, making your fingers curl around the fabric of his t-shirt. It was a leap of faith—but this time, you were ready. “I love you,” you said, squeezing your eyelids tightly.
A small sigh escaped him. “I love you too,” he replied, switching his hands from your waist to your face, cupping it before going back to kissing you. “Please, stay,” he whispered before pressing his lips against yours tightly.
You melted in his embrace. “Okay,” you replied, nodding.
He wrapped you with his arms completely, placing one hand on your back and the other on your head, making your face nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “You scared me,” he whispered, the sound of his voice strangled.
You swallowed hard. “You scared me too,” you admitted.
He kissed the top of your head, moving to cup your face again. “I know this doesn’t solve everything,” he said, his tone brittle. That’s when you noticed his eyelashes crumpled with tears. “So I think we should talk about what comes next.”
You shifted slightly to get the tears on the corners of your eyes. “What do you mean?”
He seemed to calm down with one breath. “Soomin is still going to be part of our lives.”
You nodded. “I know.”
His eyebrows knitted slightly. “And sometimes our lives will get messy.”
“I know that, Jeonghan,” you whispered, smiling at him softly.
He caressed your cheek tenderly. “But I want you to talk to me every time something feels off,” he said.
“And will you?” you asked.
He nodded. “Every single time,” he said. “I want us to be stronger together.”
The certainty in his demeanour made you pause. “You mean that?” you asked with a tiny tone.
“Yes, I do,” he replied. “I should’ve told you this before. I don’t want to be without you.”
And now the honesty was the thing that disarmed you completely. For a second, you almost felt like your vulnerable side was about to win, but you sighed. “I was jealous of her,” you confessed.
He blinked in disbelief. “Of Soomin?”
You nodded. “She’s Sohee’s mom. I didn’t like to feel that I was competing with her.”
“You weren’t,” he said with certainty. “Things got messy yesterday. I didn’t notice she was trying to make you feel insecure.”
You shook your head lightly. “This whole thing feels ridiculous now.”
He frowned. “What does?”
“All of this,” you gestured to the space between you and him. “We nearly blew up our entire relationship because we couldn’t talk about what we actually feel.”
He let out a light laugh. “It won’t happen again,” he said, stepping back and grabbing your hand, motioning back to the building. “Let’s go back inside?”
You nodded, walking with him, feeling ten times lighter than before.
You both stepped into the elevator, still holding hands. But as soon as the doors closed, Jeonghan tugged at your hand, pulling you closer to his frame. He wrapped an arm around your waist, finding your cheek with the other hand. “Will you forgive me?” he mumbled softly, smiling at you like he was shy. “I let things go out of hand.”
Your heart softened again, making you choke up, so you just nodded. “Me too,” you whispered. “I apologize too.”
He blinked slowly. “We talked about this before, remember?” he told you. “My life is messy, and I haven’t had a relationship since Soomin. I think this is us trying to find the balance in everything.”
You smiled at him. “Please don’t tell me that finding the balance will look like this every time.”
He laughed lightly. “I told you, baby. I won’t let this happen again,” he said, full of certainty. “I mean it.”
You sighed softly, relief finally setting in. “Okay,” you whispered, closing your eyes as he leaned in to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours ever so tenderly, like he was trying to isolate every single feeling and just focus on how your lips felt against his.
The kiss deepened, lips locking together in a heated dance that had your blood dancing in your veins almost instantly. A moan bubbled in your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swiping on your bottom lip, touching your tongue as it rolled inside your mouth.
You placed a hand square on his chest. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” you said, faking a stern look on your face.
The elevator reached the floor, doors parting with a soft ding. Jeonghan took your hand again, as though not wanting to let you go for one second. “I didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said with a smirk. “But please tell me what I can do to get there faster.”
You laughed. “Well, first, you could give me a neck massage.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s starting strong?” he laughed.
“And take me for dinner at that restaurant you keep telling me you wanted to take me,” you said.
“You free tomorrow?” he said while opening the door for you.
He quickly pushed your back against the wall of the hall to his bedroom, locking his lips with yours in a quick, but passionate kiss. “I could pick you up at eight,” he said, his tone raw.
“I dunno. I’ll have to check my calendar,” you replied jokingly, putting your hands on his chest, feeling him up.
Jeonghan giggled into the kiss. “You do that,” he replied.
You smiled, letting him dominate the kiss. And Jeonghan quickly took on the task, kissing you vehemently, like putting every emotion he felt for you into a silent dance of his lips with yours. His hands slipped from your face, finding your waist to clutch on as his tongue rolled inside your mouth.
You moaned, feeling his tongue against yours sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands on his torso slipped further down, finding the hem of his clothes and slipping beneath his shirt, feeling his warm skin.
The muscle of his abdomen contracted softly. “Wait—” Jeonghan said, pausing mid-kiss with a smacking sound from his lips and yours. “Bathroom.”
You were only able to moan out a sound of affirmation. The door to the bathroom was a couple of steps away from you, and when you both got there, it was as though a lightbulb had been switched on in your mind. Jeonghan was intending to take you to the most secluded place in the house—far away from the baby’s room.
Jeonghan turned the lights on with one hand, undoing the button of his jeans with the other. You acted quickly—taking one step in his direction and grabbing the black t-shirt, enjoying the look in his eyes, the hunger, the lust and devotion in them.
The clothes came off quietly—hurriedly, while his gaze remained trained on your face. Jeonghan was quiet, unusually quiet as you worked your trembling fingers to undress him. “Do you want to undress me?” you mumbled, your tone sweet, but low.
He blinked slowly and nodded, biting his bottom lip. He first grabbed the hem of your tank top, hiking it up your torso while you raised your arms to help him in the process. His gaze shifted to your chest when your bralette came into view. “I like this,” he whispered, running the pad of his thumb along the pretty lace hem of the cup of the bralette. “You know I like this one.”
You smiled softly. “If you’re suggesting that I wore the bra you liked to break up with you in case something happened, then you’re sorely mistaken,” you replied smugly.
He matched your smile. “I’m glad,” he whispered, tilting his head to meet your lips with his. He kissed you once, softly at first, his lips creating a low smacking sound when he pulled back, but not far. “I’m glad you didn’t break up with me.”
“I guess all we needed was to talk it out,” you joked in between hurried, heated pecks. Then your breath hitched, Jeonghan’s cold fingers had found the clasp of your bralette.
Jeonghan sighed in amusement. “Who would’ve thought,” he replied with an obvious tone while his hands gently eased the straps off your shoulders, and took your bra off your chest.
You needed one second to take in the situation in—you had just gone through one of the worst moments of your life, thinking that you were breaking up with the man you had fallen head over heels for. And now to be back in his apartment, hiding in the bathroom with him so that whatever went down in there wouldn’t wake the baby up.
It felt strangely exciting.
He pushed the tip of his nose against yours softly, making you angle your face as he swiped the tip of his tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You parted your mouth, letting him in with a silent moan, right as his tongue found yours. He kissed you slowly, sensually, like he had been aching to do that for the longest time, but things just got in the way.
You understood then, all the intense gazes, the way he kept looking at your lips…
“From now on, I’ll tell you everything,” he told you suddenly, giving you small kisses as his hands came up to cup your face lovingly. “Every single thought that crosses my brain, you’ll know it.”
You laughed at that, the sound louder than anything else; it bounced off the walls in a denouncing manner.
“Quiet, baby,” Jeonghan uttered, but he let out a tiny giggle with you anyway. “Sohee might hear you.”
You couldn’t help it; your heart melted. “Sorry,” you whispered, but the smile didn’t wipe off your face.
He tilted his head to one side, smiling endearingly at you. “I have a feeling you like this,” he muttered, voice low like a purr.
You nodded, biting your lower lip as you pushed his boxers down.
“You like it when I tell you to be quiet,” he kept going, keeping his tone down.
His gaze dropped to your hands as you grabbed his cock and started stroking him with your hand wrapped around the underside of his shaft. He had a pretty cock, soft and veiny on his thick shaft, dark pink on its head.
Seeing your hand rolling up and down his erect cock made him swallow a grunt, but as you twisted your grip around him, the sounds he made grew louder. How easy it was for him to surrender under your touch caused a deep satisfaction to bloom in your chest. But more than that, arousal had already started to pulsate between your legs. You enjoyed giving him pleasure just as much as you enjoyed receiving it.
“I like everything you do, daddy,” you mumbled, your tone wrapped in honey.
“Fuck,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. He slipped his hands on your waist, clutching your skin tightly but not enough for it to burn. “You make me crazy.”
Your fist tightened around the crown of his cock, smearing the slick precum leaking from his slit. You loved pleasuring him, yes, but you needed him inside you—the thrumming between your legs ached to feel him. A cunning smile painted your lips, considering playing with him some more.
But Jeonghan caught that naughty smirk on your face.
In one motion, he pushed your back to the countertop of the sink. You gasped at the sudden movement, but before you could protest, he was already getting to one knee in front of you.
“If you make a single sound, I’ll stop,” he told you, his eyes darkened with need and lust.
And without waiting for your verbal response, his head dipped down, pressing his mouth to your mound. He kissed the top of your pussy first, pressing his lips to your skin tenderly, almost adoringly as his sweet brown eyes found yours, but briefly. You let out a ragged breath, parting your legs by half, sitting on the countertop. That gave him all the access to your slick folds, which he nipped and licked eagerly.
You instantly tensed, your hand finding his head and the other holding onto the basin like your life depended on it. Jeonghan knew you well; he knew how you liked being touched, how to eat your pussy out until you were a mess of tears and babbles. He knew how to make you cum. What he was doing now was just to tease you, to drive you crazy—licking the juices off your folds with pleased grunts from his part, loving the way you were always ready for him.
He grabbed your thighs, spreading you further apart so you stopped twitching and moving—and licked your pussy up and down slowly, thoroughly, only to tease you some more.
But then he finally wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it ever so lightly.
Your jaw went slack, and to not let a scream out, the hand that was previously clutching the basin flew and landed on the tap, accidentally pushing it open. The sound of water flowing freely was the perfect mask for your whiny moans, because Jeonghan had started to run his tongue flatly on top of your engorged clit, all the while his lips kept it trapped.
Thoughts ceased to exist. Nothing mattered to you except for the sweet waves of pleasure running uncontrollably through your veins, making your skin prickle and your nipples pebble. It was as though you were submerged in a pool of pleasure. Your breathing turned ragged, and your body tensed solely to let the orgasm build up—because Jeonghan wasn’t stopping, and apparently, he had forgotten about the no noise rule.
Or maybe he liked this too.
But then he lifted his face slightly, keeping his lips and tongue on the top of your pussy as his lust-filled gaze met yours. You sank your teeth on your bottom lip, using the hand that was cradling the back of his head to push his face against your cunt, begging him silently to continue.
Jeonghan eyed the basin swiftly, briefly. And that was all the command you needed. You pushed your thumb against the tap, shutting it off.
However, he continued being a tease. Or a menace. He dragged his tongue against your swollen clit, pushing the wet muscle against you, achingly slow.
Your eyebrows pinched. Please, you begged with just one look.
There was a smile that only showed in his eyes right before he resumed eating you out, sucking and licking your clit. And he only needed to do it for mere thirty seconds before your orgasm tore through your body. You forgot about pulling his hair, taking that hand against your own mouth to stop yourself from screaming.
The waves of pleasure running through you were beyond anything else you’ve felt before. He’d teased you for so long that you were very much ready for that orgasm, leaving you limp and trembling on the countertop.
Your chest was rising and falling dramatically. Embarrassed, you cast a look at Jeonghan, who was pushing himself onto his feet with a light but wicked grin on his face. He didn’t need to say anything, he knew that you’d liked that.
And you needed him now.
You grabbed his wrist, pulling so that he stood between your thighs. “Wait,” he whispered, sliding his hands on your thighs to bring you to a halt.
You instantly knew what he’d say. You shook your head. “I want you now,” you mumbled.
But he motioned a hand to the cabinet behind you, where you knew he kept one large box of condoms. He kept it there and would also restock the bedside table every night you stayed in.
You grabbed him by the hip, pulling him closer to your body. “Now,” you whined.
Jeonghan didn’t resist, didn’t question you.
His hands returned to your thighs, wrenching them further apart and positioning himself between them. Tilting your hips up, you angled yourself for him while still sitting back on the countertop—you knew he liked the view of his bare cock entering you, the view of your pussy stretched open with his girth.
So his head dipped, keeping his gaze where your body and his were about to join. He pushed his hips closer to yours, and you took his cock, guiding it to your sopping core. His mouth parted when the crown of his cock nuzzled your entrance, and a rush of excitement flowed through you when you felt him push inside.
Feeling him raw, skin on skin, was a delicious experience. Maybe it was more in your brain than in your body—because you swore you could cum right there and then, and he wasn’t even fully inside you.
You caught a glimpse of his face changing, of the pleasure taking over him quickly as he gave the first thrust, the muscle of his jaw twitched, and he immediately crushed his mouth with yours. With a muffled moan, he started moving, languidly at first, as though testing you.
“God, baby, you feel… amazing,” he whispered, pushing his hips with gentle motions. You believed that he wanted to take it slowly, so he wouldn’t finish fast and inside you. But then you heard how fucking wet you were. You could hear his cock slipping in and out of your walls, and Jeonghan wanted to enjoy it.
You cupped the side of his neck with one hand, motioning his gaze back to yours. You stared into his eyes for a long moment while he took your body slowly. Jeonghan blinked, his hands grabbing your thighs and motioning them around his hips, making it even harder for him to pull out.
It was a game you both had. And it made you feral. You loved it.
Jeonghan pushed his body flushed against yours, thrusting slowly, but deeply. “Like that?” he asked, although he didn’t need to—the look on your face told him enough.
But you nodded either way. You remembered what he said about telling you every single thought that crossed his brain, and you decided to give him some of your thoughts in return. “I love this,” you whispered. “I love feeling you like this.”
He let out a grunt, bowing his head to kiss your shoulder. “I know,” he sighed, his breath fanning your pert nipples. “I love it too.”
You slipped your hand from his neck and then locked your arms around his shoulders. All reason flew out of your brain, and then you knew you were just babbling—but you didn’t care. “The thought of you cumming inside me makes me cum,” you mumbled, uncaring of how pathetically sweet your tone sounded.
“Oh, fuck,” Jeonghan moaned loudly, the sound barely muffled by the crook of your neck, hips stuttering against yours for half a second.
You cupped his nape with your hand as he lifted his head to face you. “Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze taking you in. “Want me to pump you full of my cum?” he asked with a playful lilt.
You nodded, incapable of giving him a verbal reply. The question was crude; it sounded beyond dirty and sinful as it came out of his lips. This surely wasn’t the first time he spoke filthy things to you, but it was the first time he asked a question like this.
And you loved it.
The pacing of his thrusts quickened, but didn’t relent on their depth, keeping his body flush against yours. You could feel the film layer of sweat covering his skin, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were sweating as well.
But you noticed that Jeonghan was forgetting about your game of keeping quiet. The pacing of his thrusts quickening also meant that the sounds of skin slapping against skin were harder to avoid. You thought of mentioning this to him, but it turned you on to see him lose control slowly.
“Babe,” you whispered, “be quiet.”
Jeonghan had to bite his smile back. And fuck, you loved this man. One of the things you loved about him was how sexy he could be. He pushed his hips against yours in a particularly thorough way that made you think he was trying to reach as deep into you as he could, making you whimper loudly.
“You be quiet,” he bit back, continuing to slip his cock in and out of your walls deliciously, making you see stars.
Your eyelids fell closed, but you could capture the image of him leaning his face closer to yours, feeling his breath on your lips before he kissed them. “Quiet or you won’t get to cum,” he said, his tone raspy, tired.
“Doesn’t that mean you won’t either?” you taunted, loving the way the pacing of his thrusts changed. You knew he was trying to draw out his own pleasure, make himself last longer.
Jeonghan laughed, the sound languid. “Remember how I got you to shut up that one time?” he asked, his tone still low, waning. And when the memory instantly flashed behind your closed lids, your walls tightened around him, drawing out a moan from him.
That time, he showed you a different side of himself. You were being louder than most nights, having fun by testing how far Jeonghan would go to make you submit to him.
“Yeah, you remember it,” he drawled, moving his face ever so slightly so he could join his lips with yours, all while still moving inside you painfully slow. He was edging you, and in turn, he was edging himself as well. “I thought you looked pretty with my cock inside your mouth,” he said.
You could’ve fallen over the edge in that second. A shameful whine came out of you, but you were too gone to even think of how pathetic you were sounding. You didn’t care. Having Jeonghan inside you, raw, and speaking filth to you felt so good. “I’ll be quiet, Hannie,” you told him. “Just don’t stop.”
With a grunt, Jeonghan obliged, changing the push and pull from a painfully slow one to a deliciously hard and deep one. You let out a silent moan, angling your hips to him so he could reach deeper inside you, so you could feel him completely.
Jeonghan cussed, his voice drowned out by the dull sound of skin hitting against skin. And it was then that you knew that this was his obsession—the quiet play, the bickering, the very obvious sounds of pleasure…
And you simply let him take you. The closer he grew to his orgasm, the closer you felt like giving in to the sweet pleasure dancing beneath your skin. Jeonghan parted his mouth, and you felt his hips buckling, his hands gripping your hips, his body flush and pushing against yours…
“Fuck, baby,” he said with a tired, but blissful drawl. “I’m close,” he said, his words heavy with meaning.
And you knew what he wanted to say. “Inside,” you moaned. “Do it inside me.”
Jeonghan gave you another one of those hazy smiles, tilting his head back so you could see his face, while pleasure took over the features of his beautiful face. “Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?” he asked, looking like he was in between happy and tired.
You nodded. “Uh-huh,” you mewled, aware that the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bathroom had become louder. But you didn’t care, and Jeonghan didn’t seem to pay attention.
He pushed inside, slamming his front to yours, switching the grip on one side of your thigh to your hair at the base of your head. “Then give it to me,” he whispered, the sound raspy and full of greed. “Cum for me.”
You could’ve gone off simply from the way he was talking to you. But you needed to get it done, fast, now. You moved your body slightly, taking your hand in between his body and yours and started rubbing your clit, teasing it with fast swirls. “Daddy,” you moaned, louder. His thrusts were deep, hard, and so fucking good. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Jeonghan responded with a deep moan of his own. “Baby,” he gasped, releasing the grip he had on your hair, his hand sliding down your back as he dropped his forehead on your shoulder.
You closed your eyes, letting your orgasm barrel down your body, letting Jeonghan push his cum deep inside you with a couple of final, languid thrusts. His face was pressed tightly against the crook of your neck, making your skin prickle as he breathed hard against you.
The inner side of your thighs trembled quite dramatically as you tried holding onto him. Jeonghan let out a light, breathy giggle, right as you, too, were composing yourself, caressing his naked back with the tips of your fingers.
Then you felt his lips on the crook of your neck, your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. “I’ll start a shower for you,” he croaked, lifting his head to direct a tender look at you. “I have to go check on Sohee.”
You nodded. “Okay,” you replied.
But there was a great reluctance in his following movements. Casting a look down your body, he carefully peeled his body back from yours, turning around to start the shower. You watched him as he walked back, only to plant a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before grabbing his shorts and slipping through the bathroom door.
Once you found your limbs, you climbed off the counter and stepping before the shower. After testing the temperature, you stood below the stream, closing your eyes as you let the water wash down your face.
Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of a thousand questions and things that you still wanted to say. But one thing was finally clear to you.
The gentle sounds coming from the door announced he was back, right as you were halfway done washing up. When he stepped into the shower, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he embraced you tightly. “Hey,” you mumbled, grabbing his forearm to squeeze him.
He inhaled deeply, pressing his lips to your hair. “Hey,” he replied, his tone low and raspy.
You turned around, moving on the shower floor so that the stream bathed his bare skin. “Let me,” you said, grabbing the soap and washcloth.
Jeonghan gave you a sheepish smile. “Oh, are you going to wash me?” he asked, his tone turning playful as you nodded at him silently, looking into his eyes. “Alright, just don’t give me those eyes, or we’ll never get this done.”
You laughed, the sound filling the bathroom. His glimmering eyes found your face, and you could see the minute his mind snapped with decision. Cupping your face in his hands, he pulled you in for a kiss full of passion and endearment. “I love you,” he mumbled, his tone so gentle that it made you think he was relieved to say it.
“I love you,” you replied, laughing softly before he pressed his lips against yours again.
“What’s that?” he asked in between pecks.
“Nothing,” you huffed as he moved to kiss your cheek. “You’re very confident now.”
He responded with a light laugh of his own. “I don’t care. I’m going to say it more,” he told you, sounding serious like a warning.
“Good,” you mumbled faintly, as he bent down to kiss your neck.
“Starting now,” he said, slipping his hands from your lower back to your rear, pressing you against his frame.
“Careful,” you replied. “You might start sounding desperate,” you teased.
You felt him smile against your skin. “Desperate, huh?” he asked, his voice low and in your ear.
“Well,” you said, tilting your head to give him more space for him to kiss, “you did just almost lose me.”
He nodded. “That put things in perspective.”
A sigh escaped your mouth when he kissed a particular sweet spot on your shoulder. “You’re going a bit overboard.”
“Mmm,” he sighed against your skin. hands squeezing your ass, but just softly, tenderly. “I love you.”
You bit back a smile. “See?”
“You’re the one who wanted me to say it.”
“I didn’t say you had to start saying it every minute,” you said, smiling despite yourself.
He pulled back, making you miss his lips on your skin instantly. “I can slow down.”
You bit your lower lip, nodding. “Please.”
But he showed you a charming half smile. “I love you.”
You laughed, trying to push his shoulder. “You’re a tease.”
A pause. The smirk wiped off his face as he exhaled softly. “And yet,” he said, his eyes glimmering with something you hadn’t seen before in him, “you’re still here.”
You watched his eyes for a moment, your pulse quickening. “That’s still under review,” you tried to joke, sounding out of breath.
If Jeonghan heard your tone, he made no comment about it; he played along. “What can I do to help my case?”
“I already told you,” you said, looking at his eyes and then his lips.
He nodded, leaning to kiss the tip of your nose. “What else?” he whispered.
You slipped your hands from his shoulders, down his torso, feeling his warm and wet skin. “Let’s go to that water park… all three of us together.”
He smiled before pressing his lips against yours. “You got it,” he replied.
Your heart shuddered. “Jeonghan?” you mumbled softly, feeling his hands all over your skin, exploring you, getting you aroused again.
“Yes?”
“Ask me to move in with you,” you said, tone falling to a mere whisper.
He pulled back, only to look into your eyes. He didn’t hesitate. “Move in with me.”
Your eyes glimmered, your whole body trembling with joy, relief, and love. You nodded. “I’ll move in with you.”
Jeonghan smiled. “Good,” he mumbled, content. “I love you.”
You groaned softly, rolling your eyes playfully. “Oh my god,” you said, loving the sound of his laughter bouncing off the walls. He leaned over, showering you with kisses again. “I love you more,” you replied shyly.
“Impossible,” he said.
› author's note pt. 2: hi hey hello!!
so, we're are so back. and jeonghan is coming back? hannieween is writing again? hell yeah
OKAY BUT I WANT TO TAKE A MOMENT TO ADDRESS SOMETHING HERE. apparently, tumblr has moved some things so that if someone comments, likes or reblogs a post that has been previously reblogged by someone else, i won't get to see those notifs. so for example, if you're not reblogging this from my page directly, i won't get to see it 😭 so if you guys comment, like, reblog, etc, i appreciate you all so much, i might not get to see it, but i appreciate it anyway!
Summary: Mingyu was preparing for a divorce when he began to sense that something was wrong with his wife.
Mingyu hadn’t been home since yesterday—or maybe since the day before that. He stopped counting after the fight, the kind that didn’t end with slammed doors but with silence, thickening the wall that had been building between you for over a year. He chose to stay in his humble studio, surrounded by paintings never meant for the world—only for him to face. Each canvas stared back in accusation, as if every unfinished stroke was cursing him.
You didn’t call—you never did, and he told himself it was because you had stopped caring. You chose that, and Mingyu found it unbearably hurtful. Sometimes, when his gaze lingered on the band wrapped around his finger, he thought of you—the version of you who loved him fiercely, who would have done anything for him. And when you stopped doing that, when you stopped caring, something in him made a quiet decision: he needed to protect himself.
Kim Mingyu was an aspiring painter when he met you. You were radiant the moment you walked into the meeting room, introducing yourself as the curator of the gallery where his work would be displayed. When he heard your name, recognition struck immediately—he knew you were one of them.
And yes. You were the daughter of the former prime minister.
His career flourished with your help. He had always believed his work would reach its peak someday—and it did. His pieces became widely known, his name circulating through galleries across the world, until Kim Mingyu was no longer just an aspiring painter, but one of the most sought-after artists globally.
“This is An Angel Who Couldn’t Paint.”
He said it the way he introduced all his recent works, calm and practiced. The angel on the canvas was adored by everyone—soft wings, gentle light—yet her expression was unmistakably sad.
You stood beside him as the gallery emptied. Footsteps faded, lights dimmed, until there was no one left but the two of you, both too nervous to be the first to leave. Tomorrow was a big day.
“Why couldn’t it paint?” you asked, turning toward him.
He looked at you then, smiling softly.
“Her family didn’t let her.”
Mingyu hadn’t expected to win your heart that night. Yet when you looked at him—really looked at him—it felt like a confession made without words. Your gaze carried an offering, quiet and devastating, as if you were placing your heart in his hands along with your soul, your bones, everything that made you whole.
And yet, here he was—sitting on the couch with the curtains drawn open, staring into the night with a glass of whiskey in his hand. There was no you here, and lately, there had been no you in his life at all.
The man he was five years ago wouldn’t have believed this version of himself if someone had told him: the woman you think you love the most will change. And so will you.
On the table lay a fresh print of the divorce papers, waiting to be signed. Finally. His lawyer had notified him countless times—about the plan to divorce you, about how it had been inevitable since the first fight a year ago. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had been too naive to understand that the two of you had lost each other long before this moment.
And there was no reason left to stay.
Even your family—your powerful, conglomerate family—couldn’t be the reason he stayed. He was adored there, praised for his easy charm, his manners. But was any of it genuine? Honestly, he no longer knew.
He had witnessed the way your brother-in-law was spoken about behind closed doors, criticized for being too absorbed in his own law firm, for refusing to fold himself into the family company. And Mingyu couldn’t forget that one night either—the way your brother’s wife had broken down during a family gathering, crying quietly because five years of marriage had passed and she still hadn’t conceived.
Three years of marriage—to an artist. No children. Would your parents still treat him the same?
*
“Is she with you? We couldn’t find her.”
It was late when Mingyu received the call from your parents. He sighed as he pulled on his shirt and coat, grabbing his keys before heading toward their house.
“We found out you two were fighting,” your mother said gently. “She came here a week ago. Was it that bad?”
Her voice was soft, but Mingyu could hear the worry beneath it.
“I’ll be there, Mother,” he replied, already driving away from his studio.
There were only a few places you might go at this hour to clear your mind. He had lived through this before. When you weren’t in bed, when the house felt too quiet, he would find you somewhere close, in the garden, or walking through the neighborhood under the dim streetlights.
“It’s dangerous,” he had told you once, rushing out of the house after realizing you were gone—only to find you returning, an ice cream melting slowly in your hand.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Mingyu had sighed then, the tension draining from his shoulders.
“Wake me up, love,” he’d said softly. “I’ll walk with you.”
Mingyu immediately typed out the places where your parents’ people might find you. He drove carefully, his mind running through scenarios—what would happen once he found you, what he would say to your parents afterward.
He sighed again, for what felt like the hundredth time.
Your parents had spoiled you too much.
Mingyu had never been the type to celebrate every moment extravagantly—if at all. He expressed his gratitude, acknowledged the milestone, and kept moving forward.
Your family, however, lived by a different tradition: everything was celebrated, and always with excess.
Your engagement was meant to be intimate. Instead, your parents insisted on renting out a hotel ballroom, inviting nearly everyone they knew—most of whom Mingyu didn’t—and turning the day into a spectacle.
The wedding was no different. Whatever imagination he had left of a small ceremony—one with only the closest people present—disappeared the moment your parents took over the planning. A grand venue. An expensive dress. Hundreds of invitations, while his side amounted to barely ten.
They loved you. And they loved spoiling you.
He tried calling your phone as he drove toward the park near your parents’ house—the one you used to run to as a child whenever your parents fought or your siblings became too much. You didn’t answer. Not once.
Mingyu parked the car and immediately scanned the area, his steps quick and restless as he searched the park. He called your name a few times, voice cutting through the night, but there was no sign of you—only a group of teenagers smoking near the benches. When he asked if they had seen a woman walking alone, they shook their heads, irritation clear in their faces.
He called your parents’ security team next. They hadn’t found you near the lake either—the place you had mentioned before, half in passing.
“Check the gazebos too,” he told them. They moved at once.
He started running then. He wasn’t sure why—whether it was the need to find you quickly so he could take you back to your parents, or simply to end the search and the fear gnawing at his chest.
He exhaled sharply when he spotted a familiar figure walking ahead. His pace slowed without thinking, steps cautious now as he drew closer.
“Ji Y/n…”
As if summoned, you turned your head at the sound of your name.
“Kim Mingyu..”
“Why are you here at this hour?” Mingyu asked, breath still uneven from the run.
You didn’t answer right away. Your gaze drifted past him, circling the trees, the dim lamps, the path beneath your feet—until something in your expression shifted, like recognition arriving late.
“I was just out for air.”
Mingyu swallowed. “Your parents called me because they couldn’t find you. I thought we were done talking about this—”
He stopped himself too late, only then realizing the edge in his voice.
“Don’t yell at me.”
The words were quiet, but they landed heavy.
Mingyu exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not,” he said, softer now. “Let’s go home.”
He reached out, fingers closing around your wrist. You looked down at his hand. Then back up at him.
“Which home?”
He froze.
For a moment, the park seemed too quiet—no wind, no footsteps, no distant traffic. Mingyu loosened his grip and turned to face you fully.
“Our home.” he said.
The two of you walked toward his car in silence. Mingyu moved a few steps ahead, hands shoved into his pockets, mind already elsewhere. It wasn’t until he reached the door and turned back that he realized—
You were wearing nothing but a thin sleeping dress and with no shoes. Bare feet touching the cold pavement.
He cursed under his breath.
Mingyu shrugged off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders, movements careful now, almost hesitant. “Where are your shoes?” he asked, already sighing as he opened the passenger door for you.
You stared at the ground, brows knitting together as if the answer were buried somewhere just out of reach.
“I don’t know,” you said quietly.
As Mingyu got into the driver’s seat, his eyes drifted back to you. Only then did he notice the bruises and dirt smudged along your feet, as if you had been running barefoot long before he found you. His jaw tightened.
He called your mother and spoke quietly.
“She’s with me now. She’s safe.”
A pause.
“I’m taking her home.”
Another pause, heavier this time.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
You leaned back against the seat, exhaustion overtaking you as your eyelids fluttered shut. Sleep claimed you quickly, as if your body had been waiting for permission to rest.
Mingyu sighed and started the engine, guiding the car back toward the house. A place the two of you used to call home.
*
Mingyu entered your home office after months of doing nothing more than walking past it. It was one of the rooms you treasured most—a space you had insisted on keeping for yourself when your father was choosing the house you would live in after the wedding.
You were already asleep in the bedroom after tonight’s walk. He had carried you in from the car, careful and slow, yet you hadn’t stirred at all. It surprised him. You had always been a light sleeper.
He stood by the bed for a moment before leaving, watching you breathe, watching the familiar rise and fall of your chest. You were still you when you slept—soft, unchanged, untouched by the distance that had grown between you.
But when you were awake? He realized with a quiet ache, he had started to hate that version of you.
He closed the door of your office and stepped inside with a carefulness only a cautious husband could muster. Once, he had never knocked. He would barge in without warning, a photograph of a new painting already in his hand, words tumbling over one another as he spilled every concept crowding his mind.
“It must be nice to be a genius,” you would say, leaning back in your chair, eyes warm as you smiled at him.
“I’m far from a genius, love,” Mingyu would reply shyly, brushing off the compliment even though you both knew he enjoyed it.
“I’m just good.”
You would laugh then—soft and unguarded. It had been a beautiful, gentle love. One he realized how much he missed.
He sat in your chair, its familiarity unsettling, and wondered how busy you had been lately. You barely stayed in the house anymore, choosing instead to live with your parents. He told himself it was practical—the gallery was closer to their place. A project, maybe. An exhibition.
He used to witness the way your eyes lit up when you worked, the passion that consumed you so completely.
Since when had he started to hate your work?
It was your work that had once lifted his name, carried him into rooms he never imagined entering. But now—now it felt like nothing more than the current pulling the two of you farther apart.
The next morning, Mingyu sat by the counter after a night without a wink of sleep. He had meant to rest on the couch, but his body never followed his intentions. His thoughts wandered everywhere except toward rest.
A cup of coffee sat untouched beside him. Freshly brewed. Something he used to miss every time he stayed away. Coffee in his own house used to feel grounding. Familiar. Safe.
He heard the bedroom door open. He didn’t turn. He already knew the questions that would usually follow—why he drove you home, why he was here, why he crossed a boundary you both had drawn after the last fight. He knew you hated this house now. Hated the two of you existing in the same space.
However, none of that came.
Instead, you stepped into the kitchen in the same thin sleeping dress from the night before. Bare feet against the floor. Your voice came soft, almost fragile.
“Morning.”
Before he could react, your hand rested briefly on his shoulder. Your lips brushed his—light, absent, almost instinctive. A peck that lasted less than a second. Months.
That was all it took to freeze him in place.
You moved away as if nothing had happened, opening the fridge, taking out fruits, eggs. Normal. Too normal. As if this was still your routine. As if you hadn’t shattered him just now.
“You want some?” you asked, casual. “I can make you a sandwich too.”
You went on tiptoe to reach a cup.
The sound of a sharp wince—and glass crashing to the floor—snapped Mingyu back into motion.
“What’s wrong?” He was already beside you, hands hovering, instinct kicking in. “Careful. Don’t move—there’s glass.”
You looked at him for a moment, then down.
Your feet.
Bruised. Scraped. Dirt still clinging faintly to your skin—marks he had cleaned in silence while you slept.
“I didn’t realize it,” you murmured. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“Sit down,” Mingyu said instead, steady but firm. “I’ll make your breakfast.”
You didn’t argue. You walked away while he cleaned the broken glass, movements practiced, controlled—like he hadn’t spent the entire night watching you breathe, wondering when everything had gone so wrong.
He placed the plate in front of you not long after. Boiled eggs. Fruits. Toast.
Your favorite.
He watched you quietly, already planning to knock some sense into you later—once you’d eaten, once the color returned to your face, once he was sure you were really here.
Mingyu waited. Not because he needed time, but because he was afraid that if he spoke too soon, the morning would crack completely. The kettle clicked softly on the counter. Outside, the day went on like nothing inside this house had shifted its axis.
“You were out last night,” he said slowly, as if pacing the truth would make it easier to swallow. “Where were you?”
You sat across from him, legs tucked under the chair, toast held loosely between your fingers. You took another bite, chewing carefully, eyes unfocused—not avoiding him, but not looking either.
“I was home,” you said. “Waiting for you.”
The words landed wrong. Too neat. Too certain.
Mingyu felt his chest tighten. “You weren’t.”
You paused. Just for a second. Then you tilted your head, confused, almost amused by his contradiction. “I fell asleep,” you replied. “I remember sitting there. I must’ve dozed off.”
He searched your face for cracks. For hesitation. For guilt. There was none.
That was when he noticed it—the darkness beneath your eyes, heavier than fatigue alone. Your skin looked different too. Not sick, not pale. Just… muted. Like someone had turned the saturation down little by little and no one had noticed until now.
“Were you high last night?” he asked quietly, the question tasting wrong in his mouth.
Your brows pulled together immediately. “What?”
He didn’t explain. His mind had already run ahead of him, replaying the night before—your office, untouched. The drawers he opened slowly, the shelves he scanned twice. No medication. No substances. No signs of panic or recklessness. If you had taken something, you had hidden it well. Or it wasn’t there at all.
“You were at your parents’ house,” he said instead, voice firmer now. “For a week. They called me. They couldn’t find you.”
You blinked.
Once.
Then again.
“Really?” you said, a small laugh slipping out. “I was in my office. I’ve been finishing my work.”
There it was again. That certainty. That calm insistence.
Mingyu stared at you like he was looking at a stranger wearing your face. The way you spoke wasn’t defensive. You weren’t lying the way people usually lied—not rushed, not evasive. You believed in yourself.
That frightened him more than any argument you’d ever had.
His eyes drifted down unconsciously. To your hands. To the faint tremor you didn’t seem to notice. To your bare feet resting against the cold floor, still marked faintly with bruises that hadn’t been there before last night.
He followed his own gaze down the hallway, back to your office. On your desk—exactly where he had found it last night—lay the resignation letter.
Your resignation.
You were going to leave the job you loved most. The one that kept you alive when everything else felt heavy. And he didn’t know why.
The question had been drilling into his head since last night, since he folded that paper with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Why? It followed him to the couch, to the kitchen, to the sound of you saying morning like nothing was wrong.
Why would you give this up?
Was it for him?
For us?
The kitchen suddenly felt too familiar this morning—like a version of home Mingyu hadn’t visited in a long time.
You said it casually. Too casually during breakfast. “Maybe…” you started, as if you were commenting on the weather. “Maybe raising a kid would help us. Change how we see things.”
The words caught him off guard. Mingyu looked up slowly, as if he hadn’t heard you right. For a moment, he just stared.
Surprise came first—sharp and unguarded. His mind scrambled, trying to match this calm version of you with the memory of how firmly you had once said no. How your voice shook, not with anger, but fear. Fear he hadn’t understood then and hadn’t bothered to ask about since.
Why now?
You weren’t looking at him the way you used to when you tried to compromise. There was no hesitation in your posture, no defensive edge. Just a stillness that unsettled him more than anger ever did.
Then came the nervousness.
His fingers curled slightly against the counter, grounding himself. He wondered if this was something you had been thinking about for a while, or if it was something you decided this morning—born out of exhaustion, out of guilt, out of wanting peace at any cost.
Was this your way of reaching out?
“Maybe raising a kid would help us.”
As if that conversation hadn’t torn something apart last year. As if it hadn’t ended with silence stretching for months, with him leaving more often, with you learning how to sleep alone in a marriage.
The words hung in the air. You didn’t mention the fear. Didn’t mention hospitals, or test results, or how your hands had shaken when the doctor spoke too gently. You just stood there, calm on the surface, offering the idea like it hadn’t once broken you.
He searched your face for signs—hope, reluctance, sincerity—but all he found was calm. A calm that scared him more than resistance ever had.
*
Mingyu had once thought it was a coping mechanism. You had this way of waving away guilt—of smoothing things over without ever touching them. Every time a fight stretched too far, too heavy, you would return the next day as if nothing had happened. As if the night before hadn’t existed at all.
He first noticed it during your first anniversary. Mingyu had prepared everything himself that night. A quiet dinner, nothing extravagant—just the two of you, the way he preferred it. The table was set long before the food began to lose its warmth, candles burning lower with every passing minute as he waited.
You were working late at the gallery. At first, he told himself it was fine. You had always been passionate about your work—he loved that about you. But as the hours passed, as his messages remained unread and your calls went unanswered, something inside him began to tighten.
You had forgotten. Not just the dinner. Not just the time. Him. When you finally came home, the apology came easily from you—too easily. Soft, quick, almost practiced. Mingyu had been upset then. Not loudly, not enough to start a war, but enough. He told you to be more mindful. To keep track of time. To think about the person waiting for you. To think about him.
You listened. Nodded. Stayed quiet. He thought it had meant something. But the next morning, you kissed him like you always did. Sat beside him at the breakfast table, close enough for your shoulder to brush against his, asking him something trivial—what he wanted to do that day, maybe, or whether he would be at the studio. Your voice was light, untouched, as if the night before had slipped cleanly out of your memory.
Mingyu stared at you, something sharp and burning settling behind his eyes. There was no trace of it. No hesitation. No guilt. No attempt to fix what had been said. Just you. Normal. Warm. Unchanged.
And that was the first time it unsettled him, how easily you could wake up the next day and act as if there had never been anything to fix at all.
The last real fight you had—before everything turned into silence—was about a child. It wasn’t even supposed to be a fight. Mingyu had brought it up casually that night, almost carefully, like testing the temperature of something fragile. The house had been quiet, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy yet. You were sitting across from him, absentmindedly scrolling through something on your phone, half-listening.
“Have you ever thought about it?” he asked.
You looked up. “About what?”
“A kid.”
The reaction was immediate. Not loud. Not explosive. But immediate. Your expression changed in a way he couldn’t quite name back then—something closing off behind your eyes, something pulling away from him before he could even reach it.
“No,” you said. Too quick.
Mingyu frowned slightly, leaning back in his chair. “No?” he repeated, softer this time, like maybe you hadn’t understood the question.
“I don’t want one.”
There was no hesitation in your voice. No room left for discussion. And that—more than the answer itself—irritated him.
“Why not?” Mingyu asked, the edge slipping in despite himself. “We’ve been married for three years.”
You let out a small breath, setting your phone down slowly. “Because I don’t want to.”
“That’s not a reason.”
Your eyes flickered then, something sharper surfacing. “It is.”
Mingyu exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to start anything. He just—didn’t understand. “People don’t just decide they don’t want kids for no reason,” he said, voice tightening. “You’re not even willing to think about it?”
“I have thought about it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Silence stretched between you for a second too long. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter—but not softer. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Something in him bristled at that. “Try me.”
You hesitated. And for a moment—just a moment—he thought you wouldn’t say anything at all. That you would brush it off the way you always did, walk away, let it dissolve into nothing.
But you didn’t.
“I don’t want my body to change like that,” you said finally.
Mingyu blinked. “What?”
“Pregnancy,” you continued, more steadily now, even if your fingers had begun to curl slightly against the table. “The weight gain. The way your body stops feeling like yours. I’ve seen it. I’ve—” You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “I don’t want that.”
He stared at you, the explanation settling wrong in his chest.
“That’s it?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
Your head snapped up. “That’s it?” you echoed, something incredulous slipping into your voice now.
Mingyu shook his head slightly, already frustrated. “You’re saying you don’t want a child because you’re scared of gaining weight?”
“It’s not just weight.”
“Then what is it?” he pressed.
You looked at him then—really looked at him—and whatever was in your eyes made him falter for half a second.
“Exactly,” you said quietly. “You don’t get it.”
The conversation went nowhere after that. It circled. Tightened. Broke in places neither of you tried to fix. Mingyu remembered the way your voice had risen—not loud, but strained, like something was pulling at it from the inside. He remembered the way you kept repeating the same thing in different words, as if you were trying to explain something bigger but couldn’t quite bring yourself to say it.
And he remembered how, at some point, he stopped listening. It sounded trivial to him. Avoidable. Something that could be reasoned through if you just—tried. But you didn’t.
You shut down instead. And the next morning—the next morning wasn’t normal.
There was no quiet greeting, no soft kiss pressed against his lips like a habit you refused to break. No gentle presence beside him in the kitchen, no small attempt to smooth over what had been said.
Mingyu woke up to silence. The kind that felt wrong the moment he opened his eyes. He found you already dressed, standing by the door with your bag slung over your shoulder. Your shoes were on. Your hand rested on the handle, like you had been about to leave for a while now.
“You’re going already?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep.
You didn’t turn immediately.
“I have work,” you said. Simple. Flat. No mention of last night. No mention of anything.
Mingyu pushed himself up slightly, frowning. “You’re not going to eat first?”
“I’m not hungry.”
That was it. No pause. No glance back to check if he would say something else. No hesitation in the way you opened the door and stepped out.
The sound of it closing lingered longer than it should have. Mingyu sat there for a while after that, staring at nothing in particular, something unfamiliar settling deep in his chest. It wasn’t anger—not fully.
It was something quieter. Colder. And it didn’t stop there. Days turned into a pattern he didn’t remember agreeing to.
You left early. Came home late. Sometimes not at all. And when you were there, you weren’t really there.
Conversations shortened. Then it disappeared. Meals became optional. Shared space became something you both moved around carefully, like stepping through a room filled with fragile things neither of you wanted to touch.
Mingyu stopped asking after a while. Stopped waiting, too. The house—once something warm, something grounding—began to feel unfamiliar. Too quiet in the wrong ways. Too empty, even when you were inside it.
So he stayed at the studio more often. At first, it was just to work. Then to think. Then, eventually… to breathe.
The smell of paint, the unfinished canvases, the silence that didn’t expect anything from him—it all felt easier than walking into a home that no longer felt like one.
Somewhere along the way, without either of you saying it out loud, the studio became his place of rest, and the house you shared became somewhere he only returned to out of habit.
*
“What is this?”
Mingyu froze at the sound of your voice. He hadn’t expected to find you there—standing in the middle of his studio, as if you had every right to be. As if this place still belonged to both of you.
His gaze dropped to your hand. The papers. A copy of the divorce documents his lawyer had prepared, edges slightly crumpled where your fingers held them too tightly.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
It had been—what—almost a year since you last stepped into his studio?
A year since you last stood among the canvases, the smell of paint, the quiet that used to feel like a shared language between you.
Mingyu had stopped expecting you to come back. Somewhere along the way, he thought you had forgotten this part of him existed. That the version of him who painted, who stayed up all night chasing colors and light and meaning—had slowly disappeared in your eyes. All that was left was a husband. A role you had grown tired of. A man you no longer looked at the same way.
And yet, here you were. Holding the proof of everything he hadn’t said out loud.
Mingyu exhaled slowly, setting his keys down on the nearest surface, the sound sharper than intended in the stillness.
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” he said. His voice came out calmer than he felt. Controlled. Practiced.
Like this moment had been waiting for him long enough that he had already rehearsed it in his head. But something in your expression made that composure feel fragile.
Because you weren’t angry. You weren’t even upset in the way he expected. You just… looked lost.
Your eyes moved over the paper again, slower this time, like the words refused to settle properly in your mind.
“What do you mean?” you asked, quieter now.
And that made something twist in his chest. Mingyu frowned, confusion flickering through the irritation he had been holding onto for months. “It’s a divorce, Y/n,” he said, the words landing heavier than he intended. “What else would it mean?”
You didn’t answer right away. Your grip on the paper loosened slightly, like your hands had forgotten why they were holding it in the first place. Your brows pulled together—not in anger, not in hurt but in something closer to disbelief.
“No,” you murmured, almost to yourself.
Mingyu’s jaw tightened.
He had expected resistance. Denial, maybe. Even anger. But not this. Not the way you looked at him like he had just said something that didn’t make sense. Like the idea itself didn’t belong to your reality.
“We’re not—” you started, then stopped, your voice faltering in a way he hadn’t heard in a long time. “We’re not at that point.”
Mingyu let out a short, humorless breath.
“Aren’t we?”
The question hung between you, sharp and unforgiving.
You looked at him like he was saying something unreal. Like the ground beneath you hadn’t already been breaking for months.
Mingyu watched that expression linger on your face, and for a second—just a second—something in him wavered. Then it settled. Back into something heavier. Quieter.
“I’m tired, Y/n.”
The words came out low. Not sharp. Not accusing. Just… tired. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly as if even speaking took more effort than it should. “I don’t think you understand how long I’ve been tired.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.
So he continued. “I’ve been trying to figure us out for a year now,” Mingyu said, his voice steady but worn at the edges. “Trying to understand what went wrong. What changed. What I did—what you did—what we did.”
His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before returning to you. “And every time I think I’m getting somewhere, it just—” He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “It just resets.”
There it was. The thing he never knew how to explain without sounding irrational.
“You act like nothing happened,” he went on, slower now, choosing his words carefully. “Or you disappear. Or you come back and it’s like we’re not even talking about the same things anymore.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I don’t know how to keep up with that.”
The studio felt smaller with every word. Mingyu took a step back, more for himself than for distance between you.
“I feel like I’m the only one fighting,” he said. “The only one holding onto them. The only one trying to fix something that—” He stopped, swallowing. “—that you don’t even seem to think is broken.”
Silence pressed in again. Heavy. Unforgiving.
“I used to think you stopped caring,” he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now. “That maybe you just… fell out of love. And I tried to accept that.”
His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Because at least that would make sense.”
But this? This didn’t. Mingyu looked at you then—really looked at you—and whatever he saw didn’t ease anything inside him. It only made him more tired.
“I don’t recognize us anymore,” he said. “I don’t recognize you.”
The words weren’t harsh. But they landed harder because of it.
“And I don’t want to keep living like this,” he added, almost gently. “Coming home and not knowing which version of you I’m going to get. Wondering if anything we say to each other is going to matter the next day.”
He let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in his chest for months.
“I can’t keep doing that.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the papers again, but you still hadn’t said anything.
That scared him more than anger would have. So he finished it.
“I just…” Mingyu paused, his voice dipping lower, quieter—like the truth had finally settled into something he couldn’t avoid anymore. “I just want it to end.”
A beat. Then, softer—
“I want a divorce.”
No anger. No raised voice. Just a man who had run out of ways to hold something together on his own.
*
Your head was spinning by the time you stepped out of Mingyu’s studio.
The air outside felt different—too open, too sharp against your skin—as you made your way toward your car. Each step came a little uneven, like your body hadn’t quite caught up with everything that had just happened.
Your breath hitched. Something tight lodged itself in your throat as you reached for the door handle, fingers fumbling for a second before finally pulling it open. You slid into the driver’s seat, the quiet inside the car closing in around you almost immediately.Too quiet.
You shut the door. And for a moment, you just sat there. Your hands came up to your face instinctively, pressing against your eyes, your temples—like you could steady the spinning inside your head if you just held on tight enough.
Take a breath. Just—breathe. You tried.
But it came out uneven. Shallow.
“Divorce…?” The word felt wrong in your mouth. Unfamiliar. Like it didn’t belong to you.
Your brows pulled together, confusion settling deeper as you leaned back against the seat, staring blankly at the windshield. You didn’t understand. Not really.
Why would Mingyu—out of nowhere—want a divorce? The question circled, over and over, but never landed anywhere solid. Out of nowhere. That’s what it felt like.
There hadn’t been a conversation. No warning. No moment where things felt that broken. Yes, you’d been busy. Yes, things had been quieter between you. But that was normal, wasn’t it?
It had to be.
Your fingers tightened slightly against your sleeves as you tried to retrace your steps—last night, the days before, the past week—
But the thoughts didn’t line up the way they should. They slipped. Blurred at the edges. You exhaled shakily, pressing your lips together. This didn’t make sense. None of it did. Mingyu looked serious. Tired. But that didn’t match the version of things in your head.
Because in your mind, you were still trying.
You drove to the gallery on autopilot.
The roads blurred past you, familiar turns taken without thought, your hands steady on the wheel even as your mind refused to settle. By the time you pulled into the parking lot, the tightness in your chest hadn’t eased—it had only sunk deeper, quieter.
You couldn’t afford to think about it now. Not here. Not when people were waiting. You stepped out of the car, smoothing down your clothes, forcing your expression into something composed—something professional. The moment you walked through the doors, the noise of the gallery wrapped around you. Conversations. Footsteps. The low hum of a place alive with people.
Normal. Everything looked normal. You held onto that as you made your way toward your office.
But then—
Seungkwan. He was standing a few steps away, already looking at you. Not casually.bNot like he’d just noticed you. He was staring. And something about the look on his face made your steps falter, just slightly.
Before you could reach your office door, he moved—quickly, cutting you off.
“Y/n,” he called, breath uneven like he had rushed over. “What are you doing here?”
You blinked at him. “What do you mean?” you replied, frowning slightly. “I have work.”
His expression didn’t change. If anything, it deepened.
“How are you?” he asked instead, his tone shifting—careful now, like he was testing something fragile.
The question threw you off more than it should have.
“I’m fine,” you said, a little too quickly. “Seungkwan, I have a lot of things to do. No time for—” you waved your hand slightly, searching for the word, “—casualty.”
His brows furrowed.
“What?” he said, almost under his breath. Then louder, more certain, “What are you talking about?”
A pause.
Then—
“It’s been a week since you resigned.”
The words didn’t land all at once. They hit, then echoed—like your mind needed time to catch up.
You stared at him.
“…What?”
Seungkwan didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh it off like it was a joke. He just looked at you—really looked at you this time, something serious settling into his expression.
“Y/n,” he said slowly, “you said it yourself.”
Your chest tightened. “No,” you interrupted, shaking your head immediately. “Why would I do that?”
He didn’t answer right away.
And that hesitation, that was worse.
“Babe,” he said softly, the word sounding more like concern than familiarity now, “you told me you were trying to conceive. That you wanted to focus on that.”
Your breath caught.
“That’s why you resigned.”
Something in your stomach dropped.
Hard. You shook your head again, more firmly this time, even as the movement felt disconnected—like your body was reacting before your mind could.
“I never said that,” you insisted, your voice tightening. “And I never resigned.”
The words came out certain. Too certain. Because the moment they left your mouth, something flickered.
A fragment. A feeling. Not quite a memory. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.
“That doesn’t make sense,” you added, quieter now, like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. “Why would I resign?”
Seungkwan didn’t respond. He just watched you. You noticed it. The way he was looking at you. Not confused. Not annoyed. But worried.
“You know I don’t want to get pregnant and get those morning sickness again, Seungkwan…”
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
They hung in the air—wrong.
Your own voice sounded distant to your ears, like it didn’t quite belong to you. The moment stretched, thin and fragile, as something inside your chest tightened sharply.
Seungkwan froze.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just—still. His expression faltered in a way you had never seen before, the concern in his eyes shifting into something heavier. Something that made your stomach drop before he even said a word.
“Again?” he asked quietly.
Your breath caught. You blinked at him, confusion knitting your brows as your mind scrambled to catch up with what you had just said.
“I—” You stopped, swallowing. “That’s not what I meant.”
But it was. Wasn’t it? The word lingered in your head now, louder than anything else.
Again.
Your fingers curled slightly against your palm, nails pressing into your skin as if that could ground you, anchor you to something real.
“I’ve never—” you started, your voice unsteady now, “I’ve never been pregnant.”
Seungkwan didn’t answer immediately.
And that silence—
it was too long. Too careful. Too heavy.
Your heart began to pound, slow and uneven, as something cold crept up your spine.
“Y/n…” he said finally, his voice softer now, like he was approaching something breakable. “You don’t remember?”
The question didn’t feel like a question. It felt like a confirmation.
Your head shook almost instinctively, small at first, then firmer. “Remember what?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “What are you talking about?”
But even as you said it, your chest tightened. Your body knew. Before your mind did.
A flicker, white walls. A smell you couldn’t place. Your hands gripping something—hard. Pain.
A sharp inhale tore through your throat as you staggered back a step, your hand reaching blindly for the edge of a desk to steady yourself.
It slipped. Gone before you could hold onto it.
“What—” you whispered, your voice breaking, “what is that?”
Seungkwan moved closer instinctively, but stopped himself just short of touching you, like he wasn’t sure if he should.
“You…” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “You were pregnant.”
The world tilted.
“No,” you said immediately. Too fast. Too desperate.
“No, that’s not—no.”
But the denial didn’t settle the way it should have. It didn’t feel solid. It felt like something you were trying to force into place over a crack that had already split open.
Seungkwan’s gaze didn’t leave you. “You miscarried,” he said, gently.
The word hit harder than anything else.
Miscarried.
Your breath left you in a shaky exhale, your grip tightening on the desk as your knees threatened to give out.
“That’s not possible,” you whispered..
Seungkwan didn’t say anything for a while after that. Like he had already said too much. The space between you stretched thin, fragile, filled with things neither of you seemed ready to touch. You weren’t sure how long you stood there—seconds, minutes—time felt… off. Slower. Heavier.
“They’re recruiting a new director,” he said.
Your head snapped up. “What?”
His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Management made the announcement three days ago. I thought you knew.”
You didn’t. Of course, you didn’t.
“I…” Your voice trailed off, the words refusing to come together. “No one told me.”
Seungkwan hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “You weren’t here, Y/n.”
That again. That same sentence, dressed differently. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.
“I packed your things,” he added after a moment, gesturing toward your office. “Just in case you needed them.”
You didn’t respond. You just walked past him. Each step felt heavier than the last as you pushed the door open and stepped into your office—your office. The space looked untouched at first glance. Clean. Organized. The way you always kept it. But something was off. Too neat. Too… finished.
There, on your desk, sat a box. Simple. Brown. Sealed loosely, like it had been opened and closed more than once.
You approached it slowly. Your hands hovered for a second before finally lifting the lid. Inside was your things. Files. Notebooks. Small personal items you barely registered as you shifted them aside, your movements growing more restless, more urgent—as if you were looking for something without knowing what it was.
Anything that would make sense. Anything that would prove this was wrong.
Your fingers brushed against a document. You pulled it out. Your name. Printed clearly at the top. The rest of the words blurred for a second before your vision steadied, your eyes tracing the lines slowly—too slowly, like your mind was resisting every letter.
Patient Name: Y/n.
Date: two weeks ago.
Your breath caught. And then, there it was.
Miscarriage.
The word sat there, unchanging. Unforgiving. You stared at it. Waiting for it to make sense. Waiting for something—anything—to connect. But nothing came. No memory. No image. No feeling strong enough to claim it as yours. Just… emptiness.
Your grip on the paper tightened slightly, the edges crumpling under your fingers without you realizing. Two weeks ago. You tried to think back. Tried to force your mind to go there,to that day, that moment, anything. But it was like reaching into a void. Nothing.
Your lips parted slightly, a breath escaping you that didn’t quite feel like your own.
“…No.”
It came out barely audible. Because if this was real, if this had happened, then what else had you forgotten? And why, why did your body feel like it already knew?
*
You woke up with a sharp inhale. Dark. For a second, you didn’t move. The ceiling above you felt unfamiliar—too high, the corners of the room too shadowed. Your body was stiff, like you had been lying there for hours, unmoving.
Your breath came uneven as you pushed yourself up, the sheets falling from your shoulders. The room slowly came into focus. You knew it. Your parents’ house.
The realization settled in, slow and heavy, as your eyes moved around the space. The furniture. The curtains. The faint scent lingering in the air—familiar in a way that made your chest tighten.
How did you get here? You couldn’t remember. Not the drive. Not arriving. Not even deciding to come. Nothing. A flicker of unease crept up your spine.
You swung your legs off the bed, your bare feet meeting the cold floor as you stood. The house was quiet as you stepped out of the room, the hallway dimly lit by a single lamp left on somewhere in the distance.
You checked the time. Midnight. Your brows furrowed. Why… were you here?
The thought came quickly, almost instinctive—
Mingyu.
Wouldn’t he be waiting for you? At home. The idea felt solid. Certain. Like something you could hold onto.
You stepped outside without thinking much of it, still in your pajamas, the night air brushing against your skin as you wrapped your arms around yourself. It felt colder than it should have.
Your phone was already in your hand before you realized it. You called him. It rang once. Twice.
“Hello?” His voice was there. Low. Tired. Familiar.
Your throat tightened slightly.
“Can you pick me up?” you said, the words coming out softer than you intended. “I’m at my parents’. I don’t know why I’m here…”
There was a pause on the other end. Short. But heavy.
“…Alright,” Mingyu replied finally. “I’ll be there in ten.”
The line went dead. You stood there for a moment longer, staring at your screen before lowering it slowly, something uneasy settling deep in your chest. You couldn’t name it. Only that it didn’t feel right.
Mingyu arrived exactly ten minutes later. His jeep pulled into the driveway, headlights cutting through the darkness before the engine went still. You didn’t wait. You moved toward the car immediately, opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat.
The warmth inside hit you all at once. You shut the door quietly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The engine started again. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye.
He looked… tired. More than usual. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw set in a way that made something in your chest twist.
“You seem tired,” you said gently, trying to ease the silence. “Long day?”
The words felt normal. Casual. Like something you had said a hundred times before. Mingyu didn’t answer right away. The car kept moving. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at you.
“Really?” he said. His voice wasn’t loud. But it wasn’t soft either. There was something under it. Something sharp.
“Are you acting right now, Y/n?”
The question didn’t land all at once. It hit. And then— everything followed. At once. Too fast. Too much. The fight. Your voice—strained, repeating the same thing over and over. The door closing. Silence stretching for days. Getting lost, No—Walking. Barefoot—Cold pavement—Hands shaking. White walls. Pain. A word. Miscarriage. Paper. Your name. Seungkwan’s voice— You resigned. You were pregnant. Mingyu. The studio. The papers in your hand. Divorce.
Your breath caught violently, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat as your head spun, the pieces crashing into each other without order, without mercy.
You froze. Completely still. Because none of it— none of it lined up. Not cleanly. Not clearly. Some of it felt real. Too real. But some of it— felt distant. Blurry. Like something you had dreamed and then half-forgotten.
Your chest rose and fell unevenly as your mind scrambled, trying to sort through it—trying to separate what was real from what wasn’t.
The car felt too small, like the air inside had been sucked out. Your breath came uneven, fingers gripping the edge of the seat as if that was the only thing keeping you grounded. Something was wrong—deeply, terribly wrong. “Mingyu…” your voice trembled, barely audible. “I… I don’t—” The words dissolved before they could form, because it started.
Not like remembering. Not clean, not whole—but like something cracking open inside your head.
A flash of white. Too bright. The sharp, sterile smell hit you first, making your stomach twist violently. You flinched, your hand flying to your abdomen without thinking. Pain followed—sudden, overwhelming—your body curling into itself as if reliving it. “Mingyu—” your voice echoed weakly in your head, breaking, but no one answered.
The car slowed, Mingyu glancing at you, saying something—your name, maybe—but you couldn’t hear him. The memories kept coming.
A phone screen. Your own reflection staring back—pale, hollow-eyed. A message half-typed: Where are you? Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. The door closing—his voice, distant, muffled like it was underwater. I need space.
Your chest tightened painfully. “No…” you whispered, shaking your head, but it didn’t stop.
The floor was cold beneath your knees. Your hands clutched your stomach, breath breaking into uncontrollable sobs. Something warm. Wet. Your vision blurred as you looked down.
Red.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your body recoiling as if burned. “Mingyu—” this time louder, desperate. Still, the memory didn’t release you.
Voices—strangers. Panic, urgency. “Stay with me, ma’am—” “Call someone—does she have someone—?” Your head felt heavy, your fingers weakly gripping someone’s sleeve. “Mingyu…” barely a sound.
Then silence.
A room too quiet. Your hands resting on your stomach, and you already knew. Before anyone told you, before any words were spoken—you knew. Empty.
Time blurred. Hours, days—you couldn’t tell. Curtains drawn, your phone lighting up beside you. His name on the screen. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
Another shift.
You stood in front of the mirror, staring at someone who looked like you but didn’t feel like you. Your lips moved, forcing a smile that didn’t belong. “Everything’s fine.” Again. “Everything’s fine.” Again. Again.
“Y/N!”
The world snapped back violently.
The car. The road. Mingyu’s voice, closer now. His hand gripping your arm, his face tight with something between fear and disbelief. “Hey—hey, look at me—what’s wrong with you?” Your breathing came in short, broken gasps as you stared at him, not fully seeing him, because the last piece settled in—slow, heavy, unavoidable.
The paper in your hand. Miscarriage. Your name printed beneath it. Two weeks ago.
Your lips parted, but no sound came at first. Your eyes trembled as they searched his face, like you were seeing him for the first time—or finally understanding. “I…” your voice came out hollow. “I was pregnant.” The words felt distant, unreal. “I—” your breath hitched sharply. “I lost it.”
Silence filled the car, thick and suffocating.
Your fingers curled into your clothes, shaking. “And you…” your voice cracked—not accusing, not angry, just broken. “You weren’t there…”
The moment the words left you, something shifted again. Your expression faltered, confusion creeping back in, fragile and disoriented. “I…” your brows furrowed weakly. “Why weren’t you there?”
Not blame. Not yet. Just a question. A real one.
Like you didn’t remember asking it before. Like you didn’t remember living through it at all.
And that was when it truly broke—not just the memory, not just the loss, but the realization that you had lived through something that shattered you… and your mind had decided you couldn’t survive remembering it.
*
Mingyu didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he couldn’t.
His hand was still wrapped around your arm, fingers tightening without him realizing, like if he let go you might disappear right in front of him. His eyes searched your face, scanning every inch of it as if the answer was written somewhere there, hidden beneath your expression.
“I—what?” he let out a breathless, disbelieving sound. “What are you talking about?”
His voice came out sharper than he intended, confusion laced heavily through it. There was something else too—something unsettled, almost uneasy.
“You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. “Y/N, what—”
He stopped. Because you didn’t look like you were lying. You didn’t look like you were avoiding him, or deflecting, or doing that thing he had grown so used to—smiling like nothing happened, brushing everything under the rug until he was the only one left holding onto it.
No. You looked… lost. Completely, terrifyingly lost.
“I lost it,” you said again, softer this time, like you were trying to convince yourself more than him. Your eyes drifted away from him, unfocused, like you were seeing something else entirely.
Mingyu’s grip loosened slightly. Something about this felt wrong. Not wrong like your usual fights. Not wrong like miscommunication or stubbornness or hurt pride.
This felt off. Like he had walked into the middle of something he didn’t understand, something that had been happening without him even knowing.
“Y/N,” his voice dropped, slower now, cautious. “What are you saying?”
You didn’t answer him directly. Instead, you looked back at him, your expression fragile, almost childlike in its confusion. “You left,” you murmured. “You said you needed space.”
Mingyu’s brows pulled together immediately. “Yeah, I—” he started, but stopped halfway.
Because the way you said It didn’t sound like you were recalling a recent argument. It sounded like you were reliving something.
“And then…” your voice wavered, your hand instinctively pressing against your stomach again. “It hurt. I was alone.”
His stomach dropped. A strange, cold feeling crept up his spine.
“Alone?” he echoed, quieter now.
You nodded faintly, eyes glossing over. “I called you,” you whispered. “I think I did… I don’t—” Your breathing picked up again, panic slipping back in. “I don’t remember if you answered.”
Mingyu froze.
“I didn’t—” he said quickly, almost defensively. “You didn’t call me.”
But even as the words left his mouth, they didn’t sit right. Did you? He would’ve remembered, wouldn’t he?
His mind raced back, trying to piece together the timeline—the fight, him leaving, the days after. Everything felt… blurred. He remembered being angry. He remembered ignoring a few calls—no, not calls, messages. Or were they calls?
His chest tightened.
“Y/N,” he said again, but his voice had changed. Less certain. “When… when did this happen?”
You blinked at him. Slowly. Like the question itself didn’t make sense.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice small, trembling. “I thought it was just today. But…” Your fingers curled into your clothes again, shaking. “They said two weeks.”
Two weeks. The words echoed in his head. Two weeks ago. Mingyu’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles paling as something heavy began to settle in his chest. Two weeks ago, he wasn’t there.
He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering back to you. You were still looking at him like you needed him to make sense of it. Like he was supposed to explain what happened to you.
But he couldn’t. Because none of this made sense. Not the pregnancy. Not the miscarriage. Not the way you were remembering things in pieces—out of order, like broken fragments that didn’t quite fit together.
And most of all, ot the way you were looking at him right now. Like he was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Like you knew him, but didn’t fully remember what he had done. A quiet, unsettling realization crept into his mind, one he didn’t want to touch, didn’t want to fully form.
“This isn’t…” he started, his voice low, uncertain. “Y/N, this isn’t you just… pretending, is it?”
The question hung in the air. Fragile. Dangerous.
You didn’t answer him. Not right away.
Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something—explain, maybe—but nothing came out. The words were there, somewhere in your head, but they felt out of reach, slipping further the harder you tried to grab them.
“I…” your voice cracked, barely holding together. “I don’t know.”
And that was it. That was the last thing keeping you from falling apart.
Your breath hitched sharply, your chest tightening like something inside had finally snapped loose. The fragments in your head—voices, images, pain, silence—crashed into each other all at once, too loud, too overwhelming.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” you whispered, but it quickly broke into something heavier, something desperate. “I don’t know what’s real, Mingyu—”
Your hands came up to your head, fingers tangling in your hair as if you could physically hold yourself together. “I remember things—but then I don’t—and it hurts and I don’t know why it hurts and I don’t—”
Your voice collapsed into a sob. Raw. Uncontrolled.
“I don’t understand,” you cried, shaking now, your whole body folding in on itself. “Why can’t I remember? Why does it feel like I forgot something important? Something really important—”
Your words dissolved into broken sobs, your breathing uneven, almost choking as you tried to take in air.
“I feel like I lost something,” you whispered weakly, your voice barely there now. “But I don’t even remember losing it…”
Mingyu didn’t think anymore. Didn’t question. Didn’t try to piece anything together. Because seeing you like this—breaking right in front of him, not pulling away, not pretending, not brushing it off. It did something to him. Something heavy. Something sharp.
“Hey—hey,” he said quickly, his voice dropping, panic threading through it as he reached for you.
You didn’t resist. Didn’t even react. Your body leaned into him the moment his arms wrapped around you, like you had nothing left to hold yourself up. His hand came up to the back of your head, pressing you gently against his chest, the other arm tightening around you as if he could keep you from falling apart any further.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, though his voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. “Hey… it’s okay. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. He knew that. You knew that. Still—you clung to him.
Your fingers gripping onto his shirt, clutching it tightly as your sobs broke freely now, muffled against his chest. Your whole body trembled, each breath shaky and uneven, like you were trying to breathe through something too heavy to carry.
“Mingyu…” his name came out broken, barely recognizable. “I’m scared.”
That did it.
His arms tightened around you instinctively, his jaw clenching as something painful twisted deep in his chest.
“I know,” he whispered, his hand gently pressing against your hair, trying to soothe you even though he had no idea how. “I know… I’m here.”
Your grip on him only tightened.
“Don’t leave,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out in a fragile, desperate plea. “Please don’t leave me again—I don’t… I don’t think I can handle it if you—”
Your voice broke completely. Mingyu froze.
Again.
The words hit him harder than anything else had.
Again.
His throat tightened, something heavy lodging itself there as his mind flashed back—to the door closing, to his own voice saying he needed space, to the silence he left you in. To two weeks ago. To the time you said you couldn’t remember.
He swallowed hard, his hold on you tightening almost protectively now, like he was trying to make up for something that had already happened.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, but this time there was something different in his voice.
“I’m here,” he repeated, softer, his hand moving gently against your hair. “I’m right here, Y/N.”
You didn’t question it. Didn’t pull away. You just held onto him tighter, like he was the only thing that still made sense in a world that suddenly didn’t.
*
The hospital felt too bright—too clean, too unforgiving. Mingyu sat outside your room, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them. They were still trembling, though he barely noticed anymore. Everything felt distant, like he was sitting behind glass, watching someone else’s life unfold.
You were inside. Unconscious.
Again. He didn’t know how it got to this point. One moment you were in his arms—shaking, crying, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—and the next, your body went slack. Your voice disappeared. Your grip loosened.
And just like that, you were gone.
The doctor said it wasn’t physical. Not entirely. “Severe stress response,” they called it. Something about your body shutting down because your mind couldn’t handle it anymore. Mingyu didn’t fully understand, but he knew one thing—this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t you avoiding fights or pretending nothing happened. This was something deeper. Something he had completely missed.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing against it from the inside. How long has this been happening? The question wouldn’t leave him alone. How long had you been like this… and he just didn’t see it?
Footsteps approached from the end of the hallway—soft, careful, familiar. Mingyu lifted his head slightly.
Your parents. Your mother looked like she hadn’t slept. Your father stood beside her, quieter, but just as tense. The moment their eyes met Mingyu’s, something shifted—something uneasy, something unspoken. They already knew.
“Is she awake?” your mother asked, her voice low, controlled, though the fear beneath it was obvious.
Mingyu shook his head. “No… not yet.”
Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating. Your father nodded slowly, like he expected that answer—like this wasn’t new. And that made something twist painfully in Mingyu’s chest.
“…Has this happened before?” he asked, his voice quieter now, careful.
Your parents exchanged a look—not confusion, not surprise, but hesitation. And that alone told him more than he wanted to know.
Mingyu straightened slightly, his brows pulling together. “Please,” he said, more firmly this time. “I need to know what’s going on with her.”
Your mother’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. She looked at your father, like she needed permission—or strength. Your father exhaled slowly, then spoke.
“She’s had episodes like this before.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
“Episodes…?” Mingyu echoed, his voice tightening.
“Not exactly like this,” your mother added quickly, her tone fragile. “But… similar. When she was younger.”
Your mother looked away this time, her fingers tightening around each other. “She went through… something,” she said carefully. “Something that affected her deeply.”
The vagueness only made his chest tighten more. “What kind of something?” Mingyu pressed, his voice sharper now. “She’s losing her memory, she collapsed in my arms, she thinks she was pregnant and lost it but doesn’t even remember when it happened—how am I supposed to understand any of this if you keep—”
“She was assaulted.”
The words cut through everything. Clean. Immediate. Mingyu went completely still.
“…What?” The word barely left him.
Your father didn’t look away. “When she was a teenager,” he said. “She didn’t tell us right away. We only found out later… when things started getting worse.”
Mingyu’s mind struggled to process it. Assaulted. You. His gaze flickered instinctively toward your hospital room door, like it didn’t match the person lying inside.
“She developed severe depression after that,” your mother continued softly. “She was on medication for a long time. It affected her body… her weight. And people weren’t kind.”
Mingyu clenched his jaw, something sharp twisting in his chest. He could almost see it now—pieces of you he never knew existed. Pain you never spoke about.
“We sent her abroad,” your father added. “A change of environment. It helped… for a while.”
“For a while,” Mingyu repeated under his breath, because clearly—it didn’t fix everything.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked, quieter now, no anger left—just confusion.
Your mother gave a sad, knowing look. “She doesn’t talk about it,” she said. “Not even to us. She tries to move on. Pretend it doesn’t exist.”
Mingyu let out a hollow breath, leaning back slightly as everything started connecting—slowly, painfully. The way you avoided certain topics. The way you reacted to your body. The way you held onto control. The way you forgot.
“And the memory loss?” he asked, more hesitant now.
Your father paused, then answered, “It’s happened before. Not this severe. But when she’s under extreme stress… she dissociates.”
Mingyu closed his eyes briefly. Dissociates. So this wasn’t new. It was just worse now.
And suddenly, everything you said in the car came rushing back.
His chest tightened sharply. It wasn’t that you didn’t care. It wasn’t that you were ignoring things. It was that your mind simply couldn’t hold them—not when they hurt too much.
“And the pregnancy?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer. “Did you… know about that?”
Your parents fell silent. Your mother looked down. Your father didn’t answer. And that silence said everything.
Mingyu’s breath hitched.Because that meant—you went through it. Alone. While he was gone.
His jaw tightened, something heavy and suffocating settling in his chest. Not anger. Not frustration. Something worse. Regret.
Your mother hesitated, like she was debating whether to say more. Her fingers twisted together, eyes briefly flickering toward your hospital room before returning to Mingyu.
“Sometimes… she comes home. To us.”
“She shows up late. Sometimes in the middle of the night.”
Your mother let out a small, shaky breath. “Recently. The past few months.”
Something in his chest dropped.
“She comes crying,” your mother continued, her voice wavering now despite her effort to stay composed. “Saying you’re not home. That you haven’t been home for days. That she can’t reach you.”
Mingyu’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Because that didn’t make sense.
“I was home,” he said, almost instinctively. “I mean… not always, but I—” He stopped himself, his thoughts tangling. There were days he stayed longer at the studio. Nights he didn’t come back until late. Times he ignored your calls because he was still upset.
But days?
“…I didn’t leave for days,” he finished, though the certainty in his voice had already weakened.
Your father didn’t argue. Your mother only looked at him—sadly.
“She believed it,” she said. “Every time she came to us, she was convinced you were gone. That you left her.”
Mingyu felt something cold settle in his stomach.
“She would cry for hours,” your mother went on, her voice quieter now, like each word was getting harder to say. “She kept asking what she did wrong. Why you wouldn’t come back.”
His chest tightened painfully.
“She said you were upset,” your father added. “That you were tired of her. That you needed space.”
Mingyu’s jaw clenched. Because he did say that. Not once. Not lightly.
“I need space.”
The words echoed in his head now, heavier than before.
“But then…” your mother paused, her voice breaking slightly. “The next morning, she would wake up and act like nothing happened.”
Mingyu’s breath caught.
“She’d smile,” she continued. “Talk normally. Ask us why we looked so worried.”
Your father exhaled slowly. “Sometimes she didn’t even remember coming to us.”
Silence fell heavily between them. Mingyu stared ahead, but he wasn’t really seeing anything anymore. The hallway blurred slightly, his mind trying—failing—to process it all.
“She forgets?” he said, barely above a whisper.
Your mother nodded. “Not everything. But… the parts that hurt the most.”
Mingyu’s hands slowly curled into fists, resting against his knees.
Because suddenly, everything made sense in the worst way possible. The nights you accused him of being distant. The mornings you kissed him like nothing happened. The way your arguments never seemed to carry over. The way he thought you just didn’t care enough to hold onto them.
It wasn’t that you didn’t remember. It was that you couldn’t. A sharp breath left him as something twisted painfully in his chest.
“And the night…” your mother hesitated again, then continued softly, “the night she lost the baby…”
Mingyu’s head snapped up.
“She came to us,” she said. “Crying. In pain. We told her to go to the hospital, but she kept saying she needed to wait for you. That you’d come home.”
His stomach dropped.
“She kept calling you,” your father added quietly.
Mingyu froze.
“She said you weren’t answering,” your mother whispered.
His mind went blank for a second. Then, slowly, memories started creeping in. His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Again. He remembered glancing at it. Your name lighting up the screen. And him— turning it face down. Because he was still angry. Because he needed space.
Because he thought, it could wait. Mingyu’s breathing grew shallow.
“She left after a while,” your father continued. “Said she didn’t want to bother you anymore. That she’d handle it herself.”
Your mother’s voice broke this time. “We didn’t know it would get that bad.”
Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.
Mingyu couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
Because now, now he knew. You didn’t just go through it alone. You tried to reach him. And he wasn’t there.
Not because he couldn’t be. But because he chose not to be. His throat tightened painfully, something sharp pressing against it as his gaze slowly dropped to his hands.
And for the first time Mingyu realized that the moments he thought were small, the ones he brushed off as just another fight were the same moments you were breaking and reaching for him at the same time.
*
You noticed it. You had always noticed. At first, it was small. So small you could still pretend it was normal.
You would forget things—little things. Where you placed your keys, whether you had eaten, what day it was. You laughed it off, brushed it aside, told yourself you were just tired. Overworked. Distracted. But then it wasn’t just things.
It was moments. You would be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly feel like you had stepped out of your own body, like you were watching yourself speak from somewhere far away. Your voice would continue, your lips would move—but it didn’t feel like you anymore.
Like someone else had taken over for a second. You noticed it. The way time slipped. The way hours would pass without weight, without memory, without anything to hold onto when you tried to look back.
At first, you caught it. You would pause, frown, try to retrace your steps. What did I just do? What did I just say? Sometimes you could piece it together. Sometimes you couldn’t.
And when you couldn’t, that was when the fear started.
So you learned to fill the gaps. You smiled when you were supposed to smile. You spoke when it was expected of you. You followed routines, patterns, anything that could make you look normal enough so no one would notice the spaces in between.
Especially him. Especially Mingyu. You noticed how he would look at you sometimes. Confused. Frustrated. Like he was trying to hold onto something that kept slipping through his fingers.
And you hated that look. So you got better at pretending. Better at stitching things together. Better at acting like nothing ever happened. Like the fights never happened. Like the words you couldn’t remember saying were never spoken. Like the nights you cried yourself to sleep didn’t exist the next morning.
You told yourself it was easier that way.
Safer.
If you didn’t acknowledge it, then maybe it wasn’t real. If you kept moving, kept smiling, kept being—then maybe you wouldn’t have to face whatever was breaking inside of you.
But the shifts got worse. Longer. Deeper. There were days you couldn’t remember at all. Faces that felt familiar but distant. Places you didn’t remember going. Conversations that were thrown back at you like accusations, and all you could do was stare—blank, lost, guilty for something you didn’t even know you had done.
You started to question yourself. Your own mind. Did I say that? Did I do that? Or was it just… someone else wearing your skin? You noticed it.
You noticed the way fear slowly turned into something heavier. Something quieter. Something you couldn’t quite name. Until one day, you didn’t notice anymore.
The gaps stopped scaring you. Because you stopped seeing them. They became your normal. Your routine. Your way of surviving. And that terrified you more than anything ever had.
Because this was what you had been running from all along. Losing control. Losing yourself. Becoming something you couldn’t recognize. Something fragile. Unstable. Broken.
You had spent so long trying not to be that girl again. The one who needed help. The one people whispered about. The one who was too much, too heavy, too complicated to love without exhaustion.
And yet, without realizing it, without even noticing when it truly began, you became her again.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just slowly. Quietly. Piece by piece. Until there was nothing left of the version of you that knew how to stay.
*
Someone knocked on your door at nine in the morning. The sound felt… distant. Like it belonged to a place you hadn’t fully arrived in yet.
“Come in,” you said, though your voice came out softer than you expected.
The door opened, and a woman in a white dress stepped inside, pushing a small food cart. The wheels made a quiet sound against the floor as she approached you.
You were sitting on the bed. You noticed that. But the question came anyway. Why are you on the bed? And then, where are you?
“Ms. Ji, it’s time for breakfast,” she said gently. “I brought your favorite.”
She stopped beside you, lifting the cover from the tray. Cut fruits. Boiled eggs. Toast. Simple. Plain.
You stared at it for a moment. You felt like you should recognize it. Like your body knew something your mind didn’t.
“They look boring,” you murmured honestly. Then, after a small pause, “But… I think I like them.”
The woman smiled softly, like she had heard that before.
“I don’t remember having a favorite food,” you added, your eyes shifting to the small name tag pinned to her chest.
Suji.
“That’s okay,” Suji said, her voice calm, practiced in a way that didn’t feel cold. “You don’t have to remember anything today.”
She helped you adjust the tray on your lap, her movements careful, unhurried.
You picked up the toast. Took a bite. It was good. Not special. Not overwhelming. Just… right.
You chewed slowly, quietly, while Suji moved around the room. She reached for the remote and turned on the TV, letting the sound fill the silence just enough. Channels flickered one after another. Colors. Voices. Faces that meant nothing. Until it stopped. A news channel.
“Oh,” Suji said lightly, glancing at the screen. “That’s where you used to work. Remember?”
You paused mid-chew. You worked?
The question formed in your head, but it didn’t feel important enough to ask out loud. Instead, you shifted your gaze back to the screen, your hand reaching for a piece of fruit.
A man appeared on the screen. Well-dressed. Tall. Standing under bright lights as cameras flashed around him. There was applause. An award being handed to him. Your eyes lingered. Something, something moved. A small, quiet pull somewhere deep inside your chest. And then, before you could think—
“Kim Mingyu.”
The name slipped out of your mouth like it had always belonged there.
Suji froze slightly.
“…You know him?” she asked, her tone shifting just a little.
You nodded slowly, your eyes still on the screen. There was no confusion in your expression this time. No hesitation. Just certainty.
“Kim Mingyu,” you repeated softly.
A small pause.
Then—
“My husband.”
The words settled into the room. Heavy. Out of place. Too certain for someone who couldn’t even remember her own favorite food.
Suji looked at you, something unreadable passing through her eyes—surprise, maybe, or something closer to concern. But you didn’t notice. Because your attention stayed on the screen. On him. On the man you couldn’t remember, but somehow, your heart still did.
Suji didn’t bring it up again that morning. But she remembered. The way your voice changed when you said his name. The certainty. The quiet conviction that didn’t match the rest of you—the rest of the woman who couldn’t remember what she liked, where she worked, or even why she was there.
My husband.
It stayed with her. Later that day, during her break, Suji sat in the small staff room with your file open in front of her.
Name: Ji Y/N
Age: 56 years old
Condition: Severe dissociative amnesia with recurring identity disturbance
Guardian: —
Emergency Contact: —
Empty. All of it.
She frowned slightly, flipping through the pages again like something might appear if she looked hard enough.
Nothing did. No family listed. No spouse. No one.
For ten years, you had been there—admitted, treated, stabilized, relapsed, stabilized again. Notes written by doctors, observations by nurses, small fragments of who you used to be scattered across clinical language.
But no one had ever come. No one had ever claimed you. Suji leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the file.
“…Kim Mingyu,” she murmured to herself. It didn’t take long. Articles came up almost immediately. Interviews. Exhibitions. Photographs. A man stood behind most of them—tall, composed, carrying an air that only came with years of recognition.
Kim Mingyu. A maestro painter. Renowned. Respected. Sixty years old.
Suji’s brows furrowed as she scrolled further, eyes scanning quickly until something caught her attention.
A profile. A short personal history. And there is a name. Yours. Listed not as current. But as something that had already ended. Former spouse.
Suji went still.
“…Former?” she whispered. Her gaze flickered back to the photo of him. Then to your name beside his. Then back again. It didn’t line up.
Not with the way you said it. Not with the way your eyes had looked at the screen. My husband. Not was. Not used to be.
She closed the file slowly. Her mind wandered back to the small things you had said over the years.
Fragments. You worked at a gallery. You liked quiet mornings. You didn’t like being alone—though you often were. You had mentioned painting once. Or maybe twice. Never clearly. Never consistently. Like pieces of a story that refused to stay in place. Ten years. You had been here for ten years.
And somehow, in all that time, that name stayed. Out of everything your mind had lost, everything it had rewritten, everything it had buried. He remained. Not fully. Not correctly. But enough.
Enough for you to recognize him without remembering yourself.
Enough to call him yours—even when the world had already written him as something else.
Suji exhaled slowly, her grip tightening slightly around her phone. There was something about it that didn’t sit right with her. A gap. A missing piece.
Or maybe too many pieces that didn’t fit together anymore. She glanced back at your file one more time. Then at the name still on her screen.
Kim Mingyu.
*
The visiting room was quiet when you stepped in. Sunlight stretched across the floor, pale and distant. The chairs were arranged neatly, untouched, like no one ever stayed long enough to leave a trace.
And then you saw him. Sitting by the window. Older. Time had settled on him in quiet ways—grey threaded through his hair, the sharpness of his youth softened into something heavier. But there was still something unmistakable about him.
Something your chest recognized before your mind could. You walked toward him slowly. He looked up. And for a moment, everything in him stilled.
Mingyu hadn’t expected this. Not this version of you. Not the softness in your eyes. Not the absence of anger. Not the way you looked at him like you were trying to place him into a story you couldn’t fully remember.
He had come here with something else in his chest. Old resentment. Old confusion. Questions that had stayed unanswered for decades. Because back then, he thought he knew. He thought you were distant.
Careless.
Cold.
He thought you chose to forget. Chose to walk past every fight like it meant nothing. Chose to leave him alone in a marriage that felt like it only existed on paper. So he left. He signed the papers. He told himself it was the only thing left to do. He never once thought you were sick.
“…Y/N,” he said, your name unfamiliar after so many years.
You stopped a few steps away. You studied him. Carefully.
“I know you,” you said softly.
Mingyu’s breath caught.
“My husband,” you added.
The word hit him harder than anything else. Not because it was wrong— but because of how easily you said it.
Like nothing had ever broken. Like nothing had ever ended.
Mingyu swallowed.
“…I was,” he corrected, his voice quieter now.
You blinked.
“…Was,” you repeated, like you were trying to understand it. There was a pause. Something flickered behind your eyes. A shadow of something heavier—
A studio.
Raised voices.
His voice—
I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.
A paper in your hand.
The word divorce.
Your chest tightened—
And then it slipped.
Gone.
You smiled instead. Small. Polite. Like you always did when something didn’t make sense.
Mingyu felt it. That shift. That disappearance. His brows pulled together slightly.
“…Do you remember?” he asked, more carefully this time.
You looked at him again. “I think I do,” you said. Then softer— “but it doesn’t stay.”
Your fingers curled lightly against your palm.
“I was trying to tell you something,” you added suddenly.
Mingyu stilled.
“What?” he asked.
Your lips parted. This time you felt it more clearly. The weight sitting in your chest. The words pressing against your throat.
I was scared.
I was hurting.
I didn’t understand what was happening to me.
I wasn’t ignoring you—I was losing myself.
Your breathing faltered slightly.
“I—” you started.
Mingyu leaned forward just a little.
For the first time he was listening. Really listening. Not judging. Not assuming. Just waiting.
“I think… I was sick,” you said, your voice trembling faintly.
His chest tightened. “Sick how?” he asked.
You tried.
God, you tried.
“I…” Your fingers pressed against your temple, like you could hold the thoughts in place. “There was something wrong with me. I couldn’t— I couldn’t remember things. I couldn’t stay… I kept… disappearing.”
Your voice cracked.
Mingyu’s expression shifted. Confusion. Then something closer to realization.
But you weren’t done. You couldn’t be. You needed him to know.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you whispered, your eyes glistening now. “I think… I think I was trying to tell you. Before.”
Mingyu’s breath hitched. Before. All those times you brushed things off. All those mornings you acted like nothing happened. All those empty spaces he filled with his own anger.
“…Why didn’t you?” he asked, his voice low, almost breaking.
The question wasn’t sharp. It was tired.
You shook your head weakly. “I tried,” you said. And you meant it. You really did. You tried in the silence. In the hesitation. In the moments where you looked at him, hoping he would see what you couldn’t explain.
“I just—” your voice faltered again, your thoughts slipping, unraveling even as you reached for them. “I just can’t…”
The words blurred. The meaning faded. The weight disappeared. Like it always did.
You blinked. And suddenly there was nothing. No explanation. No memory. No pain. Just emptiness.
“…I forgot,” you finished quietly.
Mingyu stared at you. At the woman in front of him. At the way your shoulders sank slightly, like even you were tired of failing to hold onto your own thoughts. And something inside him broke. Not loudly. Not suddenly. Just—quietly.
The kind of breaking that comes too late to fix anything. All those years. All those assumptions. All those times he thought you didn’t care enough to try— when you had been trying all along. Alone.
“…I didn’t know,” he said finally.
Your eyes lifted to him.
He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy with something he had never allowed himself to feel before.
“I thought you just… didn’t love me the same way anymore.”
The words hung in the air. You frowned slightly. Love. The word felt distant. Familiar. But not something you could fully reach.
“…I think I did,” you said softly.
And somehow, that hurt him more.
Silence settled between you again. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full of everything that had been missed. Everything that had never been understood. Everything that had come too late.
“…You liked toast,” Mingyu said after a while, his voice quieter now.
You looked at him. A small smile appeared. “I think I still do.”
When it was time to leave, you stood first. You always did. You looked at him one last time. Not holding on. Not letting go. Just… looking.
“Goodbye, Mingyu.”
He watched you walk away. And this time, he knew. He hadn’t lost you because you didn’t love him. He lost you because you were already disappearing, and he never saw it.
However, you wanted him to know, you always wanted him to know. You just couldn't. You couldn't. And you didn't remember since how long. . .
genre ➳ sugar daddy au, strangers to lovers, pwp, angst and fluff. part of the Sugar Spice and Everything Nice project.
pairing ➳ dom!Joshua x sub!inexperienced!female reader
word count ➳ 21.2k
warnings ➳ profanities, ANGST, abandonment issues, toxic family, minor character death, mentions of addiction (drugs), emotional constipation, arguments, kissing, marking, age gap, daddy kink, hard dom!joshua (he is a gentleman in the streets and a freak in the sheets literally 🥴) brat!reader, so much teasing!!! bdsm themes- nipple play, marking, fingering, ice play😳, spanking (belt), pussy slapping, crying, female oral, cum eating, virgin sex, rough sex, unprotected sex(don't do this irl!!!), creampie, multiple sex scenes (lmk if I forgot smth)
synopsis ➳ a silly dare leads you to him and he has you charmed quickly. but matters of the heart can never be that easy, especially when you want to avoid them.
playlist ➨ sugar daddy- queen herby // sugar- maroom 5 // guys my age- hey violet // i know you care- ellie goulding // astronomy- conan gray // tell it to my heart- meduza // soory- halsey // one last night- vaults // i fell in love with the devil- avril lavinge // imperfect love- seventeen
a/n: (yes this is a re-upload, I hate Tumblr it still isn't showing my post in tags wtf) and at last we're at the end of this journey! I can't tell you how much of a pleasure it has been for me to share this series with you all. i gotta admit I went all out for this one like-jsvvabakasbvsvs joshua is such a freak here and it's hawt okay. i'd also like to sincerely apologize for the delay. now, without further ado, get cozy and happy reading!
His eyes are extraordinary, captivating.
They are beautiful and dark, shaped like a deer's, watching your every movement cautiously. You do the same as your hands fidget with the strap of your bag on your lap. The waiter returns, bringing you your iced tea and a cup of latte for him. You quickly take a sip of your tea, letting the refreshing drink bring back life in your throat as he does the same.
You observe him, eyes peeking over the rim of the glass. He's wearing a black suit with a plain white tee beneath it. The only jewelry on him is a Rolex, sitting cozily on his wrist, which is quite veiny. His dirty blond hair is pushed back neatly, the length long enough to reach the nape of his neck and you mindlessly muse how they'd feel to touch.
"So, you are saying this was a dare?" The man questions.
An embarrassed smile creeps on your face. "Yeah, my friends dared me to do this. And I saw some good reviews about this app so I decided, why not."
Meeting this stranger, a potential sugar daddy was a task assigned to you by your friends after a drunken night full of talks about your celibate lifestyle. Not wanting to look like a coward, you took on their dare and decided to sign up on a sugar dating app that led you to meet this beautiful man in front of you; something you entirely did not expect.
What you expected, instead was a fifty-something man, old and gross and you had planned to just entertain him for a while before announcing this was a stupid dare and never coming near him again.
Yeah, that was the plan.
After all, the texts you had exchanged with this man weren't really a solid way to figure out his age. They were short and brief, just introductions and the designated place of meeting. His profile picture wasn't frankly very giving either; a silhouette of a man sipping on a wine glass with an aesthetic backdrop. You had decided not to ask for a photo or any other information because you didn't want to lose interest even before going on that date.
But turns out, there had been a pleasant surprise waiting for you.
"That's all good but what I need to know is are you really looking for a sugar daddy? Otherwise, I should get going." The man, Joshua, states, hands coming to rest on top of the table, his eyes serious yet gentle. He has this calm yet dominating aura surrounding him and you can't help but admit that it draws you in.
Am I looking for a sugar daddy?
You haven't considered this seriously until now. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, meeting an old dude and flipping him off just so you can tell your friends you tried and ended up meeting a grandpa with stinky feet but now that a young, handsome billionaire sits opposite to you, you find yourself reconsidering everything.
This is a marvelous opportunity for a broke college student like you. Your bills and loans will be paid while also providing a much more comfortable life for you, one where you don't have to live in an apartment the size of a shoebox.
"Are you looking for a sugar baby?" You ask him instead. The corners of his mouth turn upwards slightly as he replies, "I'm here, aren't I?"
You nod, reclining into the chair and sighing deeply. "I do actually. Need a sugar daddy, I mean. Like— I haven't really considered this seriously because...well," you shrug, not wanting to point out how pleasantly surprised you are seeing him and all his hotness. You don't want to butter his ego on the first meeting. "Anyway, yes. I have bills and loans to pay. So I guess I'll be your sugar baby...if you're interested."
He watches you amusedly, his eyes shining in mirth. "Of course I am. I must admit I find you very... fascinating. It will be my pleasure to be in your company."
Fascinating, huh?
"You've known me for like ten minutes."
"And that's enough." He decides, reaching for his latte to take a sip, never breaking eye contact with you. You wait for him to explain further and he takes the hint as he links his fingers together, once again resting them on the table, his posture all business-like. "I've never had a sugar baby but I assure you, you don't have to do anything that you're not comfortable with. For now, I'd like you to attend events with me as my date."
Such a gentleman.
"I'm more than happy to do that." You say gladly, trying to prevent a smile from breaking into your face. Is it gonna be this easy? Do men this nice and sweet even exist anymore? "But I don't understand why you would go out of your way to spend money for some company. I'm sure there is plenty of people...interested."
Joshua chuckles. "But I'm not interested in them. They are predictable and have a rather plain personality. I thought taking a new approach would be good. And I'm glad I did because you seem quite like a handful."
"I'll take it as a compliment." You mutter dryly, eyes narrowing on him. He laughs, his eyes forming half-moons. "It was a compliment, _____. I'm looking forward to spending time with you."
You open your mouth to reply but the loud ringing of his phone interrupts you as he mumbles an apology, fishing out the device from his pocket. He frowns at the screen before sighing. "I'm really sorry but I need to get going. I'll contact you. And if you need me, you know my number." He flashes you a dashing, almost flirty smile as he stands up and nods at you before accepting the call and marching out of the place, leaving you in a daze.
You can't believe that just really happened. You have a freaking sugar daddy now— not an old man with a huge belly and stinky feet but a young, hot gentleman. Shaking your head amusedly you fetch your phone from your purse and tap on your group chat with your girlfriends.
GUYS YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED!!! I NEED TO THANK YOU TWO!!
-
"So you're saying he's young and handsome and polite?" Kira asks for the hundredth time, sighing wistfully. "Damn, maybe I should try that app too."
"You really should." You take a bite of your french toast. "All the reviews I saw were great but I can't believe I got so lucky."
Naomi murmurs under her breath, "Fuck yeah, you did girl." Her fingers glide over her phone as she googles the man centering on the topic of your discussion. "Joshua you said? Of Hong Corporations?"
Humming, you nod, watching your friends as they hover over the phone, intently watching all the information that shows up. "He's so damn hot," Naomi whistles, giving you a dirty look. You roll your eyes and before you can make a comeback, Kira asks bluntly. "You're gonna have sex with him right? He wants to get dirty with you, right?"
You groan, tossing the napkin by your plate at her. "Shut up! Sorry to disappoint but he actually said that he won't do anything that'll make me uncomfortable. He didn't seem desperate for sex."
"Such a gentleman," Naomi pipes in, her voice dreamy. "But what's the fun in that! He's literally sex on legs! You gotta do it with him!" Kira's voice is loud, so loud that a few heads from the surroundings tables turn to look at you, making your face burn in embarrassment. Kira giggles sheepishly before whispering. "Seriously. It's time you pop your cherry."
You scowl at her while Naomi snorts, covering her face as she tries to laugh discreetly. You sigh. "You all are moving way too fast here. I just saw him once! What if he decides he doesn't wanna do this? I've yet to hear from him." You murmur, your voice more anxious than you would have wanted it to be.
A somber look settles on their faces as your friends watch you sympathetically for a while. Kira reaches out to grab your hands in reassurance. "Hey. Babe, it's gonna be all good. Of course, he'll call you. He's a freaking businessman. He wouldn't have wasted his time if he was not interested."
"Yep. You just need to be patient _____. Don't worry so much. Trust the process." Naomi smiles at you softly.
"Good things don't really happen to me, so..." You avert your gaze, chewing on your lower lip. You hate yourself for ruining the mood, for feeling pathetic and doubtful.
Old habits die hard, you suppose.
"Hey," Kira calls for you. "It's gonna be all fine. Trust yourself, okay? And you know what, let's stop talking about him. You won't believe what Soonyoung asked me last night."
"What?" Naomi asks dryly as you both wait for her answer. "He freaking asked me if he can buy a tiger suit for us so that he can fuck me while wearing it." She replies as your jaw falls loose.
"No way!" You and Naomi yell at the same time. "Oh my god, he's fucking nuts." Naomi groans and so do you as you ask. "What did you say? Please tell me you didn't—"
Kira interrupts. "I said yes. I mean, I don't mind. I'm kinda interested, actually."
"Oh, sweet lord!"
"No fucking way!" You and Naomi gag.
-
Everyone has ups and downs in their lives. But for the majority of your life, you remember only experiencing downs. At first, it frustrated you to no end, making you feel unbelievably lost and hopeless but now you've come to accept it. You try to be content with what little you have and you always keep your expectations to the lowest.
College has been hard and expensive but the thought of letting go of your dreams is harder. Your dreams are what have kept you alive and strong through all the downs you have faced, so even though you had to take a huge loan and juggle two part-time jobs, you tell yourself it will all be worth it in the end. And maybe, fate has finally smiled upon you by bringing Joshua to you.
It has been two days since you met him and you have to admit anxiety is settling in your bones. The radio silence is disheartening, making you expect the very worst, like a habit. As you sit in your bed and overthink all your brain juices out, your phone rings, making you jump. The caller ID is unknown and with a frown, you pick it up.
"Hey. It's me."
It's him. Joshua.
Your heart beats loudly.
"Hi."
"Sorry, I was really busy the last few days. But I expected your call." He says.
"You said you'd call me." Your voice has an edge to it, almost like a sad lover who had been waiting for her boyfriend to call.
He laughs softly. "That I did. I apologize. And I was hoping you could accompany me to a dinner this Friday."
You bite your lip. "I don't mind. I mean, I'm free."
"Lovely." He hums. "I'll send you the contract of your payments via email. Let me know if you have any complaints."
"Oh...okay. I will."
"Good. I need to get going," he sighs. "I'll see you this weekend, sweetheart. Dream of me." He hangs up with a promise.
Letting out a wistful sigh, you take a look around your tiny apartment, all your things filling up every inch of available space and leaving barely any room for air. Sighing, you fall back into your bed, smiling softly.
It's all about to change.
-
The past three weeks have probably been the most eventful weeks of your life. Joshua was quick to welcome you into his circle as you first showed up with him at the company dinner. The money that you are being rewarded with after every appearance is equal to months of your rent and let out a squeal of glee when you checked your bank account the next morning.
However, his generosity didn't stop there. Over the weeks, he has sent you the prettiest bouquet of flowers with little thank you notes, sometimes chocolates too. He also sent over a pair of designer shoes and a handbag, making you almost faint as you felt the smooth, luxurious item below your fingertips for the first time. Sure, you expected to be a bit richer after agreeing to go out with him but you didn't expect these random, dare you say, romantic gifts every often.
Over the last few weeks, Joshua has also developed a habit of coming over to your place, just to chat while having a meal. It surprisingly feels nice and comfortable; his presence in your tiny house finally giving you a sense of belonging so you always agree without a second thought. Though the embarrassment you felt the first time he showed up at your minuscule apartment was astronomical even though you shouldn't have. You were scared he was going to judge you based on your living conditions or worse, pity you but he did none of that and simply made himself at home.
However, today, he has asked you to come over to his place, saying that he had his chef come over to help him with the food. You agree immediately as the thoughts of spending the rest of the day with him make you brim with excitement. You put on the nicest clothes you have and do a little makeup, a habit you've picked up ever since you've been with him; wanting to look your very best around him. You sling the Chanel bag he has gifted you over your shoulder and just as you are about to put on your shoes, your doorbell rings, perplexing you.
It's noon. You're not expecting anyone.
With a frown, you open the door and immediately, discomfort and annoyance settle into your bones as you meet your eyes with the visitor.
It's your sister.
With a rather bitter expression, you stand there, not welcoming her in or speaking but that doesn't faze her. With an exaggerated grin, she pushes past you. "Hey, sis."
Her tone makes you think she's mocking you and you huff, closing the door and turning around as you watch her scan your space with a rather judgemental stare. "What do you want, Melissa?" Your tone is snappy but you don't care. She feigns hurt, plopping down on your little sofa as she flips her hair over her shoulder.
"Can't I pay my little sister a friendly visit?"
"The same sister that you tried to get rid of? The one you didn't bother calling the past six months? Yeah, you can't." You hiss, your gaze burning into her. "Leave. I've somewhere to be."
Her eyes scan you up and down before settling on your Chanel bag. "Wow, nice bag. Where did you get that?" She asks with a smirk on her face. You sigh. "It's a knock-off."
She hums, probably not buying your words but you don't care. She has no business poking her nose into your life.
"What do you want?" You ask again, exasperated. Your day is ruined. You were so looking forward to seeing Joshua and now she shows up unannounced.
"Mom called. She needs money and I don't have it. Why don't you help her?" Your sister announces, nonchalantly, scrutinizing her fingernails. You immediately see red and your blood boils at her attitude. "Oh yeah? Well, I stopped caring since she walked out on us." You hiss. Your sister huffs in annoyance. "I don't care whether you care or not. Just give her some damn money."
"You really have no remorse." You chuckle mirthlessly, shaking your head in disbelief. "You and I both know you've more money than me yet to come to me, asking for it when I'm barely getting by. Not to mention how you tried to get rid of me— got rid of me, I should say, and now you're here, shamelessly asking me for money. How despicable."
Your sister glares at you as she abruptly stands up, seething, "You ungrateful bitch! At least I took care of you until you were eighteen!"
"Took care of me?" You scoff. "Sure, yeah. Since I'm an ungrateful bitch, I'll continue being that by not giving you or my goddamn mother any penny because I don't have any and you fucking know it!"
"Well, you definitely have enough to buy a fucking Chanel!" She hisses, "Don't think I'm stupid, _____."
"You know what, maybe I have enough to buy this or maybe I stole it. It's none of your business either way." You grit your teeth. "But I don't have enough to spend a penny for mom, especially when I know she'll waste it away drinking and gambling!"
She scoffs. "You really are still a selfish little bitch."
"Fuck you, Melissa. Get out of my house. I don't want to see you ever again."
She rolls her eyes, cursing you under her breath as she pushes past you and slams the door loudly on her way. Angry, hot tears that you've been holding until now start streaming down your face as your knees give up and you sink onto the floor, trying to keep more tears from falling.
No matter what you do, where you go your past just doesn't seem to let you go. You idly wonder if you would ever be able to get rid of it, forget its constant looming presence over your shoulders, holding you back from fully living your life.
A text seems to have been sent as your phone alerts you and blinking through the tears you check it. It's Joshua, asking if you are still coming or if you have changed your mind. You shake your head, smiling humourlessly at the text before you get up and try to collect yourself, wiping at your face so that you don't look like you've been crying like a madwoman.
Maybe having some good wine and delicious food in the company of a delicious man will help you get your mind off things.
-
"Hey there." Joshua smiles sweetly as he opens the door to his penthouse and moves aside, letting you in. He's dressed in a black fitted tee and grey slacks, a simple, slightly unnatural look on him as you have only seen him in suits until now. But he doesn't look any less gorgeous.
Your mind blanks out for a second as you stare at his chest, bulky and solid, a clear outline visible over his tee and you wonder how it'd feel to touch. Murmuring a shy greeting, you step into his foyer, large and shiny and absolutely breathtaking.
"Come in. I've prepared some snacks for us before dinner."
Joshua moves towards his kitchen while you look around the place, mesmerized. The main foyer of his house bathes in sunlight, courtesy of the floor to ceiling windows. Attached to the foyer is his modern, state of the art kitchen and dining area, all in various shades of white and grey. The area is spacious and bright, decorated with elegant pieces of furniture and fluffy rugs and gold framed abstract paintings.
"You have a pretty house." You murmur, not finding much else to say. His laughter can be heard. "Thanks. Would you like something to drink?" He turns around and offers you as you start taking off your jacket and set it next to your purse.
"Water please." You mumble, taking a seat by the dining table. He comes back with two glasses of water before serving some fancy looking appetizer, made by him and announces that you're having an early dinner as it cooks in the oven.
He sits opposite to you and talks animatedly, no doubt that he genuinely enjoys your company. It's not that you don't enjoy his, in fact, you love it, hearing his sweet yet slightly throaty voice and looking at that pretty face makes you forget about everything horrible in your life. He talks about the story behind this place, about how he actively participated in its making and you can clearly see he adores his house. You've also picked up his love for cleaning and maintaining his space; a rare sight for the male population you've encountered so far, especially someone like him.
The way he gracefully moves around the kitchen while conversing with you, you can tell he's a pro in this department too. Is there anything this man can't do?
Dusk falls as you both chat away, talking about everything and nothing and you don't even realize it's been hours. Your dinner has finished cooking and he starts setting up the plates as you pour some wine for the two of you. It doesn't escape you that he has not asked anything remotely personal about you when you expected him to. Is he being polite? Or is he not interested?
Your thoughts are interrupted as he brings dinner to the table and serves you, a sweet smile on his face as he waits for you to try his food.
"This is delicious." You try not to moan as you chew your first bite. His eyes crinkle in happiness as his melodic laugh rings in your ears. "Thank you. My chef helped too."
You hum, happily stuffing your face with food. You don't know if it's the delicious food; a huge change from your regular, cheap, ramen or toast, or his company that has increased your appetite. You genuinely enjoy his company, probably more than you should have and half of you don't want to return to your storeroom of a home tonight.
You need to get yourself together.
"_____?" He calls for you, jolting you out of your train of thoughts as you blink at him. "Is there something that's bothering you?"
"Huh?" You're fairly perplexed.
He shakes his head. "No, it's just that... You looked troubled earlier when you arrived. And you seem to be getting lost in your head, that's all."
Oh, he's quite the observer.
"I'm sorry," you murmur, eyes cast on your plate.
"No!" He quickly speaks, making you jump slightly. "No...you don't have to be sorry. I just wanted you to know that you can share your worries with me. If you feel comfortable, that is."
His gentle voice and soft gaze crumble down your defenses as you stare at the beautiful man and try not to start crying. You can't believe he actually noticed all that.
"Family issues. My mom...my sister." You find yourself uttering the words without much thinking. It's alarming how much he brings your guard down.
He doesn't say anything or ask for an explanation but watches you, his gaze reassuring and soft. You sigh, trying to get your thoughts together and just letting it all out. "Well, uh...my mom...she left me and my sister when I was... twelve I think. She found drinking and snorting cocaine more interesting than her daughters, I guess. But she always wasn't like this. Yes, she had a history of addiction but it improved after she married dad. Things were good until my dad passed away. She returned to her old habits after that."
You swallow, trying not to choke up on your words. Joshua watches you carefully his hand stroking your knuckles as it rests on the table. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." He whispers.
You don't yet you do. You've been keeping it bottled up inside you for so long that you don't want to stop now, even though you'll probably regret it later.
"Anyway, she went her way and left me with my sister." You continue. "It's safe to say she didn't like me. I was the unplanned child, of course, so she was more negligent with me. Anyhow, my sister wasn't exactly fond of me either and I guess she isn't fully to be blamed because she was barely an adult herself. We stayed with our aunt for a while before she turned eighteen. Then she had to take care of me and she wasn't quite happy with it. We fought a lot. She'd neglect me, make me do everything in the house while she brought her friends over and stuffs. When I confronted her about it things would get ugly. I made it through before I turned eighteen and then I left her. Thanks to the money my father left us individually, I got through somehow. And my sister got married last year." You take a sip of your wine, before continuing.
"Her husband is pretty well off. They even have a house. Yet today, she came to me for money. Apparently, mother called her and asked for some cash and she wants me to give her money when I'm barely getting by. I told her to fuck off." You sigh, downing your drink in one go. Your head hurts now. Whenever you think of those shitty people, you are bound to have a headache.
Joshua is silent, watching you with an expression you're unable to decipher and you start getting nervous. Did you scare him off? Does he find you burdening?
Anxiety almost chokes you up but his voice is kind when he says, "I'm really sorry you had to go through that. You don't deserve it."
His words are basic but they manage to tug at the deepest spots in your heart. You half expected him to offer you money like those obnoxious rich assholes but he sounds genuinely sorry and kind.
"Thank you for saying that." You mutter.
"Thank you for telling me." He says, his eyes meeting yours and the depth of his gaze brings goosebumps on your skin. You swallow, not breaking eye contact with him.
He looks even more beautiful now. Ethereal, like an angel. Gentle and calming and comforting. All the good things that pull you in like quicksand but also dangerous enough to scar you forever.
"Let's watch a movie, hmm?" He suddenly offers. You blink. "I...uhm, would love to. But I should get going."
"You can stay. I'd like it if you did," he says, his eyes watching you carefully. "If you're okay with it of course."
"Really? I can?" You're surprised.
"Why not. Don't take it otherwise. We won't have to do anything. You can take one of the many spare bedrooms I have." He smiles. You gape at him, weighing your options and you definitely don't want to return home tonight. So you whisper, "Okay, I'll stay."
"Great." He grins, standing up. "Let's choose a movie now."
About ten minutes later you sit next to him on the sofa, eyes trained on the romcom playing on the screen. There's a certain amount of gap between the two of you but he's close enough to have you distracted with his smell and warmth. You were never the cuddler type but right now you just want to wrap yourself around him and fall asleep. Maybe you will. Your tipsy mind won't really think twice to do it.
Joshua's hand is stretched out over the backrest of the sofa, occasionally brushing against you're back, unintentionally, you assume. His eyes are trained on the screen. He doesn't seem to notice your lack of focus on the movie or if he does, he doesn't comment on it.
The proximity between the two of you is dangerous, inviting. You distract yourself by playing with the blanket thrown over your legs but ultimately your thoughts land on the enticing man beside you. The room is now chillier than before as the night has fallen and you are thankful for the blanket Joshua had offered you. As you pull it under your chin and try to snuggle it, Joshua turns his head towards you. "We could cuddle...if you want."
You're embarrassed to admit how quickly you agree to it. With an enthusiastic nod, you immediately shuffle closer to him and tentatively rest your head on his shoulder, throwing the blanket over the two of you as his outstretched hand comes to wrap around your shoulder. You sigh, content and comfortable and he seems so too as he relaxes on the sofa.
There are no words exchanged but the atmosphere is cozy as you both watch the TV in silence before your eyelids start feeling heavy.
And soon you drift off in the comfort of his arms.
-
When you wake up you're in a bed. If you had to guess, it would be Joshua's guest room.
Sunlight pours through the large windows draped in silk curtains and you groan, stretching your hands and legs. The bed and the sheets and pillows are the comfiest things you've ever slept on which is probably why you feel so well-rested and at peace; a highly unusual occurrence for you.
After you freshen up, you step out of your room and climb down the stairs in search of Joshua. You find him standing by the dining table, finishing his coffee, a tablet in one of his hands.
As soon as he hears you he looks up and smiles, his eyes crinkling. "Good morning."
"Good morning," you murmur, voice a bit hoarse from sleep.
"I was about to wake you up," Joshua says, setting down the tablet. "I've to leave now. It's sudden but my father's friend suddenly called me this morning and asked me to play golf with him. Can't really say no to him." He shakes his head, clearly not fond of the idea.
"I'm so sorry. You're probably late because of me." You apologize, embarrassed. You've overstayed your welcome.
"No! Not at all." He assures. "In fact, if you want you can stay here today too. Though you'll probably need a change of clothes." His eyes move over your clothing, which you've been wearing since you've come here. "We could have dinner together tonight again. Or, if you'd like to leave, I'll drop you off on my way."
"I think I should leave. I've work to get done at home." You speak and he nods. "Sure but have some breakfast before we leave."
About an hour later Joshua parks his car in front of your building; his Porsche a weird contradiction in this poor, worn-out neighborhood. Unbuckling your seatbelt you smile. "Thank you for the ride."
"My pleasure. Oh and _____?" He calls as you're opening the door. "I've to attend an event tomorrow. A charity event. I'd like you to come with me."
"Sure." You don't have any plans and being with him is easily better than sitting around and moping in your tiny apartment.
"Great." He smiles. "My driver will pick you up at five."
As you exit his car and head into your building, you can't believe how excited you are and how much you're already looking forward to tomorrow. It's been a long long time since you've been this energized and happy and you realize just how much being with Joshua is shaking up your entire world.
-
Draped in a beautiful silk scarlet red dress and with Joshua's strong grip on your waist, you feel like a million bucks. The dress you're wearing today is exceptionally pretty, your favorite one from all that you've worn so far. It is one-sleeved with a sweetheart neckline, flowing down into a long slit that reaches up to your thigh. It's elegant yet playful and dangerous, not quite your type but Joshua seems to like it as you don't miss his eyes raking appreciatively down your leg now and then.
You've to admit it makes you feel excited. For whatever this night has in store.
Which doesn't seem much at first as you walk into the party with Joshua and feel the eyes of many cast at the two of you, mainly you. Men greet Joshua as soon as they see him and the ladies accompanying them scan you too to the bottom, with heavy judgment, maybe a little jealousy in their eyes but you can't bring yourself to care too much.
This is fleeting, after all.
The event comes to an end for the two of you as you finish dinner and as soon as you're done Joshua is escorting you out of the premises and towards his car. You can tell that he got bored with all the mindless chattering and you can't blame him for that. You weren't exactly enjoying yourself either.
As you sit by his side in the limo, Joshua's hands absentmindedly graze the skin of your leg peeking out from the slit. You've noticed he
has been touching you throughout the evening. His eyes are focused outside the window as he speaks. "Have I told you how lovely you look?" His voice is quiet, full of something you can't quite put your finger on as he turns his head to look at you. Not trusting yourself to speak you only shake your head and swallow, the look in his eyes hypnotizing.
Joshua's eyes move to your lips as his thumb reaches out to swipe across the flesh, sending shivers down your spine. He inches his face closer and keeping his eyes on your lips, he whispers, "I want to kiss you, _____. Tell me, do you want it too?" His eyes lock with yours and the flame of passion burning in them makes you weak in the knees.
"Yes," you squeak. There's an unmistakable spark of desire in his eyes as his lips curve upward just a little bit and he presses the button for the privacy screen of the car.
Then he wastes no time, immediately smashing his lips to yours as one of his hands cup your jawline and the other your waist. The kiss is intoxicating, his warmth and taste overflowing your systems as you become a puppet and let him guide you through it.
When he pulls back, he inhales sharply and the fire in his eyes grows ten times stronger. "We should stop. Before this gets too far."
It's like a bucket of ice-cold water has been splashed on you as you stiffen, your heart breaking.
Too far? What does he mean by that?
You can't help the bite in your voice, "Do you not find me attractive?"
Damn it. A part of you hates yourself for saying that. Your past insecurities have no room in this relationship.
A look of utter confusion settles on his face. "What?"
"No...it's just, we've been doing this for a while and you've never initiated anything with me. Am I not attractive to you?"
The glint in his eyes is dangerous and you can visibly see his jaw harden. "You've no idea what you are talking about, _____. I did not initiate anything with you because I didn't want to scare you off. I can tell you are inexperienced so I didn't want to make you do something that you're not comfortable with."
He can tell? Heat blares in your face, both from embarrassment and arousal. The look he's giving you right now makes you feel like he's gonna eat you whole and you're not going to stop him. Joshua continues, "But clearly, you misunderstood my cautiousness as disinterest so I've no choice but to prove you wrong." His hands snake around your waist as he utters, "Tell me to stop if you mean it. Otherwise, there's no stopping tonight."
That's it. That's all the warning you get before Joshua moves you onto his lap and kisses you, hard. You are sure your lips are going to be bruised and you don't give a shit. You keep clawing at his biceps and whine as he devours your face, not caring that you are in the back of a limo.
Your needs have reached their breaking point. You're going all in tonight. Whatever regret you have can wait until tomorrow because there is no way you are letting yourself off of this man tonight.
Joshua seems to be on the boat with the idea as even after a nasty make out session in the back of his car he doesn't keep his hands off your body as you both stumble into the elevator and then into his penthouse.
Joshua drags you towards his bedroom, your form gasping for air and stumbling over your heels but you've never felt this alive and excited. He doesn't hide his need for you and it brings a type of feeling to you that you've never felt before.
Powerful. Wanted. Sexy.
Your brain seems to have taken a backseat as you're no longer in control of your body, gladly doing whatever Joshua is making you do. He pushes you onto his bed and kisses you once more before standing back up and loosening the bow tie on his neck. Tossing it away he then starts unbuttoning his shirt, your eyes following each of his steps wantonly.
Once the material is off you can finally see his buffed chest in its full glory and your throat dries up immediately. He's so big and bulky, he could literally crush you with his chest. It's probably worrisome how much that idea seems to appeal to you.
"Up." His voice is husky and you blink, realizing he's telling you to stand up. With shaky legs, you do so and he turns you around to tug down the zipper at the back of your dress. "Take this off," he orders quietly and your hands start moving as you push the one shoulder of the dress down before tugging it lower and lower, down your waist as it finally pools at your feet.
Clad only in your black lacy panties, you can feel his hard stare, penetrating deep into you. While you want to cover yourself, the look of lust mixed with appreciation makes you stay still. Swallowing, you wait for his next words.
"Lie down."
Immediately you do so and watch him crawl over your like a predator. He starts by kissing your lips chastely before moving towards your jawline and then down the column of your neck, nipping and sucking every inch of skin. You gasp and mewl, hands automatically reaching to hold onto his back as you writhe underneath him.
His lips hover over your chest, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin as he starts by kissing the flesh between your tits. Then he takes a nipple into his mouth and teases it, softly sucking at first before poking the hard bud with his tongue.
His hands stay rooted on your sides, on the bedsheets and the only form of his touch you get is his tongue. It drives you wild; the need to feel every inch of him on you.
"J-Joshua..." You moan.
"Daddy. You call me daddy in bed." It's a command and you immediately nod your head, all too eager to comply.
The man you've known until now is completely gone, no more the sweet, considerate man but instead a lust-crazed man. You never thought you'd be into this but damn if you aren't and you only become more sure when Joshua's crotch brushes against your leaking sex, making you shudder. "Daddy...your fingers please." You mewl, trying to give him your best puppy eyes. Your subconscious shakes her head at how easily the title falls off your lips.
Joshua chuckles quietly, meanly, giving you goosebumps as he keeps torturing your breasts like before. But this time he brings one of his hands down to your core and starts rubbing you gently. Your back arches off the bed slightly as you sigh in pleasure, his touch soothing the burn in your core.
"You want my fingers, baby?" His voice is deep as he removes his mouth from your tits and locks his eyes with you. Surprising you, he slaps your pussy, hard, making your mouth open in a silent scream. "You have it." He hisses and in one smooth motion, thrusts two of his fingers inside you. You squeal, hands fisting the bedsheets tightly as his digits easily slip in due to your overflowing arousal.
"Oh god, yes." You moan, eyes rolling back as you feel his thick fingers move inside you. Paired with the movement of his fingers and the heated look he's sending your way, you know you're not very far from your release. You squeak, "Go-gonna cum."
Joshua scoffs. "So quickly? Horny little baby. Come then. Come on my fingers so I can put my cock in you." His filthy words make you moan out loud as he brings his thumb over clit, rubbing it swiftly and sending you over the edge, face-first into your first, proper orgasm.
It shakes your body as you lie there and feel it wash over you, your pussy spasming repeatedly as he keeps playing with your pussy throughout your high. When you finally come down and your mind starts working again, Joshua pulls his fingers out of you, dripping in your essence and licks his digits clean, never wavering eye contact with you. The erotic sight has your core thrumming once more in the blink of an eye as you mindlessly reach for his pants. "Please. Want you..." Your voice is soft, breathy and Joshua finds it hard to not give into you.
So dropping a kiss on the top of your pussy, he shuffles off the bed and stands up, hands working on removing his belt. Anticipation builds into your veins as you lick your dry lips, eagerly waiting to see him.
And you almost stop breathing when he removes his pants and boxers. His size and girth leave your mouth hanging open and your core clenching around nothing. The phrase hung like a horse was probably invented for him because just thinking about that inside you makes your pussy ache.
You probably won't be able to walk tomorrow.
"Fuck. W-will you even fit?" Your eyes never leave his cock as it bobs in the air, his tip leaking precum. Joshua watches you watch him with utter amusement. "I will, baby. Your tight pussy was made for me." He flashes you a cocky grin as he climbs back on top of you and pecks your mouth.
"Then take me, Joshua. I...I can't wait. N-need you. Take me like this. Wanna feel y-you." You whisper, chasing his lips as you pull his large body against yours and his cock brushes against your pussy.
"Fuck." He curses under his breath as he feels your heat against his sensitive flesh. "Are you sure you are ready for this, sweets? Should I make you come once more?"
His concern brings warmth to your chest but you immediately shake his head and start grinding against his dick. "Wanna come on your cock, daddy."
You've been craving this man for a long time and you will go crazy if you wait any longer.
"Fuck. Such a slut for my cock, aren't you?" He tilts your chin up and pulls your lips in a bruising kiss as you nod. "P-please give it to me."
He groans softly as he taps your clit with his hard shaft, eyes trained on your swollen, dripping hole. "Tell me if it hurts, okay sweets?"
"I will."
His eyes darken as he suddenly lands a slap on your clit. "What's my name?"
"Daddy! Daddy, oh my god!" You squeal, wetness dripping out of you and just as you are recovering from the shock of his spank he thrusts inside you, all the way in one smooth motion. You scream so loud your ears ring, your nails scratching Joshua's back as you cling onto him like he's your lifeline.
He pants harshly on top of you, sweat shining on his forehead as he fights to stay still and let you adjust. Your pussy is stretched to its limits and even though you still feel the sting, you mindlessly grind on his cock, breathy whines leaving your lips.
"Stop doing that or I'm gonna come," Joshua warns but you start moving your hips faster when you're more comfortable with the stretch. "Little vixen," he groans as if in pain, heated eyes watching you. "Come for me." He commands quietly, hands moving to play with your swollen clit as soon as he flicks it with his finger, your release coming crashing down on you and you feel it in every one of your nerves.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream as you feel him release inside you, making you clench. You're not surprised when he doesn't stop but continues thrusting inside you, far from being done with you and you feel another orgasm impending. Your pussy hurts in the best ways possible and just thinking about coming once again have your toes curling.
Surprising you, one of his hands move onto your neck, gripping it firmly and applying just enough pressure to make your body curl up and see stars. It triggers your orgasm, multiplying it by hundreds and seeing the godlike man on top of you, reaching his high, his dark, predatory eyes trained on you makes you go off like a rocket. You swear you see God himself as your body completely lets go and you feel like you're floating in a place of pure bliss. The feeling of him releasing inside you makes you shudder, before he slips out and shuffles on the bed, probably cleaning you up but you're too gone to care.
With a blissful smile and a hazy mind, you let sleep take you.
-
Blinding sunlight wakes you up the next morning as you immediately sit up once your brain has processed everything.
You slept with Joshua Hong last night.
Holy shit.
You feel tingles shoot up your leg just by thinking of him and the things you did last night. Nervous and shy, your eyes move around his large bedroom. The time on the wall clock and the looming quietness in the apartment is enough for you to think he has probably left for work. Which is good. You're too embarrassed to face him.
As you get out of bed, awkwardly you must admit due to the ache between your legs, you spot a note lying on the bedside table. Your curious hands reach for it and you smile once you read it.
Good morning. I'm sorry I had to leave early. Help yourself with breakfast before you go. Also, check your bank account. XO
Right. The money. You scan around to find your phone and once you do, you quickly log into your bank app and sure enough, a nice, huge amount of cash sits there, enough to pop your eyes out of its sockets.
Holy fucking shit.
As relieved and giddy you feel seeing the amount, there's a part— one that you hate, of you that feels ashamed, conflicted. Before you start thinking too much you toss your phone away and head toward the bathroom.
You need to stop thinking so much.
-
You were positively kidding yourself when you told yourself to stop thinking too much yesterday morning. Now, a day later, in the evening, you sit by yourself in your shoebox apartment, anxiously chewing on your lower lip.
You spent the day just fine, busy doing your work and not thinking about him or anything regarding him. But now that the night has fallen and you sit idle, your mind can't spot conjuring up the worst scenarios.
You haven't heard from Joshua. At all.
Which has you disappointed. And you are disappointed in yourself for feeling disappointed.
The silence on his part makes you worry to your wit's end. Is it over? Has he gotten tired of you? Did you not satisfy him? Did he forget about you like everyone else?
Your fists clench as your heart breaks a little at the thought. No, no. You don't do attachments. He could just call you right now and say he's done and it shouldn't hurt you. Not one bit. This is just business, you keep telling yourself.
A loud, echoing sound breaks the train of your thoughts and you frown. It's the doorbell. And you are expecting no one.
Especially not Joshua Hong, who you find standing just as you pull open the door. A sound, somewhere between a pleasant gasp and a surprised squeak escapes you as you watch the man in front of you with wide eyes.
"Hey." He gives you a soft, if not a little shy smile. Your heart starts fluttering and you wish you could rip it out of your chest.
"Hi," your voice is barely audible as you drink him in like you've been thirsty for eons; his large form dressed in a wrinkled black shirt underneath a grey blazer matching his pants. As you look closely, you see exhaustion written all over his face, dark circles under his eyes.
"May I come in?" His voice makes you snap back into reality as you flush.
"Sure," you choke, moving away to let him step in.
You watch as Joshua makes himself comfortable on your tiny couch, the furniture squeaking under his weight. As always he seems unbothered by it as he looks at you expectantly, motioning for you to sit on the small remaining space next to him.
As you do so you realize there's a box from a confectioner on his lap and you frown. "For you," he seems to notice your gaze as he pushes the box onto your lap. "I was passing by the area when I saw the shop. I remembered you wanting to try their desserts so I thought I'd get some for you."
Your stomach somersaults at his confession.
He remembered. He remembered the day on the way to one of his events, you had passed by this shop and the beautiful pastries on display made you say that you'd love to try some. You were not serious and you definitely did not expect him to actually buy those for you.
Tentatively you open the box and the assortment of desserts inside makes your mouth water. You swallow. "Wow... I— thanks, Joshua."
"You're welcome, _____. Consider it as an apology too. I should've checked up on you after yesterday. Work has just been so hectic these days, I barely have time to eat." The sincerity in his voice makes you want to scream. Why? Why does he care so much? Why can't he just be an asshole? Why does he have to show up at your place, being all sweet and considerate?
"It's okay, Joshua." Is what you whisper instead.
"Are you okay, though?" The need in his voice makes you look at him. Your heart stutters as your eyes come in contact. "You could've called me, you know. I kind of hoped you would."
Oh.
You bite your lip. "I... thought I'd be disturbing."
"No, not at all." He frowns, reaching to cup your hands. "You should not hesitate to call me. Even if I can't call you, you can always call me, _____. I mean it."
"Okay." You quickly retract your hands from his as your heart rings loudly in your ears. Being so close to him, touching him, breathing him in is messing with your head. You clear your throat, trying to get up. "Would you like a pastry? Let me make some coffee-"
"Sit down." He grabs your elbow and pulls you down effortlessly, right into his strong arms. Eyes wide, your hand reaches for his solid chest out of reflex and the look in his eyes is enough to drop your panties.
Your throat is parched and your heart is a galloping horse, ready to burst out of your chest as you fist his shirt in your hand. Your eyes land on his lips and you swallow, the urge to kiss them overwhelming and scary.
You want him. You need him. It's utterly terrifying how much you do.
"Tell me you missed me." His voice is quiet, his eyes trained on your lips intently. The timbre of his voice and his tightening grip on your waist make it very, very hard for you to form words.
"Y-yes. I- I did."
He hums, pleased you assume and then leans down to kiss your lips. Softly at first before he's pushing his tongue inside your mouth, a loud whine escaping from your mouth. You twist and writhe in his arms, the taste and feel of him electrifying. Just when you are at the peak of your high, he pulls back, a soft, teasing look on his face.
God. This infuriating, sexy as fuck man.
"As much as I'd love to continue this, I have an early morning tomorrow. And my driver is waiting." He murmurs, pressing soft kisses on your neck which does not help your current state at all. You almost, almost beg him to stay and fuck you but you hold back the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you only hum and sigh into his chest, subconsciously snuggling against his large frame.
The security and comfort you feel in his arms is something you've never felt before and something you long desperately.
In silence, Joshua holds you; for how long you have no idea but enough to make you feel drowsy. Maybe he senses it because he lets you go, dropping a kiss on your forehead as he gently moves to stand up. "By the way, are you free this Thursday night?"
"Hmm? Yeah, I am." It takes a moment for you to register his words as you can only concentrate on the missing warmth of his body.
"Great. My friends are having a hangout. You'll be my plus one." He smiles, buttoning up his blazer and surprising you, he leans down and kisses the corner of your lips. "You don't have to see me out. Good night, sweets. Dream of me."
Before you can recover yourself from his sweet, boyfriend-like gesture, he's out the door like a spring breeze. The pounding of your heart seems to echo around your empty apartment as you sit in silence and touch the spot where his lips were moments ago.
This man is doing dangerous things to you, things you don't want to acknowledge. Because you know exactly what it is.
Love.
-
Yoon Jeonghan is quite the character.
He's the loudest, most teasing, quite literally the brat of Joshua's friend group but you can't say you dislike him.
It's quite the opposite in reality. He has made an impression on you ever since you arrived with Joshua, as he whisked you away from your date and started spewing all types of info about him.
"Gosh, drunk Joshua is the worst. " The man shakes his head as if recalling a certain memory. "The only thing he does is sing Sunday morning and he just doesn't fucking stop. Your ears will literally bleed off."
You can't help but giggle, thinking fondly about drunk Joshua whom you've never seen but wish to. Jeonghan raises his glass of whiskey to yours and clinks them before taking a sip and leaning over the bar counter. "Oh! You won't believe it. Aside from going around advertising himself as the gentleman, one time in college— "
"I think you've said enough, Jeonghan." Joshua emerges from behind you and you soon feel his presence on your back. The man in question throws a lazy smirk at his friend, "Ah, come on. I've so much yet to say. I need to get back at you. You weren't exactly merciful when you told my girl about all the shit I did in college."
You realize they are talking about Jeonghan's girlfriend, now fiance who once used to be his sugar baby. Joshua had shared with you all the juicy details.
"Was just giving her a heads up," Joshua shrugs nonchalantly, one of his hands coming to rest on your shoulder. "And I really wish she was here tonight so you'd leave my girl alone."
My girl.
His girl.
The words make heat spread through your entire body as your brain stops functioning for a second. You almost don't register Jeonghan's wink as he saunters away when his phone starts ringing, saying, "Oh come on, couldn't just leave a pretty girl alone. Oh, hey darling. How is it...."
Too preoccupied with your thoughts you don't realize Joshua is calling for you until he gently shakes your shoulders. "Oh— um, you were saying?"
He watches you with cautious eyes, "I hope Jeonghan didn't bother you too much."
You shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. He's a fun guy. Where's his fiance by the way?"
"Went to visit a sick relative with her brother. Jeonghan is gonna drop by there after this."
"Oh, wow. That's sweet."
"Mhmm." He hums distractedly. You feel his eyes rake down your body hungrily and you can't help the giddiness and confidence it blossoms within you. You definitely don't regret the tight evening dress you wore solely for the purpose of teasing him. You can't keep being the only one in this relationship who losses their mind when the other is anywhere near.
"Did I tell you how fucking gorgeous you look tonight?" He asks, shuffling closer to you, too close as large his body presses hotly against yours. You can't help a teasing smile. "Hmm, you may have earlier in the car. Jeonghan also complimented my looks."
On the way here Joshua had been a tease, his hands stroking your naked thighs, hovering dangerously close to your core but never quite touching. He didn't even try to hide how much it satisfied him to see you squirm and you can't complain too much either.
"Stop being a brat," Joshua's voice is deep, ringing with a clear warning but it's too fun not to work up a man so calm and put together like him. So you smirk and stroke the lapels of his blue blazer, batting your eyelashes at him, "What do you mean? I'm just telling the truth."
A deep sound, similar to a growl resonates from his chest as he grabs your waist and pulls you closer. His warm breath hovers over your ear as he trails teasing kisses from there to your jawline. "Don't be a tease if you want to come tonight." He whispers in your ears as your breaths come out as heavy pants. Pulling back like he didn't just promise you a dirty thing he states, "Now come along. We need to be with the crowd or I'll lose my mind and take you home right now."
-
The tension radiating off of Joshua's body is so thick you can taste it on your tongue. It's so much fun, teasing him when he can do nothing about it and you feel so powerful, so pleased. Every time he clenches his jaw and grabs your hand even tighter you have to stop yourself from bursting into giggles in front of the whole table.
Dinner had started a while ago as everyone sat around the large rectangular table, eating and chattering loudly. After you've had a couple or so bites of your steak you had decided to initiate playing with another meat as your hands started traveling to Joshua's thighs, innocent at first. He didn't pay much heed to it, busy conversing with his friends. When you were sure he wouldn't remove your hand, you went bolder, cupping his dick through his pants and rubbing him all over.
The look he sent your way should have been recorded in history books and you really wish you could take a picture. His glare, paired with his gritting teeth made you laugh a little, earning a few looks from other people but you brushed it off. Maybe it was because of the wine or Joshua's generally overwhelming presence but you felt giggly and bold, so you decided not to waste this perfect, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Joshua Hong lose his shit.
"Your ass is going to pay for this." He threatens quietly but you can't quite take it seriously as you are busy observing the growing bulge in his pants. To know that you have this effect on him makes you feel something unlike ever before. So you just bite your lip and give him a wink, fingers stroking his large thigh.
As soon as dinner was over and Joshua had adjusted his pants, he was dragging you out with him, hastily throwing goodbyes to his friends. Jeonghan gave you two a knowing look before winking cheekily at you making you laugh as Joshua pushes you towards his Audi.
As soon as your ass hits the passenger's seat, Joshua is starting the car, driving off at an alarming speed.
"You made me consider drinking and calling my driver to pick us up," he mutters, eyes trained on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. You give him an innocent look, face forming a faux look of concern, "Hmm, you should have. You look so tense, daddy."
His response is a grunt and he grips the wheel tighter; if that's even possible. "Start thinking of a safeword. You're going to need it tonight."
That gets your attention.
"S-safeword?" You breathe. "Yes darling, a safeword." He casts a quick, cocky glance at you and your stomach somersaults.
What has he planned for you? The anticipation and thrill explode in your veins like fireworks as you anxiously tap your foot, wishing you could just transport yourselves back to his place with some machine.
Joshua focuses on getting you two home for the rest of the drive, which he accomplishes, in record time. It's a surprise you weren't pulled over. Before you can even blink he has turned the car off and is dragging you towards the elevator.
Once you are in, he pushes you against the wall and smothers his lips to yours, wasting no time. The ferocity in his movements elicits a moan from you as your hands claw his large back. Feeling those tense muscles underneath his blazer makes you let out a whine of need, though it is muffled with his tongue in your mouth.
The ding of the elevator lets you know you're here and once again, he's making you move in the blink of an eye. Your brain is too fuzzy to keep up with his hasty movements but you have no complaints about being manhandled by Joshua. You kind of wish he'd carry you around like a sack of potatoes.
Damn, what has gotten into you?
Joshua steps into his apartment before you and heads for the kitchen but not before barking an order at you. "Go to the bedroom and strip. I want you only in your panties by the time I'm back."
Your core clenches deliciously at his command. Before your brain is fully processing his command your feet carry you towards his bedroom, where you start peeling your dress off as quickly as possible. Once it's off and you are only in your red lacy panties you scurry towards the bed and sit, your feet dangling from the side, waiting anxiously.
After what felt like ages, which was probably a couple of minutes, the man returns, sauntering into the room with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a small bucket of ice in the other. The dark look in his eyes shoots shivers down your spine and makes your nipples harden.
God, you'd let him do just about anything to you.
"Have you picked out a safeword?" His eyes gaze into you so deeply you're scared you'll end up in flames. You've to swallow to find your voice. "Y-yes. Gentleman."
You have decided to use that word to tease Joshua after Jeonghan told you about how he used to claim to be one back when they were in college.
Joshua snorts, chuckling dryly as he sets down the ice and whiskey on the bedside table. "Always a brat, I see. Well, use it whenever you feel uncomfortable and want me to stop. Are we clear?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes... daddy."
He gives you a salacious smirk and you swear it's enough to make you come. "Good girl. Get on the bed now. On all fours."
On fours? Holy shit.
You blink, taking a moment to process his command before shuffling to the position he wants you to be in.
"Good." He hums and you feel him coming to stand behind you. Then, you feel his movements and the clink of metal makes you realize he's taking off his belt.
"I'm going to spank you with this, do you hear me?" You feel the long piece of leather dangle next to you and your throat dries up.
Holy fucking baby Jesus.
You know he's expecting a response so you choke out one. "Yes, d-daddy."
"What do you do when you feel uncomfortable?"
"U-use my safeword. G-gentleman."
"Hmm, looks like my dumb girl can do more than tease her daddy." He hums, his knuckles stroking your ass cheek, giving you goosebumps. You've to fight to hold yourself up, just the faintest of his touch making your knees and elbows weak.
"We'll go with ten spanks."
Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
"Okay, daddy."
The anticipation is mind-boggling, breath talkingly crazy. You hold your breath and wait for the first strike which comes as a sudden smack, jostling you forward as you let out a moan.
You did not expect to like it so much.
"Okay?" Joshua's voice is quiet, patient and you nod your head vigorously, eager for more, "Yes, yes. M-more, please." You hear him make an amused sound and you would give anything to see his expression right now.
Just as you are getting lost in your thoughts, he delivers the next strike, wringing an equally needy moan from you. Then he delivers three more spanks in quick succession, all on your left cheek as you feel the skin heat up.
"Fuck!" You're out of breath when he lands the sixth strike on your right cheek. "Do you need a moment?" He asks, placing a gentle hand on your lower back. You shake your head, "N-no, please, continue."
The way you are dripping right now is absolutely mortifying and you are more desperate for his dick inside you than your next breath.
Fuck, how can getting your ass whipped turn you on so much?
He smacks your ass three more times repeatedly, as tears blur your vision, then strokes your burning flesh softly, "Such a good girl. One last time." His voice is hushed as you hold your breath, anticipating the end of your torture which comes stronger than ever. The last smack he lands on your ass makes your elbows give up as you whimper and mewl into the sheets.
Immediately you hear Joshua drop the belt before he gently turns you to face him gathering your body in his lap. Your ass feels like it's on fire as it comes in contact with his pants, making you whimper.
"Fuck, such a good little girl. You're so perfect." He praises you quietly, removing the hairs from your face as he rubs your shoulders comfortingly. Your heart gallops in your chest as you watch him look at you with adoration and pride and at that moment you realize you'd do anything to make this man proud.
"Should we take a break? Would like to get something to eat or drink?" He asks, eyes searching yours for discomfort.
Yes, your cock.
You shake your head. "N-no, please. Just fuck me."
That earns you a laugh from him as he shakes his head amusedly, his eyes crinkling in that beautiful manner that messes with your head. "So impatient." He presses a kiss on your temple before gently settling you on the bed and retrieving the belt from the floor. "Scoot up, sweets. Put your head on the pillow."
You swallow, eyeing the belt with wide eyes but do as he asks nonetheless, moving carefully not to scrap your ass too hard against the sheets. Once you are in position he crawls up towards you and then sits on his knees as he ties your hands to the headboard using his belt.
A shiver runs down your spine as you conjure up all the things he might do to you.
"Tell me if it gets uncomfortable, hmm?" He says as he gets up from the bed and picks up the glass of whiskey and takes a sip, heated eyes trained on your vulnerable form. Slowly his gaze travels from your eyes to your lips and then to your breasts before moving even lower. Once he has finished eye fucking you, he moves back into the bed and places himself right over your waist, his thighs around your smaller frame.
With the evilest of all smiles, he leans down to kiss your puckered nipple and then pours the cool whiskey right onto the sensitive bud making you squeal.
"Oh my god!"
You writhe, feeling the liquid drip down your breasts but before it can travel too far Joshua is lapping it all up, his heated tongue moving all over your cold flesh.
You're teetering on the verge of insanity.
"O-oh fuck! Daddy!" You scream. The pleasure is mind-numbing and you aren't even sure if you want him to stop or ask for more. You feel him grin against your skin as he pours more whiskey on your other breast and then continues the same torture on them. You keep howling and writhing helplessly beneath him, your core throbbing with utter need, words of pleas escaping your lips like a mantra.
Once he is satisfied and has left your skin feeling sticky, he takes one of the leftover ice cubes into his mouth and giving you a look of warning he presses it against your nipple.
"Shit!" You scream, legs thrashing around as your back arches from the bed. Your already hardened nipple feels achy and sore now as he teases your areola with the ice between his teeth before pressing it directly on the center of your nipple. As the ice comes in contact with your heated skin it starts to melt and drip down your breasts, making you shiver.
"J-Joshua, please."
"Hmm, not my name now, is it?" He hums, letting the now small, melting piece of ice drip down your chest as he reaches for a new one from the bucket. Taking it between his teeth once again, he gives you a cheeky smirk before pressing it against your other nipple, torturing you until it melts down completely and tears from your eyes trail down your temples.
"Daddy! Fuck! P-please—" as he lets the second cube melt into your skin, he encloses his lips around your over-sensitive nipple and gives it a hard suck, making your brain go haywire.
"Please! No more! P-please, just fuck me..." You whimper, your vision is blurred with tears, frustration getting to you. The urge to be filled with his cock, to reach your sweet release is stronger than ever.
"Sweet girl, begging so nicely," he hums and kisses you softly on the cheek, the action a complete one-eighty to his earlier one. "You need me here baby?" With your eyes shut, you feel the pads of his fingers brush against your clit and you moan loudly, "Yes! Yes, please! Please let me cum."
You hear a noncommittal hum, as if he's still considering it and you have the urge to scream. "Did you learn your lesson, sweets?" He asks and you have to blink as you process his words.
What is he talking about?
Your disorientated look amuses him. He pushes one of his fingers inside you and while his thumb strokes your clit he moves his face towards your dripping core, "Will you tease daddy again?" He asks, his voice low, eyes sparkling.
"No!" You immediately yell. "No! I'm so s-sorry, daddy. P-please, just let me come." Your hips chase his touch needily as you feel your orgasm approaching. Joshua seems to take mercy on you as he starts moving his finger inside you, his thumb stroking your clit harder while his tongue greedily laps up all your arousal. And that's all it takes for you to reach your release and drown in it.
Your scream rings in your ears as your toes curl and your whole body shudders, riding the most intense orgasm you've had yet. Tears burn your eyes and your throat hurts from all the screaming but you don't care, your mind lost in a place of pure lust.
"Good girl. Coming so nicely for me." He whispers, his voice slightly hoarse, his lips wet, eyes trained on your core hungrily.
As you start to come down from your release, Joshua moves off the bed, not before kissing your shoulder sweetly and shoving his fingers into your mouth to lick them clean. Then he stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, watching your helpless form with dark hunger in his eyes.
Ever so slowly, he starts peeling his navy blue blazer from his large shoulders, fully revealing the minty blue turtleneck underneath it. The material hugs his bulky form perfectly, especially around his chest and you mentally take a note to appreciate that part of him sometime later, when you are not tied up and desperate for dick.
"I can see how much you want me," his deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "You aren't even trying to hide it, dirty girl. You're dripping all over the bed." He observes, eyes trained between your legs as he peels off the turtleneck and bares his glorious body to your hungry eyes.
If you were dripping before, now you are flooding the bed. The sight of his broad, muscular chest and the sheer dominance radiating from his presence makes you whimper pathetically. And he isn't even fully naked yet.
"P-please, daddy. Please, f-fuck me." You beg.
"I will, sweets. I will." And that's a promise.
He unbuttons his pants and swiftly tugs them down with his boxers, finally revealing the star of the show. His cock is so hard it looks painful and you can see precum oozing out from the tip.
Subconsciously you lick your dry lips. Will he fuck your mouth now? Should you beg for it?
"I know what you are thinking, dirty girl," he muses as he crawls on top of you. "But not today," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss at the top of your pussy and stroking two fingers on your folds to collect your wetness. Keeping his eyes on you, he pops them into his mouth and sucks his fingers, obscene sounds echoing in the room that makes you writhe helplessly.
"P-please..."
Giving you a look of reassurance and promise he shifts so that his cock is positioned right in front of your opening. Tapping your sensitive core with the head of his member, he grunts and then slides inside, in a full thrust.
"Fuck!" You almost come at the overwhelming fullness. "Shit," he groans, eyes shutting down. "So fucking tight, sweets."
Joshua wastes no time, increasing his pace as he starts to rock the bed, his unbelievably thick length going in and out of you nonstop. Your mouth remains open, voice gone from all the screaming, only sobs and whimpers escaping you as you feel his thrusts in every nerve of your body. You know you're not far from coming.
"You are squeezing me so bad, baby. I should fuck you open with a dildo next time." He says and the sheer filthiness in his words makes your eyes roll back into your head as your toes curl at the mental image.
Before you can warn him, you are coming.
"Fuck, fuck!" You hear him hiss through the ringing in your ears as your whole body shakes in the impact of your orgasm. It's a miracle you haven't blacked out yet.
"Shit, holy shit." He groans, his moan drawing out as he feels your walls clenching around him repeatedly. "I'm coming too, fuck." He grunts, his pace faltering and through the mind-blowing haze of your orgasm, you manage to see his face, godlike and lost in the throes of pleasure; something that will be ingrained in your mind for years to come.
As you twitch and shake beneath him, you feel him release inside you, making you moan out loud at the warm feeling. His large body shudders on top of you, your hands holding onto his back tightly as he fills you up. Still not done with you, Joshua's hand moves into your clit and he wastes no time rubbing the swollen bud making you shriek so loud you think your voice will break.
"Joshua! Please! I can't— "
"One last time, sweets. One last time," he whispers and as if your body is on autopilot, a slave to his command, another wave of pleasure rushes through you that makes black spots appear in your vision. You feel hazy and achy all over but oh so sated and drowsy, feeling like you are floating on a bunch of clouds.
The next moments are blurry, you can barely sense some shifting around you, and the feel of a soft warm hand on your body as you are pulled into a deep, dark slumber.
-
"So...you are saying that he's not only ungodly handsome, unbelievably polite but also a freak in bed?" Kira whisper yells, clutching your shoulders and violently shaking you as she squeals. You cringe and look around the fairly empty grocery shop aisles and pray that no one heard her. "Keep it down, will you?" You grit your teeth, scowling at her but she doesn't listen. She keeps on giggling to herself while giving you a dirty look, making you regret spilling the beans to her.
You don't know why you did that. It has been a day since that magical night with Joshua and though your whipped ass now hurts significantly less, you couldn't forget about the act, the filthiness of it, the pleasure you got from it, the way you crave it again.
Confused and horny, you decided to spit it all out as soon as you two met today.
"Stop looking at me like that," you hiss, trying to ignore the dirty stare she's giving you and busying yourself with searching for the items you need.
"I gotta tell Naomi." She grins as she quickly fetches her phone out of her purse. "No!" You hiss, reaching for her phone, mortified, regretting waking up this morning but she dodges your hands and skips away as she quickly starts typing. There's a little struggle between the two of you but when you get your hands on the device the damage is already done.
Kira: ______ GOT HER ASS SPANKED BY HER DADDY!!!! SHE LOVED IT!!!
Naomi: AAAAAAA! WTFFFFF!!! I WANT DETAILS. HANG OUT AT MY PLACE NOW!
Groaning, you hand her the device back. "I didn't say I loved it."
"Oh but I could see it in your face!" She keeps grinning like a stupid idiot. "You had this longing, fond tone in your voice. You're literally glowing. You look like you're in love!"
Her words bring your entire world to a halt. The hand that was reaching for the milk carton stills midway as you become solid like a statue and let your friend's words wash over you.
No, no it can't be true.
"Holy shit, _____ I didn't— " Kira's voice is breathy. "You— you really are..."
"No!" You snap, head whipping towards her. "No! Of course not!" The words feel impotent and pathetic even to your ears but you stay adamant. "No, I'm not. It's not like that."
Kira stays silent, giving you a sad, almost pitiful look and you half expect her to start talking but she doesn't and for once, you are glad she shuts up.
The thought that you may have fallen in love with Joshua scares you to your bones. You cannot bring yourself to even think of it, much less acknowledge it. You just can't.
If life has taught you one thing, it is that love is a fickle thing and for some people, like yourself, it does more damage than good.
-
That weekend Joshua sends his car to drop you off at his place to get ready as he announces that he's taking you out for the evening.
You are a little surprised when you first receive his text and you're even more shocked when you go to his penthouse and find out a dress has already been picked for you, with shoes and all other accessories.
"Wow..." You're a little dazed with all the arrangement and wondering what is the occasion. Joshua gives you a sheepish smile when he sees your dazzled look.
"Where are we going?" You ask.
"You'll see. I'll leave you to get ready." He answers, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek and heading out the door. You gaze at the beautiful red garment with slight hesitation. Joshua has been weird the last few days; his texts seemed a little off and now that you've seen him in person, he looks a little jittery and nervous and he didn't answer your question. It makes you wonder if everything is okay.
Maybe it's a problem at the company? But that doesn't really explain his behavior. If it was regarding his business, he would have been serious and collected, not like this.
Despite the uneasy feeling in your gut, you start getting ready. A while later, when you are done with your makeup and putting on your earrings, there's a knock at the door, before Joshua steps into the room.
Oh wow.
He's dressed simple yet expensive; in an off-white suit over a loose white tee, a Dior chain dangling around his neck. His hair is half brushed back and a half left to cover his forehead and there is this ethereal glow on his face that makes your heart skip a few beats.
You've to bitterly remind yourself not to fall for him. Even more, that is.
"Hey." He gives you a soft smile and you almost melt into a puddle on the floor.
"Hi," your voice is breathy.
"You look... absolutely gorgeous." He takes determined steps towards you, eyes going over your form before coming to stop at your face. "So fucking beautiful." He whispers, his thumb reaching out to brush against your cheek and your heart quite literally leaps out of your chest. The subtle scent of his cologne doesn't help either. He smells fresh and inviting and all the good things in the world. You are scared for a second that you might pass out.
"Thanks." You whisper, shyly averting your eyes from him and trying to get your racing heart under control.
With one hand Joshua tilts your face up and before you can blink, he kisses you, gently pressing his lips against yours. Your heart beats so loudly you're scared he can hear it and the urge to just give up all your barriers and break down in front of him and tell him everything in your heart is too much for you to bear.
So before you do that, you take a small step back that puts distance between your lips. Joshua looks at you, confused as his brows knit together.
"I...I'm sorry if I made— " He starts.
"No! I just...my lipstick is gonna get messy," you're quick to interject him, voice jittery. He gazes at you for a brief second before laughing softly, "Oh yeah, right. Sorry. Well then, come out when you're finished. The car's waiting."
He gives you his infamous sweet smile before turning on his heel and walking out of the room. You don't realize you were holding a breath until he's gone and you feel air rush back into your lungs as you collapse onto the stool in front of the mirror.
After you've finished dressing up, Joshua guided you to the car, his arm casually slinging to yours. A quiet, somewhat tense car ride later, you find yourself in front of what can be the most beautiful place you've ever seen. It's a grandiloquent fine dining restaurant and just by looking at the beautiful, antique European architecture of the building, the gilded marbled pillars and crystal chandeliers, your breath is stolen away.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Joshua asks, a smirk on his face.
You can only nod, as you gape at the marvelous place in wonder and let Joshua lead you through. You look completely out of place; while everyone else looks calm and habituated, talking and eating, you keep turning your head in various directions, eyes wide open and small gasps leaving you every now and then.
But you're yet to be surprised as a finely dressed man leads you both to a pair of double doors which open to reveal the huge balcony, in the middle of which sits a candle-lit table with two chairs.
Suddenly, all your breath wheezes out of your lungs and you turn into stone. This feels too intimate. Way too intimate for a sugar daddy and his sugar baby. Your throat dries up.
"Let's sit," Joshua ushers you towards the table as he helps you sit down. You've turned stoic, your heart pounding against your ribcage as you start getting an idea of where this is going.
While a part of you really, really likes it, the larger part, the part of you that always puts up walls to protect yourself goes into fight mode.
You can't trust yourself enough for this. You can't trust the universe enough for this. This all feels like a cruel game, a game in which you are bound to lose.
"Do you like it?" Joshua asks softly.
"Yeah. It's beautiful." Your tone is rather poignant. "I've to say this was not what I was expecting."
Joshua frowns. "What were you expecting?"
"I don't know. Maybe just another business event or something." You shrug, your hand motioning around vaguely. Joshua is silent for a bit, watching you with careful eyes.
"Why does it feel like you don't like this?"
His voice is just a breath above a whisper and you almost think you weren't meant to hear it. The hurt is clear in his voice and it absolutely wrecks you, making you want to scream out loud how much you love it all. How much you love this.
How much you love him.
You feel nauseous. The fears and traumas buried deep within you surface all at once and you have this urge to run away from everything forever.
"I—" whatever you wanted to say dies in your throat as you meet Joshua's expectant, slightly pained eyes. Your lips press into a thin line as you remain silent. A waiter arrives with a bottle of wine, breaking the moment between the two of you. He asks if you are ready to order and you shake your head, pretending to busy yourself with the menu and Joshua dismisses him.
Your eyes scan over the words but your brain processes none of it, too busy overthinking this situation. You are tired, burdened and oh how much you want to cave in, finally give up, retract your weapons and let him do whatever he wants to with you but you're scared to death.
A courageous person would do that. They would fight for the person they love, struggle to acquire anything good life threw their way. But you are not that person.
All your life you've been hiding, running and burying things that scared you. That's the only way you know how to survive. So you make your mind up.
"Joshua," you utter his name, closing the menu and sitting up straighter to meet his eyes. "I can't do this."
The man is in the middle of pouring you wine when he stills, his eyes fleeting over to you, confused at first, then worried. He sets down the wine bottle and murmurs, "What do you mean?"
"I can't do this. I- can't...This is too much," you breathe, hating how your emotions choke you up. Joshua looks like a puppy that has been kicked. His eyes search for yours anxiously. "You don't like this place?" The softness in his voice tugs at your heartstrings and you feel yourself getting more annoyed.
"No!" You snap. "It's not about the place. It's about this. What we're doing. I... can't. I can't do this, please..." You're fighting to keep your tears at bay. The pain and helplessness in Joshua's eyes are unmistakable. "If you want we can just go home..." He's still clinging onto that stupid hope, ignoring the real meaning behind your words even though he knows it well.
God, why did it have to be this man who fell for you? And why do keep feeling the same for him?
You can't see him in any more distress or you're going to end up running into his arms, soothing away all his pain. So you inhale deeply and stand up. "Joshua. I can't give you more. I'm sorry but this is too much for me. I know what you are expecting. And I can't give you that. I'm sorry. This relationship has no place for love."
He stands up with you too and watches you with wide, panicked eyes. "Let's talk about it, _____. You don't have to give me anything you don't want to." His voice is feather-light and it once again almost breaks your resolve.
"No," you shake your head. "I can't stay with you. This...you— you overwhelm me. This...what we're doing right now, I can't do this. This is too much for me." You swallow and blink away the tears that are on the verge of falling.
Joshua watches you in silence for a while and as you reach for your purse, you hear him whisper. "I'm sorry, ______. Please."
And the dam breaks.
"No!" You are yelling now. "Don't apologize! Please! This is not your fault! It's mine. I can't do this Joshua. I can't give you what you want. I am not the person you need me to be. I— I can't...I'm sorry, Joshua."
"But you already are. You are what I need."
All the air leaves your lungs. The feelings you've been experiencing so far increase tenfold. He speaks the words that you never, ever thought someone would say to you in this lifetime and now you're at your wit's end. His admission makes this all so much real.
This has to end.
"No, I'm not! Please leave me alone!" You yell, hiccuping midway as you scramble to sling your bag over your shoulder and without even sparing a glance at him, you run out of the terrace.
Even though Joshua calls for you from behind you tune his voice out and keep taking determined steps until you're out and far away from the restaurant.
It's better this way when you can still walk away from him. When you are not madly, deeply in love with him. Who are you kidding? That man made his way into your heart the very first time you saw him.
It's ripping you apart, leaving him, but it's not as painful as when he eventually abandons you. They all leave. There is no happy ending. Not for you. Not in this life.
You're doing this for yourself. You're doing this for yourself. You keep chanting in your head as you walk out of the restaurant, feet briskly moving against the pavement as you step further away from that lavish place.
Fetching your phone out as means of distraction, you find messages from Naomi and Kira, wishing you well on your date and whatnot. You scoff, shaking your head humourlessly as you try not to break into tears. Instead, you type out a message in the group chat.
Can I come over? Let's meet at Kira's place.
You shut your phone off as soon as they start sending concerned messages. You can't talk right now. You need to gather your shit together and just breathe for a few moments.
You've probably done the stupidest thing on this planet and broke an innocent man's heart so you need to have a few moments to yourself. You walk aimlessly around the city, the cold air making you shiver a little but you welcome it as it is a good distraction.
When you arrive at a random park, you find yourself a bench and sit down to watch the dark sky and the soft twinkle of the stars. And it seems like there's no escape for you as you are suddenly overwhelmed with a certain memory regarding Joshua.
It was at beginning of your relationship when you had just started to stay over at his place during the weekends. One night after dinner, he requested you to sit with him on his balcony as he offered you a glass of wine.
High above the ground, closer to the sky, you sat with him in utter silence except for a soft melody playing in the background from a speaker. None of you said a word but the moment was nowhere near awkward but purely magical. You had spent hours simply stargazing which was odd to do in the bustling city. For some reason, on that magical night, the sky was filled with more stars than you had ever seen in your life.
Joshua kept refilling your glasses and exchanged soft, coquettish smiles, sometimes sweet touches with you that sent your heart in a frenzy. It was a night of silence, peace and magic and now that the moment is a far memory, you realize something.
That was probably the time you really fell in love with Joshua.
The realization brings tears to your eyes as you watch the sky now, alone and broken-hearted and like a cruel game of fate, the sky is full of stars today, too.
Whatever was left of your heart breaks even more as you try to wipe the tears and keep that at bay.
This moment right now is painful and absolutely heart wrenching but this is also a moment of clarity for you, you realize. You're a coward for running from the only good thing in your life but somehow, now you're strong enough to cut off a part of you, the cancerous part that you've been dragging for far too long.
So you quickly call the person from your caller list and wait for them to pick up.
"Finally changed your mind?" Is the first thing your sister says.
You clench your fists and bite your tongue to stop yourself from lashing out. "I'm calling to let you know that I won't receive your call ever again. I don't want anything to do with you. Or mom. I'm done."
"What?" She shrieks. "Listen, who do you think you are— "
"Aren't you tired too?" You whisper, finally breaking. "How long will this go on? It's been like this since dad died. We're a family. We're supposed to protect each other, love each other. But we're killing each other here and I'm tired. Let's just stop, Melissa."
There's silence on the other end of the line.
You continue. "I let mom go when she left us and refused to be helped. She's a lost cause and we know it. You can't keep sending her money. Well, if you want to, then do but I won't. I'm tired, Melissa."
"So you are dumping her on me?" She accuses.
"No, I'm not." You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "I'm telling you what I'm going to do. I'm telling you that you can do whatever you want to. Send her money, keep in touch with her or don't, I don't care. I won't accept your calls from now on and I hope you won't call too, Melissa."
"Fuck you, _____."
A lone teardrop pours down your cheek. "You were not the best sister but I understand you a little now. You were young and you had your own life. Still, you didn't kick me out when mom left. Thank you for that. And I'm sorry. If we meet again, let it be under better circumstances."
"Listen here, you fuck—"
"Goodbye, Melissa."
As you stare at the dark screen of your mobile, you feel like a huge burden has been lifted from your shoulders. You feel lighter and it feels easier to breathe. So you do.
You just breathe.
You inhale a lungful of air, despite it being chilly and try to put everything past you. Getting up from the bench you walk back towards the main road where you hail a cab to take you to Kira's place.
-
It has never been this quiet with the three of you. Whenever you all gathered it would be pure chaos but the scenery today is something you never expected to face.
Kira and Naomi sit on both of your sides, their face solemn as they stare at the wine glasses in their hands, much like what you are doing.
You came here and told them everything, crying your eyes out as you relieved the entire evening once again. They listened and even they got teary eyed which prolonged another crying session.
Now you sit on the sofa, drinking wine to knock yourself out but somehow that seems like a burden too. Now that you have no more tears left to cry there's a chilling hollow settling into your bones and you feel like a shell, an empty person, completely vacant inside.
"Why do I feel like I'm the one who broke up a 10 year old relationship or something?" Kira whispers, staring ahead blankly.
There's a pregnant pause in the air.
Her words sit heavy on your heart.
Naomi, who has been totally silent until now, shares her two cents. "______...what if...what if you read way too much into this? What if he just took you out on a simple dinner? What if he doesn't, you know...want you like that?"
A dry chuckle escapes your lips. "Naomi," you sigh. "You should have seen the look in his eyes. He— he looked at me with so much hope, like I'm his entire world or something." You shake your head, trying to rid the image of his sparkling eyes from your brain. They will haunt you even on your deathbed.
You set the glass down with a rather loud clank. "I mean— I knew something was up...he was being so weird the past few days. But I— I just couldn't imagine that he'd actually do something like this..." You rub your temples.
"What the fuck is wrong with that man?" Now you're yelling like a madwoman. "That guy could have anyone he wants but he chooses me! A good-for-nothing, weird and bitchy and broke college student! That's suspicious, right? He really can't really love me, can he?"
Your friends give you judgemental, you've completely lost your mind looks. "First of all," Kira starts in her no-nonsense tone, which is rare. "You are not good for nothing, weird or bitchy. Broke? Yes. But who the fuck cares? We're all broke. If anything, _____, you're a person full of dreams and ambitions and love. We have received so much love from you, even though you didn't get that from your family. I know you don't let many get close to you but the few of us who have been blessed with your presence know and feel and see what a truly great person you are."
Your friend's words close up your throat and suddenly, you feel like you've swallowed a sock. You hate this. You hate when they praise you like this and hate how much you want to believe them, how much you crave these words.
"Seriously," Naomi says. "You've never denied any of our requests. You've been there for us, for me, always. Even when I couldn't finish my history report, you came to my place in the middle of the night just to be my moral support. You give and give and give, ______ even though you have never received enough, you give, unknowingly."
"Guys..." Fresh tears start accumulating in your eyes. "You're my friends, I'm supposed to do all that." You mumble.
"No, you're not. You could've been a bitch of a friend and used us to get what you needed. And you literally forgave your sister for all her bullshit. " Kira rolls her eyes. "Give yourself a little credit, ______. You had a tough life but you've still managed to become this amazing person and you've been giving selflessly for us."
"No wonder Joshua would fall for you." Naomi playfully pokes your temple. "You're incredibly dense but you're a lovely person and an even lovelier company. You definitely made Joshua feel something that he didn't feel before to make him fall for you."
A lone tear trails down your cheek as you fiddle with your fingers.
Kira downs her glass in one go and shuffles next to you. "Now that we are being honest and spilling whatever the fuck is in our hearts, lemme say something else. You're a pussy. You're a pussy for leaving that man, a simp of a man like that."
You narrow your eyes at your friend's words and from beside you, Naomi snorts. "Yeah, I agree with that."
You turn to glare at her. So they are ganging up on you now?
"Seriously. Joshua is like a guy straight out of a romance novel or some shit. And I'm not talking about his billionaire extravaganza or whatever. I'm talking about his personality. Yes, I've never met him but he sounds so pure and gentle— "
"Except when he's in bed, of course," Kira interrupts with a giggle which tells you she's pretty drunk.
Before Naomi can continue her monologue, you stand up and hold your hands up in surrender. "Okay! Okay! I know what a great guy he is, alright? You don't have to kiss his ass like this. Besides, whose team are you on?"
"Team Joshua, sorry," Kira replies in an instant, leaning back into the sofa and giving you a cocky smile.
"Me too." Naomi gives you a sheepish smile.
"You two are traitors, you know?" You hiss at them.
"We're the speakers of the harsh truths. And I will say one more thing." Kira holds her hand up as if asking permission. "You should try."
"Try what?"
"To win him back."
You stare at her, incredulous, utterly baffled and if she had told you to run over an old lady or something, you'd be less surprised.
"You're drunk, Kira." You sigh.
"She's completely right." Naomi is quick to defend. "Who knows, _____? Maybe you still have a chance. Maybe this decision will change your life forever. Yes, there's nothing set in stone but I think you've tortured yourself enough. And this one time, just this once, you should chase after something. I mean, it is fucking clear you two love each other. Why are you putting the two of you through so much pain?"
You swallow. It seems like there's no ground beneath you, you're free falling and falling into a deep dark abyss where her words echo around and feel like a cold bucket of water on your skin.
"I don't know. I'm scared." Your cracks as you realize how much you want to see Joshua, just once more. You want to tell him how sorry you are and how much you love him, how he has become your hope and your entire world in such a short time.
You really are a pussy.
"Oh, babe." Kira quickly comes to wrap her arms around you, followed by Naomi. "It's okay. It's perfectly normal. But it shouldn't stop you."
"Let me call you a cab," Naomi is already moving away and rushing for the door.
"Wait- are you crazy? I didn't even— " you're hushed as Kira puts a finger on your lips. "Shut up. Get in the car and go to him. Talk to him. If he doesn't give you another chance, my name isn't Kira and I vow to pay for your rent for the rest of our lives."
You can't help but snort. "Be prepared."
She rolls her eyes. "But. If he does take you back, which he will, you shall attend my wedding wearing a tiger costume."
Before you can protest, Naomi rushes back in. "Hey! The cab's here."
"Go get him, tiger!"
As you are heading for the car, you hear Hoshi, Kira's boyfriend, emerge from his room in which he had been cooped up until now, giving the three of you privacy. "Hey, babe! Who are you calling tiger other than me?"
"Oh shut up and take me to bed, tiger."
You shake your head, a smile on your lips as you feel a little hope bloom in your chest.
Maybe you still have a chance.
-
This is stupid. So unbelievable stupid and embarrassing. No one in their right mind would do this.
As you stand in front of Joshua's front door tipsy, tired and slightly shivering from the cold, you realize how badly this could go.
But since you've come this far, you might as well just go with it because the cab fare was definitely not cheap.
Your finger which has been hovering over the calling bell button with a gap of millimeters finally presses it and you go completely rigid, waiting for Joshua to either open the door or at least receive your call on the intercom.
Looks like he has decided you don't deserve to put your foot in his place no more because there's a beep alerting you that he has received the call and is currently watching you through the screen.
You realize you've never been this nervous in your life as you stare at the intercom camera, wide eyed with an embarrassed, awkward smile plastered on your face.
Shit. Get yourself together before he decides to end the call.
"H-hi," your voice is so pathetic to your own ears that you want to punch the wall and howl. "It's me...as you can see..."
Your subconscious facepalms and starts to bury herself into an imaginary ground. You wish you could do the same.
"I'm sorry, I— " You exhale a deep breath. You don't even know what you are trying to say. Rubbing your hands on your arms to provide some warmth, you take several deep breaths.
You can do this. You've got this one chance. You can't fuck this up.
This time, determined, you focus your eyes back on the camera. "As you can see, I'm really bad at this and talking to a camera feels even weird. So I'm just gonna sit down here and talk. Please just listen to me, that's all I ask of you."
You make yourself comfortable on the ground as you lean against the wall just by the door to his penthouse. As soon as your ass hits the floor, you shiver due to its coldness.
You'll probably die of pneumonia but it'll be so worth it.
Inhaling a lungful of air, you start. "I'm s-sorry. I'm sorry about a lot of things, Joshua, especially about tonight. I did the most horrible, despicable, atrocious thing ever and I probably broke your heart but you have to know I didn't mean it and I didn't want to do it."
You let out a breath, blinking repeatedly to stop the tears from falling.
"I'm so, so stupid, Joshua. And I'm such a coward. You're the best thing that has happened to me in this hell of a life and I've always pushed you away. But I never wanted to do it. I never wanted to let you go. I wanted to be close to you. I longed for you more and more every day and that sacred me. I'm s-so s-scared, Joshua." Somewhere along the line, your voice cracks and a quiet sob ripples out of your throat. Clearing your voice, you start again.
"You know, I've always been left behind. The people that were supposed to love me, didn't and that made me realize that if they didn't love me, how could someone else do that? I know this sounds like bullshit but I've always been scared of this. I hated the thought of being abandoned or seen as a burden or a charity. And I kept making things worse in my head even though the reality was far from it."
"The time I spent with you was magical, Joshua. Every moment of it. Even though I didn't deserve any of it, you gave me so much and made me feel so appreciated. I can't thank you enough for that. And I can't apologize enough for what I've done to you today. But still, I'm here and I'll say I'm sorry. I'll say it a million times not to make you forgive me but to show you that I mean it." You breathe in deeply.
There has been utter silence and you would think he left but there has been no sound from the device to let you know he hung up.
Once again, gathering all your courage, you speak. "I know you'll probably never want to see my face again but just know that..." You stop as you have to speak the three words that have been on the tip of your tongue for ages now. The words that you've always wanted to tell him yet you didn't. Well, now's your chance.
"I love you, Joshua. I love you so fucking much I only wish I could explain. I love you more than anything in the entire world. And I'm sorry for not see saying this earlier, when the moment was right, when you were in front of me. But I need you to know, Joshua. I love you."
It takes you a while to realize that you're crying but you're surprised to understand that the tears are not from any pain but from the huge relief you feel, how your heart feels lighter and how free and liberated you feel.
So you let the tears fall, crying your heart out because you are leaving your old self here, right at this moment. No matter what happens from now on, however Joshua treats you, you will remember this feeling and you will hold it dearest in your heart.
As you are in the middle of your crying session, you hear something akin to a door opening, somewhere far off so you don't open your eyes to check. But then you hear footsteps and some movement beside and as you open your eyes and look up, you see him.
Joshua's blank stare is the first thing that greets you as he keeps eyeing you with a straight face, no emotion whatsoever. Quickly you wipe away your tears in an attempt to look less pathetic— not that it helps and prepare yourself to be kicked to the curb.
Instead, he surprises you by holding out his hand. With wide eyes and like a deer stuck in headlights, you gape at him and then his hand, before you realize he's offering it to help you stand up. With a shaky hand, you reach for it and Joshua pulls you up from the cold ground and right into his warm chest.
The moment is something straight out of a movie as the force of his tug sends you crashing into his strong chest. For a moment, you hesitate but when you see he makes no attempt to push you away, you bury your face into his soft sweater. His arms wrap around your back, rubbing it up and down as he comments on how cold you are.
However, you can't bring yourself to care for anything else. This moment right here is your heaven and even though the thought that this may be the last time you get to feel his body next to you splits your heart open, you don't let it distract you. Instead, you inhale deeply into his chest and let his clean scent wash over you, ingraining it into the deepest part of your brain as you let your body go lax for a moment.
For the first time since being with him, you drop all your guards and simply let your bodies mold into one, uncaring of everything else and just feeling him, baring yourself to him. The only thing you hate is that it took you this long.
As you are having your moment, Joshua suddenly grabs below your ass and then as if you are a child, carries you inside his house, cradling your body next to his despite your protests.
"You need to warm up." He states, voice devoid of emotion as he drops you onto the living room sofa and heads towards the bedroom. From there, he returns with a fluffy white blanket and drapes it around your shoulders.
You can only look at him in wonder as he does so. When you expect him to sit down next to you, or maybe say something, he disappears into the kitchen, leaving your dumbfounded state alone.
What is he doing? Why is he ignoring everything you had spilled? Did he not hear it? Does he not care anymore? Or is this a nice way of kicking you out of his life forever?
Anxiously you chew on your lip, wrapping the blanket around you tighter. Joshua returns right then, holding a steaming mug in one hand which seems to be tea. His gesture tugs at your heartstrings and you have this urge to start crying once again.
"Drink." It's a command as he holds the mug in front of you. You oblige, reaching for the mug and taking a small, careful sip before cupping it with your arms to feel the warmth. Now that you are inside you realize just how cold you had been.
Joshua sits next to you and almost subconsciously, you scoot away a little, afraid to come in contact with him for some reason. If he notices, he says nothing but stares at you with an unreadable expression, one that you've never seen on him and it makes you worry.
What is he thinking?
Swallowing, you take another sip of the tea and then another hoping to hear something from him. But he stays silent and you realize your worst fear has come true. He's done with you. He is going to kick you out as soon as you are done drinking this tea.
So you try to save yourself from further embarrassment. Setting the mug on the coffee table, you shrug the blanket off your shoulders and start getting up. "Well then...I'll get go— "
You're immediately pulled back into the sofa by a strong arm. Joshua's eyes blaze with an emotion you've never seen before; fiery, accusatory, annoyed as he hisses. "What is wrong with you!"
His reaction confuses you. What does he mean?
"What?" You blink, perplexed. "I— I just thought that I should go home— "
"Will you stop overthinking for once? Did I ask you to leave?" This time you hear the hurt in his tone more than the anger and you immediately sew your lips shut. Joshua rakes a frustrated hand through his hair and exhales loudly. "God, _____...." He shakes his head, probably at a loss for words.
"I was gonna leave because you were not saying anything and I thought you didn't want me to stick around..." You mumble.
"God. I was letting you warm up and feel comfortable before I addressed the elephant in the room." He glares at you.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, a part of you feels giddy. You've never seen Joshua angry before so this is a sight. And something tells you, you shouldn't poke him right now and just be quiet. You whisper. "Sorry."
Joshua sighs, his shoulders visibly slugging and he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. You have this urge to reach out to him and smooth out the lines of worry on his face.
"You're so... stubborn, ______." He murmurs, more to himself than you. "God...the least you could have done was listen to me instead of ditching me like that."
You wince at the memory. That, undoubtedly, was the stupidest decision you ever made. You're about to, once again, apologize but Joshua starts talking.
"_______." His eyes lock with yours. "You're such an amazing person and it is my fault for not making you realize it and letting you think so little of yourself."
You're opening your mouth to interrupt but he holds up his finger and begrudgingly, you stop. How can he say that?
"But now that you're here, I'll say something I've always wanted to say. You're the best thing that could have happened to me and I wish I could show you how much I mean it. I sometimes honestly have a hard time grasping the fact that you are real and you are in my life, ______. I've found myself attracted to you from the first day we met at the restaurant. You're different, you're intriguing. You've shielded your heart from the world yet you have this lively innocence surrounding you and it drew me in. Whenever I looked at you— even thought of you, I felt at peace and I felt better. I didn't realize I was lonely until you came along, ______. You make the dullest things interesting. You make my world so fucking colorful. You bring life to me and the thought of you leaving kills me."
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
You're crying. It's impossible to not cry after hearing those words, paired with the look in his eyes, the raw emotions shining in them. You have to stifle your sobs to let him speak and not end up wailing once again.
Gosh, you never knew you have so many tears.
One of Joshua's hands reaches out to wipe a trail of tear from your cheek. "I want you and everything that comes with you. Every tear, every pain, every scar, every little thing you have, I want it. I need it. I need you just as you are, ______. And I would do anything to protect you. I really hope you will start believing that."
You can't help it anymore. You're flinging yourself into his arms, ugly crying, fat tears rolling down your face as you try to literally bury yourself in his chest. "Oh, Joshua."
"Shh. It's okay. Gosh, you're such a crybaby." The tenderness in his voice laced with emotions, his soft stroking on your hair— it all makes you turn into mush for this man and you swear to yourself as long as you have life in your body, you will never ever hurt this man again nor let anybody hurt him.
"I love you too, _____. You were silly to think I'd never want to see you again." He whispers into your hair. You're moving to look up at him but he holds you tightly, keeping you in his arms as he continues speaking. "My heart broke when you left, I'm not going to lie. But I was mad at myself. I couldn't make you comfortable enough to— "
"Joshua, no." Your tone is adamant as you push against his chest and scowl at him. "Please, please don't say that. What I did today evening was a horrible decision on my part. You had nothing to do with it. As always, I let my intrusive thoughts win but it won't be happening from now on." Your hands reach forward to cup his cheek. "I love you. I've always loved you and I always will."
"I love you too." He gives you the softest of smiles and fireworks go off in your heart. You want to scream, cry and yell at the top of your lungs but you only manage to grin from ear to ear. Joshua mirrors it before leaning towards you, eyes going over to your lips.
Your breath stutters.
Softly, oh so slowly, he attaches his lips to yours while cupping both of your cheeks. Your hands move to clutch his biceps as you completely melt against his mouth, the familiar feel and taste of him soothing away all the pain from the last couple of hours.
Wanting more, you shift and move on top of his thighs, kissing him deeply and urgently. He reciprocates and soon it's a battle of teeth and tongue. When you both pull apart for air, Joshua has this flushed glow on his face, his eyes shining with so much love and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. If there was a jetpack attached to your heart it would take off to space right now.
"I'm so lucky to have you." You say thoughtlessly. He laughs softly at that but you're completely serious. "I can't believe you forgave me after what I did. I was such an asshole."
"No, you weren't." He frowns before tapping your temple. "You just said no more intrusive thoughts. So stop that."
Right.
You manage a sheepish smile as he once again engulfs you into his huge chest. You snuggle into him, getting comfortable and letting your mind simply drift. He holds you in silence, occasionally kissing your hair while he rubs your back softly. You feel yourself drifting off, the absolute comfort and safety of his arms making you sleepy. Not to mention you've had the most eventful evening of your life.
Just then, he speaks. "You're so cute. Falling asleep on me, sweets. But there's something you're forgetting."
"Hmm?"
"I think you deserve a punishment for what you did this evening."
The seductive growl in his voice suddenly removes all the sleep from your system and you're wide awake and anticipating. Your surprised, slightly excited gaze makes him smirk.
"I thought we're now past that daddy and baby relationship." You faux pout but he sees through your act. His eyes narrow. "So you don't want a punishment?"
"Hmm." You pretend to think. "Does it involve spanking?"
The cocky grin on his face is panty melting.
"And much more." It's a promise that lightens up your whole body.
"Lead the way, daddy." You whisper in his ear, making sure he feels your breath. Joshua groans, pushing you onto your back on the sofa. "Such a brat till the end." He smashes his lips against yours, stroking your tongue with his as he holds your hands above your head together. "Let's do something about that, hmm? What's your safeword, sweets?"
"Gentleman."
1 year later
It's the same place. The historic one where you ditched Joshua almost a year ago and ran like Cinderella.
It's surreal how quickly a year has passed. You've got your degree and started your job as a junior editor at a rising publishing company, all with Joshua by your side. Joshua has also become good friends with Kira and Naomi, showing up with you on hangouts every now and then. They're absolute fans of him, giving him undivided attention and spilling every embarrassing secret about you.
Kira also got engaged to Hoshi last month and as a congratulatory gift, Joshua got them tickets to the Maldives. You wanted to reprimand him for such an expensive gift but Kira's childish giddiness made you let him off easy.
Overall, life has been good. You've worked on yourself and now you're more accepting of everything that has been given to you. You have learned to focus more on the positive and let go of the negatives.
After that eventful night, your sister did call you but you didn't pick up and then she sent you messages giving all types of threats. She also dropped by your apartment when you weren't there so that was fortunate.
Not long after, you changed your number and after many requests from Joshua, you moved in with him. Now you've grown so accustomed to living with him that you don't know how you survived before.
Being back here, in this beautiful restaurant is quite exciting for you as you plan on doing the things you missed out on last time, like drinking the wine and eating the fancy food. The last time you were here definitely didn't go well but you're adamant about enjoying this night and replacing the bad memories with the good.
Joshua, however, has been stressed since he got in the car. You were the one to mention revisiting this restaurant and though he didn't deny your request, he definitely looks like he has PTSD, you now understand.
"Hey. I'm not walking out on you again." You reach for his hand over the table. He looks dashing, his dark hair pushed back, dressed in a pristine white shirt and dark grey suit and you can't wait to get home and take it all off.
His smile is a little nervous. "Sure." He mocks and you laugh. "If it makes you feel any better, you can walk out on me tonight. Do give me a moment to take off my heels though because I'll be chasing you."
That earns you a gentle laugh from him and you immediately feel better. If you ever got your hands on a time machine, you'd visit yourself that night and smack that bitch until she came to her senses. That'd be quite a scene.
Soon the waiter arrives and takes your orders before leaving you two to yourself once again. You take pictures of the beautiful place and the equally gorgeous night sky, before asking Joshua to take some photos of you.
"Joshua?" You call for him, thrice. The man seems to be lost somewhere else as he burns holes into the table. "Huh?" He blinks as you snap your fingers.
You sigh. "Shua, what's wrong? Is this about last time? I swear— "
"No! No, damn it." He says, a little too forcefully, making you concerned. What's wrong with him? Should you be getting worried? Is he... breaking up with you?
"Joshua?" Your voice suddenly becomes shaky. "Did I do something wrong? I— "
"Fuck. I can't wait anymore. Let's get this over with." He suddenly hisses and stands up, coming to stand by your chair. With alarmed eyes, you watch him, his face extremely serious, eyes focused but also a little nervous.
What on earth is the matter?
The next second, he drops onto one knee and your heart flies out of your chest, quite literally. You gasp and cover your mouth with both hands as he produces a little black box from his pocket and holds it open, revealing a beautiful, glittering diamond ring.
You're too stunned to speak.
"______." He breathes, eyes focused on you, his voice just a little shaky. "I love you. I fell in love with you the first day I saw you and I fall in love with you more and more every day. You're the sun of my world, my light in the dark and there is no life for me without you. So please, will you do the honor of marrying me and loving me forever?"
By now, hot tears are rolling down your face, probably ruinning your makeup but you just can't stop. You hiccup, trying to give him an answer but you can't. So you just nod your head aggressively and hold out your hand.
He gives you a fond smile and you can see the tears in his eyes shine as he puts the ring on your finger.
A perfect fit. Just like him.
"You didn't exactly say yes, you know." He teases as he stands up. You roll your eyes, wiping away the tears and pulling him closer by the lapels and kissing him deeply.
"Yes, Joshua. It's always a yes."
A/N 2: More than any other fic, your reviews and thoughts will be especially appreciated for this one as I've had a hard time finishing it due to writer's block and in general lack of motivation. But after doing so, I'm really happy and satisfied with the outcome. These characters are really dear to my heart so it would mean the world to me if you all left a little message. As always, thank you.
Taglist: @coupsiekkuma @haomullet @haven-cove @woozarts @fairiewonu @qy61 @lilactangerine @wheeinz @melocular @soonchanshua @chvngbin @kp0p10v3r2 @mommymilkers6000 @silent-potato23-blog @luv4cheol @namjoonslefttiddie @joshualvr @yangjeongincertifiedsimp @vernongyu @jeongiegram @hnsw04 @tfmingyu @thisuseriscravingdeath (forgive me if I've forgotten to tag someone 🙏)
⇢ part of the modus operandi series!
synopsis: cold cases were heeseung’s specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband’s.
genre: established relationship au ; strained lovers. angst, fluff, smut
pairing: lieutenant!lee heeseung x therapist!housewife!reader (i love plot twists)
word count: 39.5k
rating: 18+. minors please do not interact.
warnings: for realism purposes, everyone is aged up (22-29 ; not my favorite but it is what it is.) strained marriage/relationship dynamics, workaholic dynamics, toxic relationship dynamics that are not meant to be romanticized. talks of therapy, food mentions, birth control mention, talks of having a family. detailed descriptions of disappearances, missing persons, etc. y/n feels neglected (girl STAND UP). sex as a temporary fix, swearing, alcohol, smoking. unrequited love, lots of pining on both ends. smut warnings: multiple scenes (two and a half...just read it), heeseung has a thing for y/n in business attire, petnames (baby, babe, princess, etc.,) unexplored daddy kink, heavy petting, frottage, slight body worship (m&f.rec.) nipple play, light spanking, oral (m&f. rec), squirting, lots of pillowtalk, marking, dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, slight degrading/praise, handholding during sex (because i'm soft so what), switch!hee x switch!yn, unprotected sex (don't do this), doggy, missionary (not a babeyun fic if it's not missionary and body worship, i fear) creampie (i hate this word so bad.) i think that's it!
what to listen to: falling - harry styles ; tu falta de querer - mon laferte ; seasons - dawn, gemini ; stardust - ben webster ; my foolish heart - bill evans trio ; no song without you - honne ; take me - miso ; say - keshi ; may i have this dance - francis & the lights ; unchained melody - the righteous brothers ; can't take my eyes off you - frankie valli ; can this morning never end - davin kingston ; too good - christian kuria ; u send me swingin' - mint condition ; you and me - lifehouse.
author's note: it's finally fucking here, SEVEN MONTHS later. i cannot believe my life took such a turn that my original timeline of getting these all out back out to back turned into me ghosting the internet. this being said, i really hope you guys enjoy the push and pull that are heeseung and y/n in this. they're insane but they're in love and that's all that matters. special thanks to my dearest @enhaven for all her encouragement and kind words. star dividers by @/saradika here on tumblr!
Friday, 9:23PM.
"Late night?"
Your voice has always been a comfort to him. The way you cooked dinner every night, the way you washed his hair for him, the way you laid in bed with him – it was all comforting. Your soft eyes, eyes that hadn't seen an inch of a crime scene. Your gentle hands, hands that would never cock a gun and aim to kill.
You were home to him, and he hated that he couldn't leave his work at the precinct. He always brought it with him, anywhere he went…anywhere you were.
"Not really. Caught a session with Dr. Bahng, I'm sorry about dinner." He loosens his tie, trying to ignore the way your eyes follow his fingers. He takes his wedding ring off for work – insisting it snags on the gloves when gathering evidence, that he never wants to sully it with such grime. "How was your night?"
Your sigh may be inward, but his eyes catch everything. Every frustrated twitch of your brows, the way your nose crinkles at the half-assed apology. Your eyes linger on the linoleum floor, and he fights the urge to pull you into his arms. He fights the urge to show any weakness to your feelings, he can't let go of work. He has to be strong, he has to be coarse, he has to be cold.
"It was…fine." You wave him off, moving to take the full plates off the table. Only then does Heeseung notice that you're still in your jeans, your white top neatly tucked into them. Your feet are clad in fresh socks, almost as if you were about to go out when he arrived. His eyes scan you as you move around, pulling his tie completely off and bunching it into his pocket. "Are you going out with your friends?"
You don't reply as you scrape the cold food into the trash can, and he focuses on the sound of your bracelet lightly clinking with the handle of the fork. Your shoulders sag, soft curls of your hair sweeping over your face as you move to place the dishes in the sink. He sighs, before his legs move him behind you. "Why are you upset, honey?"
"I'm not, I'm not upset." You scoff, turning the tap to hot when you feel Heeseung's hands ghost over your waist. You knew better than to attempt to hide anything from him, especially with the way his brain was literally trained to analyze your every movement. His lips press softly to your cheek as his fingers untuck your top, "I know you better than that."
You're silent as his fingertips trace the soft skin of your stomach, his chin resting on your shoulder. He's going to wait until you decide you want to talk, despite knowing it will be the same argument you have every single week.
The same argument that always ends up unresolved as you kiss in your bed, sheets tangled between your bodies. It's enough to hold off on actually talking about it, it's enough to semi-satisfy the lack of attention you got from him during the week. It wasn't enough to feed his unvoiced, almost insatiable hunger for you, and how he wished he could just douse you in his love and affection until the sun rose. It wasn't nearly enough, because he'd still have to pry himself from the comfort of your warm embrace to step foot in the precinct and inhale the stench of evil in the world.
He felt awful, really. That he could never truly show you how much he loved you, how emotionally constipated his job made him…how his sessions with Dr. Bahng were no longer of much help. "Leave work at work, Lieutenant. You have the love of your life waiting for you at home." He had it memorized at this point.
"It's always the same thing, don't worry about it." You turn the tap off, feeling the guilt about wasting water seeping into your stomach. You weren't going to wash the dishes, you knew you weren't. You just wanted to lay down in bed with your husband, basking in the few minutes of attention he'd be able to give you before falling asleep.
"Baby."
You wince at the pet name, one so foreign on his lips. One you so rarely heard, long lost in your college memories. You grimace as you turn in his hold, his hands now resting on your hips. "Don't baby me, Heeseung."
"Don't Heeseung me, Y/N. I know something is bothering you, and whether it's tonight, tomorrow, or next week – I'm not letting you go to bed like this." He looks at you through tousled locks, his eyes speaking for him. Just talk to me.
You shake your head in subtle disbelief, attempting to push past him when he pins you against the counter gently. "Let me go, Heeseung."
"Not until you tell me what's going on." His voice is harsh, one he also rarely uses with you. Heeseung was always gentle, soft-spoken. "I've been at work all day, dealing with shit I can barely stomach. I just want to come home and spend time with you, what's wrong?" He's starting to whine, and it does nothing but make your eyes sting with tears.
"I just want to spend time with you, without having to beg you for it." You breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid his gaze. "You remember everything, Hee. I know you had to remember that tonight is date night." Sighing, you peel your eyes open to a guilty husband watching you with his own tired ones.
"I'm sorry, honey. It really did slip my mind. Let me…let me just take a shower and we can go have a night on the town, okay?" He starts to walk away, fingers pulling at the buttons of his shirt when you clear your throat. "It's fine, Heeseung. Let's just go to bed."
"No, let me fix this. We haven't had dinner, and we haven't spent time together in weeks." He slips his dress shirt off as he leaves your line of vision, and you just slump against the counter. He was right, and you hated that you knew he was. Heeseung was always this way, though, shouldn't you be used to it by now?
Yes, he was gentle and soft-spoken, with a touch of dirty humor and thoughtfulness that always made your heart race a little faster. Your relationship was built on a lot of comfort and deep talks, ones that usually involved you unraveling yourself entirely just to get a taste of his own secrets. The two of you had met in college, about three days after the disappearance of his childhood best friend, Cha Soyoung.
Heeseung was even more cold and stoic, and wasn't interested in so much as even befriending you. He didn't really speak, which according to his friends, was unnatural. They wound up being close friends of yours as well, thanks to Park Sunghoon, and the seven of them all also ended up working at the same precinct.
"Heeseung talks…a lot. Not as much as Jay, but he's just going through a hard time right now." Sunghoon said as he sipped his drink, carefully chewing the tapioca pearls as the two of you walked. "It's not everyday your best friend of twenty years goes missing, you know?"You had shrugged, not really understanding what it was like. Your parents had moved you around a lot as a kid, and it was hard to make friends until they finally settled when you got into your last year of high school. You had met Sunghoon there, but only met the rest of your friends through him that following summer – except Heeseung. He'd gone home with Soyoung for the summer, returning to Seoul for the fall semester at Decelis University with her and your other friends. You still never spoke, until now.
You and Sunghoon were swinging by his dorm to help pass out flyers.
"Hey, Hoon. Y/N." Heeseung spoke quietly as he opened the door, his eyes nearly swollen shut from crying for the past three days. Your jaw dropped as you looked at his face, not at all recognizing the boy in front of you. Sure, you'd only ever seen pictures of Heeseung but you knew enough to know that this…wasn't him. Neither you nor Sunghoon spoke as Heeseung moved for the two of you to follow him, shutting the door behind you.
"How are you feeling?" Sunghoon asked as he trashed his drink, your own now sweating on a coaster on Heeseung's coffee table as the man gathered things around his dorm. You stood awkwardly as you swung your backpack onto the couch, opening it for Heeseung to slide the flyers in when you saw him shake his head.
"I don't feel much, actually."
Sunghoon glanced at you, but your legs moved before you could think. You rounded the table to Heeseung, who looked at your extended arms and empathetic eyes with cold ones. He'd set down the papers in his hands, fingers splayed across them momentarily before turning back to you and awkwardly entering your embrace. Your fingers easily found the nape of his neck, and his rigid form quickly softened as he breathed shakily into your shoulder. "M'Sorry." He mumbled as you felt a few tears soak through your shirt, and you just shook your head.
Sunghoon also wound up wrapping his arms around the two of you. Something about the way that Heeseung's fingers clawed at your sides, and the way he sobbed into your shirt made you wonder how long he'd needed someone. Someone to ease the knot in his stomach, someone to help him see that this was something that would be solved and everything would be okay again. Someone to help him hop along until Soyoung was found, and someone to leave when she inevitably took her place again.
That was nine years ago. You and Heeseung began dating a year after that happened, a couple of months after the anniversary of Soyoung's disappearance. The police stopped looking, ruling her case as a runaway. You and Heeseung never stopped searching – you frequently asked cafe owners if you could pin missing posters on their corkboards, and even went door to door every few evenings asking if anyone had seen Soyoung.
Heeseung had made it to the side of the law, and frequently reviewed the case to see if he had missed anything. He never had – you had all hit a dead end. Everyone's hope began to dwindle, but Heeseung never let that sway him. He even asked the forensics department to make age-progression posters, and they did. You'd pinned those up, too.
He was strong willed, he was diligent, he was determined. You love Heeseung, you love the person he is…
…But you hate that he can't leave his work at work. You hate that you get a crumb of his affection every few nights, whether it's his lips pressed against your cheek after dinner or his teeth nipping at your clavicle while hovering above you in bed. You hate that you find yourself longing for him even more than you did in college, despite now having him in the deepest way – as your husband, the person who loves you.
The man who shed a singular tear as he watched you walk down the aisle, the man who supported you when your career wasn't what you expected. The man who endlessly told you he loved you in ways that weren't so evident to the naked eye – like leaving the warm water for you and showering in the ice cold, leaving the last slice of cake for you, rubbing your feet while watching Law and Order with you on days he didn't work (read: on days you pried him out of the home office.)
Heeseung loves you, you know that. You just can't shake the feeling that it won't be for much longer.
"Tuck in your shirt."
His voice snaps you out of your trance, and you look up to see your husband now unrolling a pair of clean socks, speaking around a wide toothed comb between his teeth. He drapes the socks over the back of a chair, eyes glued to his reflection in the hallway mirror as he combs through his hair quickly.
Rolling your eyes, you tuck in your shirt haphazardly as he parts his hair down the middle. "You can't go out with your hair wet, you'll get sick." You call as you make your way down to the bathroom, pulling open one of the cabinets to fish out your hair dryer. "I don't have time to dry my hair. In sickness and health, anyway." Heeseung yells down the hall, and you bite back your chuckle.
"But why make yourself sick? Sit, I'll dry it while you put on your socks." You untangle the cord, plugging it into the wall as Heeseung pouts. "The sound makes me sleepy! If I'm sleepy, we can't go out." He shakes his head, and you put a hand on your hip as you give him a pointed look. He sighs, tugging a chair towards you and plopping down.
"You're throwing a tantrum like a child. Mom, I don't want to wear my coat! Mom, I don't want my peas touching my mashed potato!" You mock his behavior, making him sulk further into the chair and creasing his shirt. "Sit up!"
He does, and watches you through the mirror as you carefully comb your fingers through his hair. He wonders why you forgive him so easily, why you do these things for him when he doesn't feel like he deserves it. The wasted dinner, the way you roll his socks after doing his laundry (that he insists he can do himself.) He wonders what he's done to make you love him so dearly.
"Where d'you wanna go? Olive You More? Thyme for Love?" His voice leaves the sulky attitude behind, as your fingers card through his damp hair, and you grimace. "Why are all our favorite restaurants so cheesy? It's disgusting."
"Well, we could try that new one down by the river. Pasta La Vista, I think it's called." He taps his lips with his fingers, and you catch the glint of his gold wedding band snuggled around his left ring finger. You ignore the way your heart flutters, as you lightly smack his shoulder. "No more pun restaurants! We're not in college anymore."
"Ah, but I love going to those places with you. I.." The words get caught in Heeseung's throat, as they always do. He always feels like he's saying it for the very first time, just like he did all those years ago in the middle of the woods. You got stuck in a blackberry bush, and it just slipped out.
"You..?" You ask, looking at him through the mirror. Your eyes are full of concern, a look he never stops seeing. It bothers him. "I love you." He mumbles shyly, looking away to pick at his cuticles. He doesn't see the gentle smile on your glossed lips, and feels your soft hair brush his neck as you lean to kiss his cheek.
"Mmh, I would hope so."
"Yah, say it back." He pouts as he turns to face you, and you can only smile wider before you place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I don't need to, you know who my heart calls home. Now, get up. We've got a delicious pasta dinner to inhale, and breadsticks to steal."
He doesn't ask you to say it back again, only watching as you walk away with a skip in your step. He knows, he does. He knows you love him, he knows your heart calls him home. He knows you love him.
He's just worried it won't be for much longer.
Saturday, 10:32am.
"Good morning."
Your voice is raspy with sleep, eyes still slightly shut as you whisper into his skin. It's a God-given miracle that he's still in bed next to you, instead of slipping out early like a college hookup.
Unfortunately, that happened more often than not.
"Have we always had such shitty curtains? I can't sleep with so much light." He groans, tugging your arm over his head as he moves to snuggle into your chest. His breathing softens as you pull him slightly closer, wrapping your arms fully around his head and shoulders. "Mmh, if you were still in bed by the time I woke up for the day, you'd know."
"You know I can't be." He sighs, and you feel the ticklish sensation of his lips feathering over your clavicle. His teeth tug lightly at your necklace, one he gave you for your second anniversary, months after the wedding. He loves that you never take it off.
"It's not a matter of if you can, it's a matter of if you want to."
"Don't pull that, you know I do." He kisses your skin before burying his face into your neck. "I'd never leave this bed if it were up to me." His teeth are once more doing their oh-so routine nipping at the exposed skin of your shoulder, before you shift out of his reach. "We should get breakfast."
You turn onto your back, stretching your arms above your head with a soft yawn. Though blurred with fatigue, your eyes see Heeseung perfectly, his head resting lightly on your stomach. His fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear, thumb slightly slipping beneath to rub at the skin of your hip. Your tattoo peeks through, one Heeseung never lets you forget you have. His faded initials mock the both of you.
"Or, counter offer: you can be my breakfast."
You snort, propping yourself up your elbows to get a good look at the man now in your lap. He's pressing soft kisses around your navel, eyelashes fluttering slowly as his lips pepper around your warm skin. "Hee, you barely ate dinner."
"I've barely eaten you. I'm a man deprived, please?" His eyes finally peer up at you, and you scoff out a laugh, running a hand through your mussed curls. You shake your head as you tongue your cheek, allowing him to pull at the hem of your panties once more. "I'm not above begging, if that's what it takes. You know I'll do it."
"Just take them off, you big baby. You're cheesy as shit, too." You roll your eyes as he grins, a playful bite to your outer thigh as he begins to move you around as he pleases.
"Open." He kneels on the bed, knuckles rapping on your knees to part them. You can't help but roll your eyes again, but comply as he tugs down your underwear. It flies somewhere across the room, forgotten in a corner to gather dust, Heeseung completely unaware as he lies on his stomach.
"I've missed this." He sighs, before placing a chaste kiss on your inner thigh. "I miss you, most of all. I promise I'll be home earlier this week, baby." He doesn't give you a chance to respond as his tongue quickly finds home between your legs, softly licking at every inch he can reach. Your lip is tucked beneath your teeth, fingers grabbing at anything you can…
When his phone starts ringing. He groans into your skin, the vibrations making you shiver as disappointment takes over. He ignores the sound, choosing to pull you closer onto his face when you push his shoulder with your foot. "Just answer it, Hee."
"I don't want to." His voice is muffled as his tongue collects your forming arousal, a soft moan from his throat as you squirm in his hold. "H-Hee, what if it's important?"
"What if it's not? What could possibly be more important than you and I at this very moment?" His eyes are filled with a mix of annoyance and desire as he rests his cheek against your thigh. You hate the pitiful groan that escapes your lips as you reach for his phone, answering it for him. "Work."
Sighing, he moves off the bed as he takes the call, motioning for you to stay as he speaks. "Go for Lee."
Complying, you simply become a jellyfish of a human, sprawled across your bed. You wonder why you answered the phone for him, why you pushed him to take the call. It bothers you that even now, you have begun prioritizing his work over your relationship, when you both promised each other that your love, affections and time for each other would never dwindle.
You can't say it has, though, at least for you. You love Heeseung, one could even say that distance has made your heart grow fonder. Not seeing him often has made you a bit more independent, and every time you find yourself eating dinner at the table alone, you're reminded of your mother.
How she berated you for marrying for love and not stability, how she shamed you for abandoning the career that drained you of everything you had. You dislike how easy it was for her to get into your head, so much so that you'd spent all of yesterday applying for new jobs in your field, while waiting for Heeseung to get home – and hopefully have your regular date night.
Not that he was even around to have said date. Sure, he made it up to you…but at what cost?
As you begin to sink into your spiraling thoughts, Heeseung reappears in the doorway of your bedroom. He doesn't speak loud enough for you to hear as he beelines for the closet – a mumble of frustrations spilling from his lips as he rips a shirt off its hanger. Turning on your side, you cover your lower half with the blanket that's no longer warm before speaking to him. "Duty calls, huh?"
"Yes."
In silence, you watch as he buttons his shirt, the muted teal making his skin glow softly. He doesn't look you in the eyes as he revisits the closet, tugging on his favorite pair of brown slacks. A pair you made for him a few years ago, right after leaving your job – and you remember the way his eyes lit up as you presented them. You remember the way he kissed each of your fingertips that night, covered with bandaids from pin pricks. You remember returning home the next day from a girls' day with Chaewon, to find a packet of colorful silicone thimbles, and a few more pieces of glittery, cream-colored fabric laid out on your bed.
Fabric he'd used to make you a dress, with flutter sleeves and a deep v-neckline. Fabric he'd used to sit and carefully hand-stitch the flowy sarong skirt. When did he find the time? He hadn't given you much of a chance to ask questions, before he insisted you put it on and let him take you out for a nice dinner.
It was the last time the two of you truly connected on something deeper than his work or your convenient unemployment. It was the last time that the two of you genuinely laughed together and did things from your younger years, like dancing in the twilight to no music and kissing in every corner possible on the walk home. The last time you wore his favorite perfume, because after that, months passed without a second thought about you.
The silence between you has grown neutral – not entirely comfortable, because who wants to spend their days without hearing the love of their life speak to them? Laugh with them, maybe even get into a bit of a spat with them that shows your relationship is becoming more than just the bare minimum? Certainly not you, and by the way Heeseung robotically loops his tie while staring you down in the mirror, a look of longing in his eyes before turning to you.
"I won't be long, I promise."
He notes the way your head tilts, the way an understanding smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes takes over your face. "Don't worry, take your time." The way your hair is effortlessly splayed around your head, life's odd attempt at recreating the halo to represent the absolute angel you are. One Heeseung doesn't deserve.
You get up, swinging your bare legs over the side of the bed before grabbing for your bath towel. "I'll get ready for my day, and maybe…" You trail off as your toes touch his shoes – he wore them in the house sometimes, a habit of his you despised.
"And maybe we can catch lunch together?" He finishes, a shy smile crossing his lips as you place a gentle kiss on his cheek. His arm snakes across your naked waist, fingers lightly pinching your hip as you smile into his skin.
"Maybe. Drive safe."
Heeseung knows that Dr. Bahng told him to leave work at work. However, Dr. Bahng said nothing about bringing home to work. He said nothing about thinking about you at work, or missing you, or daydreaming about you instead of analyzing the reports that a pair of rookies messed up. He also said nothing about reading articles by some sketchy romance columnist on how to keep your relationship alive, which is exactly what Heeseung was scrolling through right now.
There are things in a relationship that must always be shared in order to avoid, or resolve conflict. How the other person is making you feel, how you are making them feel, and how to tackle both negative checklists properly. It is key to always remember that it must be you and your partner against the problem, not you and your partner against each other.
You make Heeseung feel…alive. You make him feel loved, cherished, and even at some bizarre times, worshiped. You make him appreciate waking up at the ass crack of dawn, your sleeping face relaxed as he peppers kisses across your warm skin – something he's thankful never manages to wake you up, but it adds to all the adoration he holds in his heart for you.
How does he make you feel? Dejected, neglected, rejected. Pushed aside for the true love of his life – work. You never bring it up unless he asks. You never brought it up until last July, when he was slumped in his office chair after drinking half a bottle of sherry whiskey, listening to music and thinking about yet another dead end that deterred him from finding Soyoung. You had approached him with a gentle gaze, a soft touch to his shoulder and asking about taking a shower together. You never questioned him, you never pressured him, you never tried to make him something you assumed he just wasn't – an attentive, doting husband.
And he remembers how he asked you, too. He remembers spinning around in his chair, stoically asking you if he was everything you'd ever wanted. Asking you if he was living up to your expectations, as a husband, as a life partner, as a friend, even.
And he remembers the way you sighed carefully before perching on his desk. "You're everything I've ever wanted, and I'm sure you'll continue to grow and be even more deserving of the love I hold for you." You had smiled, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Nothing we can't work through, you know? If I was given a choice in another life, another world – I'd still choose you."
He will never forget it, and he can still feel the warmth of your lips against his as you led him to the bathroom. He can still feel the ache of your love on his skin from the way you held him under the running water, quietly basking in his presence as the mint of your shampoo filled his nose. Nothing is as special to him as you are.
There are things that should routinely be shared in order to maintain a homeostasis of the calendar. Asking how their day was, if you have any ideas for dinner tonight, or if you'd like to do something this weekend to celebrate the mundane. It shouldn't be difficult to establish a routine with your partner, if you are in tune with them. A kiss goodbye in the morning, a warm embrace in the evenings. A shared meal, a shared bath, a shared bed.
Heeseung can't remember the last time he fully checked in with you – you always have something to do. You always attempt new creative projects, and his fingers toy with the fabric of his slacks as he remembers that you hand stitched them. He thinks about how you waited for him all night yesterday, and the disappointment you must have felt when he arrived late. He thinks about how he just doesn't make time to tackle the problem that you two are constantly glossing over by being intimate – he knows you don't feel loved.
He didn't ask you about your day yesterday, or the day before, or last week. He didn't ask you if you were sewing anything new, learning any new pieces on the piano collecting dust in the living room. He hasn't asked about your mother, but at least he knows you don't like to talk about her.
Heeseung hasn't asked you a single thing about yourself, or your life in a while – and he doesn't know how long it's been. Even last night, your eyes were focused entirely on him – the way his lips twitched when you said you liked the wine he chose, the way he pulled your leg over his in the booth you were sharing. You asked him about work, and he just shook his head as he pointed out the new menu items.
You love him so selflessly.
Something that works for my partner and I is parallel play. We aren't necessarily doing something together, but we are present in the same room and doing our own thing. Knowing that he is there, and that if I need him, I can reach for him, adds a comfort to our relationship. Aside from this, we also come together every two weeks and address any issues we may be experiencing – both in our relationship and our individual lives. We resolve the issues about us together, and advise the other on our personal issues. Balance!
You do this a lot. If Heeseung is home, you'll wander to wherever he is and sit down where you can, and quietly go about your business. Sometimes it's a new cross-stitch, sometimes it's just putting a headphone in and listening to music. Sometimes you're giving yourself a pedicure, sometimes you're just sitting there staring at his corkboard of paraphernalia while matching your breathing to his. It was subtle, something you thought he'd never notice.
He sighs, exiting out of the tab before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. Tugging it on, he uses one hand to log out of his computer when he hears three knocks on the door. A lightness of the rapping knuckles similar to yours…and your smiling face appears as you crack open the door. "Surprise?"
He hates that he can't bite back his smile, a few of his fellow officers wide-eyed at his expression. He nods silently, and you extend your hand for him when you hear his coworkers whispering about you. With a dejected look, you tuck your hand back into the pocket of your jeans, "Guess we don't want them gossiping, right?"
"Right." He mumbles, his own hand twitching around the doorknob as he pulls it shut behind him. He wants to reach for you, embrace the warmth you bring, show you off to the people he often calls his friends. Sunghoon catches his eye, a quizzical look on his face before shaking his head.
Heeseung reaches for you, but you've already made your way towards the door. Your smile has lessened as you open the door, holding it for him. "How was work?" You ask as he joins you in the cool air, and he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in close, his nose buried in your hair. You hesitate to wrap your arms around him, instead leaning back to try and meet his eyes. "Hee?"
"Don't ask me about work." He mutters, before pressing his lips to yours softly. You let out a noise of surprise, but you can't melt into his touch before he pulls away. "I hate talking about work, let's talk about you. Over lunch." He takes your hand in his, gently pulling you to his side as he makes his way to the car. He doesn't see yours in the parking lot, so he only assumes you got a rideshare before you clear your throat.
"Are you okay?" The words are slightly jumbled as he leads you to the passenger side, opening the door for you, helping you step in. "Hm? Why do you ask?"
"Well…you're actually out of the office. And you want to go to lunch…and you don't want to talk about work?" Your voice is meek, and it makes his chest ache as he reaches to buckle your seatbelt in for you. "I just want to spend time with you. Shall we?" His smile is a little forced, until he sees the soft gloss of embarrassment over your eyes.
"Okay."
Tuesday, 6:23pm.
You don't really know what snapped inside of Heeseung over the weekend. He even took Monday off, turning off his phone after calling in sick and snuggling back into your embrace.
He spent all of Sunday asking you random questions throughout the day, wandering around the house as you tried to pick up to start the week off fresh. He would hold the laundry basket so you could separate the clothing, he would hold the step stool so you could dust the corners of the living room – he even re-caulked the window in your bedroom because you were sitting at your vanity doing your makeup. He seemed restless to get all of these answers out of you, and while you didn't mind, you knew this attention was only temporary.
Duty called, after all.
However…he was home earlier than usual. He typically had his session with Dr. Bahng right after dinner time, but it seems your habit of making two portions is deemed fruitful tonight. He's sitting in front of you, having arrived home thirty minutes prior – showered and ready to share a meal with you. Just like he did this weekend, just like he did when your relationship first started out.
You remember sharing meals with him in your dorm room. Your roommate was almost never there, always spending time with her girlfriend – so you had free range of the entire place. Heeseung slept over almost every night, and the two of you would stay up at all hours of the night – whether it was discussing 80s cold cases or your major.
Your major…it wasn't necessarily hard. It was one of those things that was only difficult if you didn't really like it, if you didn't have a passion for it. It was one of those things that took someone strong, both mind and body. You wanted to help better the world, see how things could change at your fingertips. You wanted to eat the world in one bite, and it simply wasn't possible – no matter your hard-earned master's degree or your passion for helping people. It was a time of realization – and it was funny, that you had the same qualifications as Dr. Bahng, but your career would never bear fruit like his.
You never really made a difference, like Dr. Bahng did. You didn't even get through to your husband like he did.
So when you came home one night a few years ago and saw Heeseung sitting at the table, waiting for you, you wondered if any of the people you helped that day would ever get to live content. You quit the very next day, your mind tortured over people you didn't know and things you couldn't control. It took a while before you got out of your head again – and even longer before you finally left your bed. It was this time when your relationship with Heeseung really tried to prove itself worthy of your time and effort – because though he wasn't home with you, to soothe your swirling anxieties and racing mind throughout the day, he was there.
He was there, with plates of fruit and warm tea. He was there, with a hairbrush gently forking through your matted hair. He was there, letting you cry yourself to sleep in his embrace and leaving early the next morning, with bags under his eyes. He understood, somehow, that you needed him more than ever before in those moments, and it seemed like that version of Heeseung was starting to reemerge – this time, without need.
"Are you hiding something from me?" You blurt, and Heeseung nearly chokes on his bite of food. Coughing, he reaches for his glass of water as you pat his back, offering him a napkin to wipe his lip. Taking a sip of water, he looks at you. "We haven't spoken all day and that's how you start a conversation?"
He seems amused, a look you don't see on him often anymore. You can feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up your throat, and he pushes his plate forward, choosing to fold his hands on the table before he clears his throat. "I realize…I haven't been the best husband."
You can feel your eyes begin to roll, when he taps the table. "I have never been very good to you, and yet, you've stood by me. Through ups, downs…you helped me out of a very dark place when Soyoung went missing." He clears his throat again, and your eyes catch the way he blinks back a few tears. "And I've given you near nothing in return."
"Marriage is not transactional." You say gently, and he shakes his head. "Isn't it, though? In the eight years we've been together, you've given me so much. You take care of me, of our home. You…You can just do it all, and I admire it. I really, really do." He runs a hand through his hair, before reaching for your hand. You allow him to take it, and you hate to admit that a bit of skepticism is beginning to settle in your stomach.
"Why are you saying all of this? It's never mattered before, you know."
Heeseung can sense something in your tone that you don't seem to catch. A hint of…frustration, anger, maybe even resentment. He knows you probably have more to say, and that whatever it was would most likely hurt his feelings.
He kind of wants you to, though, and you do – letting go of his hand. He folds them, his plate abandoned in order to take you in fully.
"Do you not want to talk about this? I can drop it, but it'll just come back up, honey." He asks gently, his head tilted to the side as he scans your face. You suck on your teeth, your fork pushing your food around before you sigh. "Maybe you're right."
"About?" He straightens, his hands still folded on the table. You give him a guilty look, though he doesn't know what you could possibly have to feel guilty about.
"You're right, you haven't been the best husband. Hell, I don't think you've ever even really been a good husband, if we're being honest about it."
Heeseung doesn't react, and doesn't allow his face to move as you speak. He's finally broken the dam, because now you're rambling and you can't seem to stop.
"Was it ever going to be me, I mean, really? They say that being good to the people you love really takes no effort, that it's not hard to be doting and attentive to the person you love. You have such a hard time being here for me, you have the worst time detaching yourself from work and the cases you see everyday. You come home at whatever time is convenient for you, while I wait for you like an idiot." You blurt, and Heeseung breathes in carefully, so as to not startle you. He nods, closing his eyes.
He can sense the impending lump in your throat. He's never really seen you get angry – frustrated, irritated, even annoyed have all been emotions he's both seen and enticed. You've never been angry, you've never exploded on anybody.
"Do you ever think what your life would be like if Soyoung were still around?"
His eyes snap open at this, brow furrowing slightly but either you don't notice or don't seem to care, because you keep going.
"Do you think you'd even care about me if she was here? I get it, she's your best friend, maybe even the love of your life. I wouldn't blame you at all if I was just a placeholder until she was found."
He's watching your face as you speak, the way your lower lip trembles slightly and your chest rises and falls in shallow breathing. Your hands shake as you reach for the plate in front of him, shoving it under your own before standing up.
His chest aches at the idea of you thinking that anyone but you could ever be the love of his life, but can't bring himself to open his mouth and tell you.
"As shitty as it sounds, the more the years pass, the more I hope she's found. Maybe then you will truly have someone to love, someone who will fulfill your needs just as you like. Maybe then I won't have to pretend that I don't know I'm second to someone who isn't around." You murmur, and Heeseung feels his stomach churn a bit as you stand, taking the plates to the kitchen. You place them in the sink, holding the cool metal of the basin before turning back to him.
"I love you, Heeseung. I loved you then, I love you now, and I may love you for the rest of my life." You speak softly, stepping back to the table. You lean on the back of a chair, the necklace hanging around your neck mocking him in the dim light. "But me loving you, will never make you truly happy. I don't need you to tell me, you know? Knowing I can keep you company, knowing that you won't be alone, is fine with me. You don't need to love me."
You smile gently, the gloss on your lips sparkling. It's one of his favorites, it tastes like vanilla.
"You don't need to love me the way I love you, for me to know you care. So, don't worry about it. You don't need to check in with me, you don't need to…reciprocate." You shrug, taking the cups off the table, and turning back to the kitchen. You stop, looking over your shoulder. "And, Heeseung?"
He can't bring himself to speak. He tries to clear his throat, but you proceed anyway.
"Don't forget date night this Friday."
Thursday, 12:46pm.
You'd dropped by the precinct randomly, seeing Heeseung hunched over his computer from the entrance. The new receptionist asked you who you were here to see, and you gave his name, holding up the bag of food you brought with you.
"Lieutenant Lee doesn't take visitors." The receptionist rolls her eyes, and you hear Sunghoon before you see him. "Minseo, this is the Lieutenant's wife."
You whirl around to see your long-time friend, who smiles down at you. "Good to see you again. Dr. Lee." He speaks politely, making Minseo blush furiously as she prints a pass for you. She apologizes profusely, but you just shake your head and give her a warm smile, adjusting your purse on your shoulder.
"How're you, Hoon?" You ask as you paste the sticker onto your jacket, and he shrugs as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. "Could be better, could be worse. However, I did hear from a little bird that you and Heeseung got into a fight."
Rolling your eyes, you know that Sunghoon is just stirring the pot. He seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to your relationship with Heeseung – seeing as he was the one who got the two of you together in the first place.
"We didn't…ugh, we didn't fight. We just…had a conversation. I'll tell you about it, when are you off? We can get dinner." You say as the two of you reach Heeseung's office. He shakes his head.
"Don't put me in the middle. I'll text you though, we do need to catch up." He says, knocking on Heeseung's door for you. You hear your husband's tired voice, and Sunghoon opens the door. "You've got a special visitor."
You don't miss the way Heeseung's exhausted eyes look up at you, lighting up the moment they land on your face. You almost crack a smile at this, before Sunghoon shoves you in lightly. "Enjoy your lunch, Lieutenant."
Heeseung doesn't say anything. The two of you hadn't really spoken since Tuesday night, and he certainly didn't expect you to come by today. Or any day, really…he remembered the first time you ever dropped by the precinct. He'd welcomed you with a tight smile, before asking you to let him know beforehand next time. You didn't do it again, for years.
"Mind if I close these?" You ask, gesturing to the blinds, and he shrugs. He doesn't close out any of his tabs as you set the food down, kneeling on the couch lining the wall to close his blinds. He takes this moment to take you in. You were wearing his favorite dress on you, the pink one with the white-lined circle seams. You're shrugging off your jacket now that the blinds are closed, draping it over the chair in front of his desk. "I brought you lunch, I hope that's okay. I probably should have called ahead."
You gesture to the bag on the table, but his eyes just peer over the monitor, his brow twitching up as you sit gingerly on the edge of the couch. He hadn't cleared up or refuted any of your points on Tuesday, but the guilt he felt that night was enough to make him sleep in the guest room. He didn't know that didn't make you feel any better, in your mind it just cemented your opinions as you let your pillow soak up a few stray tears.
"You look gorgeous." He murmurs as you unpack quietly, uncapping containers and sniffing them to figure out what is what. You stop, holding a bowl of broth to your face when you register what he said. "What?"
"I said, you look gorgeous." He repeats himself, quickly typing up a rather unprofessional email to the rest of the precinct and letting them know he'd be leaving after lunch. He shoots it off, exiting the tab before standing up and stretching. His shirt is messily untucked, and he can feel your eyes on him as he twists to relax his back muscles. "Thank you…I think."
He shrugs, ignoring the pang in his chest at your uncertainty before glancing over the array of food you'd brought with you. You seem a bit unsure about it all, but they're all his favorite dishes. He doesn't see any of yours – no soft tofu stew, no cold noodles, not even the tea you like. He keeps scanning your face as you prepare everything silently.
"Have you eaten already? I know you don't like any of these dishes." He asks, squatting next to you. You smile down at him, shrugging. "I'll eat at home. You left breakfast on the table this morning, so I figured you'd be hungry."
He had left breakfast on the table, but not for the reason you think. His morning routine consisted of showering, brushing his teeth and washing his face, putting his clothes on and, as creepy as it sounds, staring at you as you slept. He didn't kiss you this morning, like he usually did, but he desperately wanted to. So much so that he lost track of time just watching you sleep so peacefully, and had to run out of the house without it.
"I'm sorry, baby. I was in a rush." He pouts, and you just shake your head. "Don't worry about it. What's one day?"
It's everything. He thinks he feels your cold demeanor seep into his bones a bit, but your eyes are still warm as ever. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes, but your hand ruffles his hair lightly. He lifts slightly to sit next to you, and you press your lips to his cheek, your lipstick stamping on his skin. "You smell nice."
He doesn't respond, his cheeks and ears tinging pink as you hand him utensils. Leaning back, you rest your head against the window sill, not noticing he's made no effort to even touch the food you've brought. Still, better now than never.
"I have something to tell you." You murmur, and he hums in response.
"I figured about as much." He leans back with you, holding a rice cake between his teeth before shoving into his mouth. "Do tell, Dr. Lee."
You stare at your manicured nails, the french tip suddenly bothersome to your eyes.
"I had an interview this morning, at the fifth precinct. In the next town over. "
He sits up, turning to face you completely. "Okay. How'd it go? I did hear that Dr. Park was retiring."
Not a hint of malice in his voice, just pure curiosity. Encouragement, support.
"They said I can start next week. Three patients a day for two weeks, and then I will take over Dr. Park's patients as well. Well, those who want to transfer over." You don't know why you're nervous telling him this. His eyes scan your face, and you groan. "Why are you staring at me?"
"You don't seem very happy about it." He says, tilting his head to the side as he bites into another rice cake. "I am happy about it. I just…it's a little far and I won't be home before you are on nights you're not set to see Dr. Bahng. I won't get to make dinner and I'll be out of the house before you are most days."
You stop yourself from rambling, watching as Heeseung looks at you intently. He glances at the food spread out on the table, before shoving the other half of the rice cake he bit into his cheek. "C'mon."
He gets up, yanking his coat off the hanger by the door, before opening it. "Where are we going? Heeseung, the food-"
"Sunghoon, lunch on me." He calls out the door, before grabbing your jacket off the chair and your purse. Looking at you, he watches as you sit still, confusion on your face before he walks over, draping your jacket over your shoulders. "C'mon, we've got to celebrate. We can go to that French place you love."
Amused, you shove your arms through the sleeves of your jacket before standing. "Heeseung, you hate that place." Rolling your eyes, you reach for your purse, only for him to grab your hand and pull you in. His lips are on yours, a chaste kiss shared before he leans his forehead against yours.
"But I love you, and I'm proud of you. So let me show you, yeah?"
You blink up at him, before hearing Sunghoon's grunt of feigned disgust. "C'mon, guys, not in the office!"
"Shut up, man." Heeseung rolls his eyes, lacing his fingers in yours, and you hear the soft clink of metal. Ignoring the bickering between the two men, you look down, you see his engraved wedding band gleaming up at you, having knocked with an old silver ring of his that you'd taken after it stopped fitting him. "You're wearing your ring."
"Hm?" He glances down at you, before smiling. "Oh, yeah. I figured…I don't know. I like seeing it, it was silly of me to think the way I did about it."
Sunghoon scoffs at the sudden mushiness, and you look up to see half the precinct staring you down. Heeseung has your lipstick stamped on his cheek, and you feel embarrassed as the two of you get walked out by Sunghoon. Jungwon passes by, doing a double take when he sees the lipstick on your husband's face.
He smiles at you, a knowing look in his eyes as the two of you skirt past. Heeseung stops at the receptionist's desk, her smile disappearing the moment she sees your lipstick on his cheek. He asks her to cancel all his appointments for the day, and to let Captain Choi know that he would be taking the weekend off. She just nods, and Heeseung bids everyone goodbye with a whistle.
"She hates me, you know." You mumble, and he gives your hand a squeeze. “She can hate you all she wants, doesn’t change anything. Waste of her own energy.”
You don’t know what to make of this. In a way, you think you’ve forgotten your husband’s demeanor. Heeseung squeezes your hand again, "Where's your car? Did you take a rideshare?"
His brow is furrowed as he scours the parking lot for your sedan, and you shake your head. "Saving gas, I have quite the commute." He scrunches his nose, before shrugging as the two of you make your way to his car.
He opens the door for you quietly, helping you up and going as far as taking your purse to hang behind his headrest. You always complained about the feeling of the straps against your neck when you leaned your head back.
"So." He starts, his fingers carefully turning the volume dial down as the soft jazz station he plays on his commute bleeds through the speakers. "So…what?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were thinking of going back to work? I thought we told each other everything." He says pointedly, as he makes a turn into the street. The light at the end is still green, if he speeds up a bit, he should make it. He sees you shrug out of the corner of his eye.
"Didn't think it'd be important. If I'm honest, I didn't think you'd notice."
He doesn't like the twinge of sadness in your voice, but you clear your throat before he can mention it. "Should we take a walk later, as well? The weather feels great."
"Yeah, honey. Whatever you want." He nods, his turn signal flicked by his ring finger, and he doesn't miss your eyes on his hands as he makes the turn. "Hee?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry." You murmur, making him glance at you quickly before you turn your head back to look out the window. Before you know it, he's pulling into an empty parking lot behind an apartment complex, ignoring the onlooking eyes of a woman taking her trash out. He parks carefully, turning the car off before turning in his seat to look at you.
"Sorry?" He echoes, and you peer over your shoulder at him. Your eyes are glossed over, and he huffs out a humorless laugh. "Oh, my baby. Come here."
His arms wrap around you carefully, your hands coming to cover your face as he tucks you into his shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N."
"I do. I do, Heeseung. I was such a jerk on Tuesday–" Your muffled words stop as he pulls away, his warm fingers circling your shoulders and giving a soft squeeze. "No. You weren't a jerk, you were trying to communicate with me."
"Still, I–"
"No, Y/N. If anything, I've been a jerk." He huffs, letting go of your shoulders as his back hits the window lightly. "I've never been a good partner to you, and it's so incredibly unfair of me to think that you will just wait and wait until I just feel like being better to you."
You blink at him owlishly, adjusting to tuck your legs under you. Your heels now sit on the car floor.
"I have never been good to you. No matter what it is, no matter where I am, I push you aside time and time again. It's like…" He stops, picking at his cuticles before sighing. "I love you so much. It's so hard for me to say and I still feel like some stupid teenager trying to figure out his feelings, but I know. I know I love you and I know you deserve to be loved far more than I can express."
You rest your temple against the headrest, "Not everyone goes through what you did, though. I'd be foolish to think loving you would be an ordinary path."
"And then you go and do that. God, you're so understanding and it kills me inside." He smiles pitifully, running a hand through his hair. "I want to deserve it. I want to come home and deserve the warm meals you make, I want to lay in bed with you and deserve your touch and your warmth and I want to deserve you."
His eyes sting with tears, and he hears a soft sigh from your lips. Lips he yearns for every second of the day, lips he loves to feel trail along his neck after a long day at work. Lips he pulls whines and moans out of, lips he kisses shimmery vanilla lip gloss off of.
You don't say anything, your fingers reaching for him in his lap. You interlock your hands, bringing his up to your lips and placing a soft kiss on his knuckles.
"I've thought about divorce, you know." You say quietly, his head snapping up to look at you. "What?"
"Yeah." You breathe out, your fingers tightening around him. "I thought about leaving, I thought about taking one of the offers I've received in the last seven years for a job in the middle of a new city. I thought about packing up all my clothes, and phoning my mother for help. I figured, if she's my attorney, I can leave everything to you in lieu of me."
Heeseung can feel his chest ache as you turn to look at him, your pearl drop earrings swinging with your hair as you do so. He feels like he's in a movie.
"But, I thought about being nineteen with you."
"Nineteen?"
"Nineteen." You laugh softly, your thumb now rubbing small circles into his skin. You place your other hand atop the pair, enveloping him in your warmth. "I thought about nineteen-year-old me, who saw nineteen-year-old you and felt the world come to a slow, slow stop."
You're staring up into the sky now, the odd sighting of the moon high in the sky at this hour was a good distraction.
"I thought, what can I do to deserve him? What can I do to ease his pain, and help him hop through life until his answers are found, until he no longer needs me?"
"I'll always need you." He blurts, and you nod. "You're selfish like that."
He silently nods in agreement, and you speak again. "You're a selfish lover."
"I know." He mumbles, not able to look you in the eyes as you sigh. "But, I like it."
"I like that you're selfish." You repeat, and he gives you a quick look. "I like that even when I don't feel loved by you, you wouldn't survive without me. In lieu of me, who?"
Your voice is sweet, but he knows your words hold a bit of bitterness. You like the idea of him being nothing without you, and he can't blame you for that. If you'd treated him the way he did you, he'd wish ill upon you until he no longer could. He'd hate you.
"Shall we go?" You ask gingerly, and he nods as he turns in his seat, letting go of your hand. You allow it, buckling in your seatbelt as he readies himself, turning the key in the slot before you clear your throat. "Heeseung?"
"Yes?"
He hates the eagerness in his voice. He hates how he's like a dog the moment you offer a crumb of your attention, but it's what he deserves. He wants to be a lovesick fool for you, he wants your every word to burn and weigh on him like the heat of a thousand fires.
Your gentle smile kills him as you look into his eyes, a shrug to your shoulders as you let the words slip.
"I love you."
Saturday, 6:43pm.
Thursday afternoon and all of Friday had been rather odd in your house.
Heeseung spent the days trailing behind you, even offering to take you out to shop for outfits for your new job in lieu of date night. You weren't surprised, though – he was always a fan of the way you styled yourself for work. Classy dresses, skirts that fell just below the knee. Long sleeved blouses with jeweled buttons, he felt like a Victorian man going nuts over the sight of your pantyhose-covered ankles.
Tonight, he'd made it a point to get slightly tipsy. You'd gone to a luncheon with your new boss earlier, so you'd arrived just as he was finishing up vacuuming the living room with a half-empty glass of bourbon and Stardust by Ben Webster played throughout the house. He wanted a bit of liquid courage for the conversation he knew the two of you had to have – that is, if he wanted things to start changing for the better.
"Hee?" You called from the foyer, watching as he spun to look at you, face slightly flushed from the alcohol. You let out a laugh, shrugging your coat off as he trekked the living room to greet you. "Babe! How was lunch? I figured I'd clean up here a bit, I know you hate when it gets messy…"
Heeseung rambled on about the housework as you gingerly stepped out of your heels, nodding along to his tipsy conversation. You left your shoes in the tiled foyer, walking towards the kitchen for a drink of your own. Heeseung had bought you your favorite sherry whiskey as a congratulatory gift on your new job.
"Wait, let me pour. You must be tired." He stops you from grabbing the bottle off the bar in the kitchen, choosing to skirt around you and open the fridge for a nice cube of ice. You liked two, he remembers. "How was the lunch? Did you eat?"
You shrug, "I nibbled. It wasn't very good, it was at that Italian place we don't like." You scrunch your nose as Heeseung hands you your drink, making his lips curve slightly. "Funny, I was going to say we should give it another try."
"No way, they fucked up my tiramisu. Remind me to never recommend that place to Sunghoon." You scoff, missing the way your husband's eyes trail your relaxed form as you lean against the counter. "And one of the other doctors was asking me so many questions about myself, it was so annoying. Like, we're not going to be best friends, man."
"Like what?" He asks, listening to My Foolish Heart by Bill Evans Trio echo through the house. It was one of the songs played at your wedding, one of the first songs you and Heeseung ever danced to in college.
"Oh, Dr. Lee, are you married? Oh, Dr. Lee, do you have kids? Oh, Dr. Lee, what does your husband do? Like shut up! Why does it matter, you're my husband, not his." You roll your eyes, not noticing the way Heeseung's cheeks flush at your words. Downing your drink in one go, you wince slightly, likely from the ice clinking against your teeth but you shake it off. "So, what do we want for dinner?"
You poke at his side, and his arm reaches for you. You willingly bring yourself into his embrace, his arms looping around you gently as your fingers hold his t-shirt. "You look so pretty in your little outfit."
"Dinner, Heeseung. Use your noggin." You roll your eyes, and he just peers down at you with an odd look in his eyes. Full of…admiration? "You're so beautiful."
You feel your cheeks warm as you try to play off his effect on you, clicking your tongue. "I need you to focus here, Lieutenant. Me, your wife, would like dinner."
"I heard you, baby." He nods, pulling you closer. You huff, but allow yourself to rest your head against his chest. The two of you had not been…close in this manner in a very long time – you couldn't possibly date the last time he held you like this, it was that long ago. You hate how easily you're melting into him, the warmth of his body, the gentle caressing of his hands to the rhythm of the jazz song playing in the living room.
"Should we get take out? We can watch that movie you like, the one with Al Pacino." He murmurs, carefully tugging the elastic out of your hair, releasing the curls from the ponytail you'd tied back earlier. You nod against him quickly, "And Keanu Reeves?"
The two of you look at each other, and he can feel a laugh bubble in his throat at how excited you look as he nods. "Yeah."
"Okay! Okay, I'm…gonna go change, and then we can get settled and stuff. Okay?" You blink up at him, your fingers already making quick work of the buttons on your shirt. His lip is tucked between his teeth as his eyes rake your skin, and you scoff, tugging your shirt to cover your chest. "Heeseung! Pay attention!"
"I am, baby! I am paying attention!" He laughs, throwing his hands up in defense. "God forbid I want to look at you!"
"You're such a man, ugh!" You stick your tongue out at him, turning on your heel when you hear him call after you. "Yeah, well, I'm your man. Deal with it!"
You hate how his words make you feel like a teenager as you scamper to your bedroom, quickly discarding your work clothes into the hamper by the door. You can hear Heeseung speaking on the phone in the kitchen, soft thank yous from his lips as you unclasp your bra, sighing in relief as you dig through your husband's drawer when you hear him start walking down the hall.
"Jesus, warn a guy." He gasps dramatically from the doorway, and you roll your eyes as you tug one of his old band tees over your head. "Heeseung, you've literally eaten my ass."
"You said you liked it!" He protests, and you snort. "It was okay. You act like you're so amazed by my boobs, you've seen them hundreds of times." You flip your hair out of the shirt, opening your own drawer to fish out a pair of bottoms.
"Doesn't make me love them any less." He shrugs, checking his watch. "We have twenty minutes until the food gets here."
You look up at him, your fingers rooting through the drawer as you take in his avoidant look. He's nibbling on his lower lip as he stares up at the ceiling fan, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. You scoff, "Honey, we've been together for eight years. If you want to have sex, you can say that."
"You make me nervous!" He groans, and you laugh out loud. "What has gotten into you, Lee Heeseung? One week you're begging to eat me out and the next you can't even look at me in my underwear! Are you alright?"
You snort as you pull out a pair of his old basketball shorts, and he sighs. "Uhm…Okay, fine. I want to talk about our…sex life? The…uhm, the way we kind of just skirt around all our issues with it."
You blink, and you want to tell your heart not to get its hopes up at his words. This will all change in a week, your relationship is beyond fixing.
Right?
"Okay. What about it? You don't like that we have sex when we can't communicate?" You nod, pulling the shorts over your legs and letting the waistband snap around your hips. He nods, fiddling with his watch when you put your hand on his wrist. "I need you to talk to me, Heeseung. You wanted to talk about this."
"It's…" He breathes, running a hand through his hair as you pull him to the bed, sitting down as he slots himself between your knees. His fingers toy with the hem of the shorts you're wearing, clearing his throat. "I don't want you to think I don't…enjoy it. I love…being with you, in any way you'll have me."
"Uh huh?" You interlace your fingers with his, his eyes avoiding yours. "I…want to stop doing that. I know that it's a big part of how we stay connected, uhm, intimately. I know I haven't been making much time for you outside of the bedroom and that's something I want to work on."
You can feel your heart pick up a bit.
"So…you want to stop having sex altogether? Or you'd like to…fight and make up?" You tilt your head, feeling a wave of nervousness begin to seep into your stomach. He shakes his head quickly, "I don't think I could ever…I'd like to fight. A lot. As much as we need to."
He blinks rapidly, eyes still avoiding yours when you nod slowly. "And…you want to have sex spontaneously? Do you want to schedule it? Do you want to–"
"I'm good with whenever. You can have me anytime you want, even if you don't want to have sex for the next year. I'm all yours, whenever." He interrupts, his cheeks burning pink as he clears his throat. You narrow your eyes, "Oookay. You know that goes both ways, right?"
"I don't think you understand the willpower it takes not to be all over you every single second of my waking hours." His eyes are now squeezed shut, and you can feel your own cheeks warm as you feel his fingers flex around yours. You let out a soft ha, before nodding. "O-Okay, sure."
"So…we're okay? Can we start taking things a little slower?" He asks with a wince, and you nod. "Absolutely."
He nods, "Cool, cool. Uhm…I'll wait in the living room for you, okay? I'll set up the movie."
He pulls away with a gentle squeeze to your hands, a soft smile playing on his lips as he ducks out of the bedroom. You feel your stomach sink a bit, but out of relief. You feel…lighter.
You didn't mind the once-a-week sessions with Heeseung. He'd come home, the two of you would be particularly agitated – you because you felt pushed aside, Heeseung because of work, because he didn't have enough time for you, because he just wanted to feel some sort of peace. You'd try and start a conversation, only for him to push you back on the couch or the bed, or even the carpet in your living room and kiss you breathless. His tongue would slip into your mouth with practiced precision, his hand pinning your wrists above your head as he begged you to just let him take care of you.
You didn't mind because every touch from him was just right. His lips dragging against your jaw, his fingers shoved down your pants while he whispered sweet nothings. You don't know if Heeseung remembers any of the things he says during sex – how much he loves you, something he can't openly say when he's fully in his five senses. Despite feeling the way you did about your relationship with Heeseung, sex was never something you had to feel worried about – he would get just as drunk off you as he did his favorite bourbon.
Sex with Heeseung was like a rollercoaster, even the very first time. He knew every button to push, every spot to caress, to kiss, to bite. He made you feel like you were swimming in a pool of lust and love and you couldn't help but cry during the middle of it all sometimes, only to feel his tongue carefully collecting your tears. "You're so pretty."
Shivering, you fan at yourself before sliding off your bed, making a beeline to your bathroom. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him softly swaying to yet another jazz song as he drapes one of your favorite blankets across the couch. You can't help but smile inwardly, shutting the door behind you as you look at yourself in the mirror. Sighing, you grab for your face wash, not able to stop thinking.
Heeseung does love you. He does, even if he's not good at saying it. He does, even if it means he bruises the stupid tattoo you got of his initials with how tight he holds your hips. He does, because he lets you claw at his tattoo of your initials on his shoulder. You still remember being drunk out of your mind when you stumbled into the studio to get them done.
And you remember that being the first sign that being with Heeseung was not temporary. You hadn't even had sex at that point in your relationship – choosing to cement your relationship with a permanent reminder. One that you knew was under his shirt even when his ring wasn't on his finger, one he knew was just under your panties even when you were mad at him for not spending time with you.
"Baby! Food's here!" You hear Heeseung call as you reach for your moisturizer.
Baby. A silly pet name you'd missed dearly, a silly pet name he'd used three times just today.
"Coming!" You call, quickly wiping the sink of water and opening the bathroom door, scurrying out. He's sprawled across the couch, the containers of takeout spread out on the coffee table in front of him. His hand is messing with the remote, typing The Devil's Advocate into your Amazon Prime account.
"Hey." He murmurs, feeling you press a kiss to the crown of his head. He doesn't know why he's so nervous – he's literally seen you naked. You ruffle his hair, before rounding the couch and sitting gingerly on the floor. You didn't like to eat on the couch, Heeseung knew that. You slid in front of him, your shoulders pushing his knees apart as you rested your head on the left one.
He says nothing, only leaning back as he presses play on the film.
The silence between you is comfortable. You're chewing carefully, soft gasps from your lips as if you hadn't watched this movie hundreds of times. He can't help but think if this was what he was missing out on while he was at work. You, dressed down in his clothing, holding your mouth open around a particularly overstuffed pork bun as Al Pacino dips his fingers into Holy Water.
"You're cute." He murmurs to himself, and you lean your head back slightly, a bit of hoisin sauce on the corner of your lip as you chew. "Hm?"
"You're cute, babe." He shakes his head, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb. You blink at him, before twisting to look at him properly. Your brows furrow as you swallow, and you click your tongue. You give him a suspicious glance before turning back to the television, shrugging your shoulders as you lean back again.
He likes this. He could get used to it.
Heeseung cleaned up after you finished eating. He even ran the water for your shower, opting to go in after you. You'd pouted, asking him to go in with you – but he insisted he still had things to finish up before he could even think about winding down.
However, when you arrive in the bedroom with your hair wrapped in a towel and a baggy shirt over your shoulders, he can't help but take a peek. He sees the lavender trim of your underwear from his stance in the closet as you bend slightly to fish out a pair of sweatpants, his fingers tightening around the hanger in his hand. It breaks, the crack making you suddenly look up.
"What was that?" Your eyes are wide, scanning him as you pull out a random pair of shorts. He sheepishly hides his hand behind his back, shaking his head quickly. "Nothing, honey. Oh, I saw that you were running out of your serum…thing. The one for your hair, it's in the drawer."
He pressed his lips together as he nodded, and you squint at him before opening the top drawer. Sure enough, the Biosilk bottle sits pretty, wrapped in the bag you knew was from the beauty supply store. You take it out, but see Heeseung grimace in the mirror. You peer at him, before seeing the broken hanger in his hand. Rolling your eyes,
"Maybe if you weren't so busy trying to get a peek at my underwear, you wouldn't have broken that."
"Shut up." He scoffs, cheeks heating as he skirts out of the closet, throwing the hanger away in the trashcan by the door. You just shake your head, unwrapping the bottle as he appears next to you. "It's that one, right?"
"Yeah, Hee. Thank you." You nod, placing it closer to the mirror. You look up at him through the mirror, noting the way he's gazing at you lovingly. "You're staring."
"So?" He shrugs, and you scoff. "Get in the shower, Heeseung. I'm sleepy."
"Don't fall asleep without me!" He presses his lips to your temple suddenly, and you don't get a chance to react before he's gone. You hear the door shut behind him, and you quickly grab your phone from its spot on the nightstand, abandoning the shorts you had in your hand on the dresser.
Msg To: Park Sunghoon
[9:32pm] please please tell me you won't call hee in to work tmrw
You nibble on your lips, watching as Sunghoon reads the message. His chat bubble pops up, then goes back down.
Msg From: Park Sunghoon
[9:33pm] i'll run it by the guys here in a bit, and i'll let you know. cool?
You don't reply, only giving him a thumbs up reaction. Setting your phone down, you move around for your night routine. Moisturizer, curl cream…before the large bed behind you calls your name as a siren does to shipwrecked pirates.
Flopping face down, you sigh into the pillow. You weren't ready to start working on Monday – you weren't ready to leave the comfort of your home, to talk to people all day about their problems again. You weren't ready for your mother to find out through her connections that you're practicing again.
You weren't ready to stop making two portions of dinner for your husband who wouldn't get home on time, you weren't ready to not be kissed all over in the morning even though he thought you were asleep. You'd never sleep through something so tender.
"Babe, I said don't fall asleep!" You hear Heeseung whine, and you groan into your pillow before flipping onto your back with your eyes closed. "I'm not sleeping! I'm just…resting my eyes."
"That's sleeping." He's closer now, and you feel his lips press on your forehead. "It's fine, we have all day tomorrow."
"If they don't call you into work." You grumble, and he pinches your cheek, before you feel your husband's lips brush the shell of your ear. "You should never trust Sunghoon to relay a message."
"Fuck off!" You whine, shoving him away as you open your eyes. His hair has been dried, his bottom half tucked into a pair of flannel pajama pants. He's holding an old tshirt in his hand as he rounds the bed, "You're not planning on sleeping on top of the duvet, are you?"
"Some of us get hot at night." You scowl, but a yelp gets caught in your throat as you feel him yank you to the edge of the bed by your ankle. You narrow your eyes as you look up at him, seeing your husband smiling down at you with a tilt to his head.
"Why the attitude, princess? Something wrong?"
He's talking down to you, something that makes your cheeks heat. You furrow your brows, scoffing as you prop yourself up on your elbows. His hand leaves your ankle, splaying on the skin of your thigh. "Why would anything be wrong?"
He shrugs, his smile still digging into your very bones. "I figured I'd ask, since you begged Sunghoon not to call me this weekend."
"Sunghoon is a rat, you know this. Remember when you pushed Jay's head into his birthday cake and Sunghoon immediately dogged you? Why would you believe him?" You try to rationalize your way out of answering his questions, but Heeseung nods as if he's understanding. "You're right, baby. I shouldn't believe him, someone who snitches everyone out because he believes there aren't enough honest people in this world."
You scoff at his pointed look, knowing that Heeseung likes the little game you play. He likes cornering you, he likes giving you no way out. He likes the way your skin gets a little warmer under his touch.
"Okay, fine. I admit it!" You groan, falling back onto the bed. "God forbid I want to spend some time with my husband before I'm sent away." You drape your arm dramatically over your eyes, hearing Heeseung laugh above you. You hadn't had a night like this in so long, you can nearly feel the stupid butterflies from your college days floating back around you.
"You're going to work, you're not being shipped off to another country." He removes your arm from over your face, revealing your scrunched nose. He kisses the tip of it, seeing your cheeks bloom pink. "Yeah…"
You sigh, before gently placing your hands on Heeseung's cheeks. He smiles down at you, "Yeah?"
"I'll miss you." You admit, and his eyes soften as he captures your lips softly. His hands move to your hips, squeezing softly as he pulls back. "I'll miss you too, baby. It'll just take some getting used to."
"Will you drive me on Monday?" You blurt, seeing his eyes widen as he nods quickly. "Absolutely. How early? Six? Seven?"
You did not expect him to agree so fast. "Uhm, I have to be out of here by six-thirty to get there before the clinic opens."
Your husband nods, and you watch the way his eyes move around as he does calculations in his head. "So…we'd be up by five?" He nods to himself, and you shrug. "You don't have to, I'm sorry I brought it up."
"Kindly shut the hell up." He rolls his eyes, and you mimic his actions, pulling him back down to your lips. You don't say anything, only kissing him gently as his fingers toy with the hem of your underwear. You can tell he's holding back, not wanting to have this moment go like your usual nights together. He can't stop kissing you back though, and you can feel him slightly rutting against your leg.
"You're humping my leg." You whisper into his lips, and he shrugs, his fingers tugging down your underwear in one swift motion. "Don't care. Lie down." He pushes you back, quickly pushing your shirt up your chest until you get the hint and slip it off.
"What happened to taking it slow?" You tease as he kisses down your stomach, hissing as he nips just above your belly button. "This is slow, but if you want me to stop, I will." He looks up at you, eyes dark. You shake your head, earning another nip from his teeth.
"Words, princess."
You flush deeper, nibbling on your lip as you speak. "Keep going." He raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. "Please."
"You're such a brat." He rolls his eyes, before sinking to his knees on the carpet. He pulls you closer to the edge of the bed by your knees, one of your legs over his shoulder as he kisses down your thighs. You're squirming, earning a quick slap to your leg. "Stop."
"S-Sorry." You mumble, feeling him nose at your pussy. He inhales deeply, a groan from his lips as he places a soft kiss on your clit, a sharp breath caving your stomach in. "Pretty, always so pretty for me."
You don't get a chance to respond to his muttering, feeling his tongue drag purposefully through your folds. You sigh shakily, your fingers finding his hand that rested on your stomach. He laces your fingers together as he licks at you with an agonizingly slow place.
"F-faster." You whine, feeling him smile into your wet heat. "I said I'd take it slow, princess. You can wait, right? Be a good girl f'me."
You suck in yet another sharp breath as his pouty lips wrap around your clit, his hand squeezing yours gently as you whimper. Your hips grind carefully against his tongue, taking all your willpower to not beg him to touch you more. "Missed you. Missed this." He murmurs, letting go of your hand to pull you impossibly closer, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he fucks his tongue into your aching center.
"M-Missed you." You whine, your hand finding home in his hair. "Pull it." He mutters into your pussy, and you tug harshly as he groans into you. The vibrations are torture, your whimpers filling the room. He takes his time, and you can feel your thighs threatening to close around his head.
"Want m-more. P-Please?" You gasp out, and you almost feel angry at the way your husband chuckles. "What happened to taking it slow? You're that needy? Can't cum like this?"
You huff, yanking on his hair – earning a low moan. He obliges anyway, slipping his pants down as he stands. He towers over you, your eyes wide at his glistening lips as his hand snakes down between your legs. You shake your head, pulling it away as he laughs breathily. "Baby, I can't–"
"I can take it. Please? I can, I promise." You beg, bringing his fingers to your mouth. He watches as you lick them clean, your tongue snaking around his wedding band. You're really and truly his for the taking, loving, fucking.
He shudders, leaning to kiss you softly. Your lips only taste of sin, your tongue sliding into his mouth with practiced ease. He groans quietly, his hard cock sliding against your soaked cunt as you whimper into his mouth. “Please, please—”
“I know baby, I know.” He murmurs, sinking into you slowly with a choked moan. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, feeling your shaky breathing against his neck. He gives an experimental roll of his hips, relishing in the burn of your nails dragging down his back with a groan. Pushing your hands off him, he pins them above your head, interlocking your fingers.
"I love you." His lips are pressed to yours before you can respond, hips snapping at a menacing pace. Your breath gets caught in your throat, pressing your bare chest to his as he trails his mouth down your jaw. "Can never get enough of you."
His soft whispers receive nothing but your whines, your hand squeezing his as he mouthed at whatever skin he could reach. "Could never ask for a better woman." He whispers into your ear, his teeth nipping tirelessly in efforts to burn himself into you forever.
"Can never get you off my mind. Think about you all day, baby." He lets go of your hands, circling his fingers around your thighs and spreading them further. You clench around him, your hands covering your face as a whine slips from his throat, fucking into you harder.
"W-Wanna live in this pussy, fuck." He groans, feeling your gummy walls tighten around him, his hand snaking down to play with your clit. Your moan is sharp, thighs threatening to close around his hips but he forces them apart as your eyes gloss over. "Need you to cum f'me, pretty. N-Need you to cream all over this dick."
You open your mouth to speak, only to have it covered by his lips as he leans down to kiss you. He sucks on your tongue messily, feeling your fingers rake through his hair as you pull him back, mouthing at his neck. "W-Want you to cum inside m-me." You mumble, feeling his hips stutter against the swell of your ass, but he quickly falls back into rhythm.
"Y-Yeah? Fuck, want me to fill you up? I'll give you everything, baby. Anything you want, shit–" He whines into your neck, spurred on by your soft whimpers of yeah, yeah – your nails dragging across his back once more, your fingers digging into his tattoo of your initials almost angrily. Your release rips through you with a loud whine, coating his thighs and soaking into the sheets, clenching like a vice around him as he straightens himself.
"Shit, honey–" His eyes are low as he tucks his lip between his teeth, pushing your knees to your chest as he pounds into you, pulling sobs from your throat as he fucks you through your orgasm. His head falls forward as he cums inside you, his fingers finding yours and squeezing like his life depends on it.
"Fuck." He mutters, pressing his forehead to your chest, the room filling with sounds of your panting and his lips trailing wetly along your shoulders and neck. "When did you…have you ever done that before?"
"I don't think so." You breathe out, and his skin feels sticky but he doesn't care. "What…" He straightens, bearing his weight on his elbows as he peers down at you. You're glowing softly, your eyes slightly lower than when you'd started, lips swollen from his teeth pulling at them. "What changed? How can I be better?"
Your cheeks flush deeper, shaking your head gently. "I don't–"
"C'mon. What was it? You've never had complaints before." He says pointedly, and you smile. "Nothing to complain about, you always do well."
"But?" He probes, his eyes locked on yours, and you sigh, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. "I don't know, Hee. I guess…I just like when you talk to me."
Communication.
His eyes narrow as he thinks, thinking back to all the times you've had sex. He's sure he's spoken to you then, likely incoherent, pussydrunk babbles–
"When you said…" Your voice fades, closing your eyes as you shake your head. "Nevermind."
"I could never ask for a better woman."
It dawns on him, looking back down at you. Your eyes avoid his as you gently thumb at a red line down his shoulder, cause of your fingernails, but he tilts your face with his hand. His fingers squish the fat of your cheeks, a tear slipping from your eyes as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. "I could never ask for a better woman, my love."
Your eyes flutter closed as he peppers kisses across your face, tears continuing to fall as he kisses your cheeks. "I love you, okay? I'm so fucking sorry for making you feel like you're not the most important thing to me in this world. I'd die for you, I'd kill for you, okay?"
You nod silently, but your lip curls into a smile as he buries his face into your neck. "I'm not a thing, Hee."
"Shut up." He whines, and you laugh. "I love you, too. I could never ask for a better man, ever."
"God, don't. We won't leave this bed." He groans, and you nip at his earlobe, sucking it gently. "You promise?"
Monday, 5:32am.
He did promise.
You and Heeseung did not leave your bedroom once on Sunday. Well, he did – when he grabbed the food delivery you ordered, and to get you water on multiple occasions. You changed your sheets twice only to ruin them again, the sex messier and wetter the longer you and Heeseung went at it. He took everything you gave him in any position he could fold you into – but nothing beat seeing you laid out on your back, his fingers bruised into your hips and love bites blooming all over your body. He liked admiring you from above, sure – but he loved nothing more than his face shoved between your legs, suffocated by your warm, wet heat.
Your whimpers were burned into his mind, so much so he could hardly leave you alone when night approached. You practically had to beg him to get in the shower, his only request being that you join him.
By join him, he meant pressing you against the tiles and sinking his teeth into your neck and shoulders as he slid himself through your thighs over and over again. He bit down your back mercilessly, sinking to his knees behind you and lapping his tongue against your cum-coated cunt like a man starved.
Needless to say, the water ran cold and you had shampoo in your hair for an hour.
He didn't care, though. He kissed you deeply, wanting to feel every inch of you all over him before bidding you goodnight. He wanted to wake up early and make you breakfast, he wanted to pick out your pretty blouse and your heels. He wanted to be involved in your life.
"Rise and shine, baby." He whispered into your hair, holding a plate in his left hand as he pinched the fat of your cheek in the other. You groan, pushing his hand away as you roll onto your back. The duvet slips down, revealing your bitten skin. He caresses it gently, his eyes glued to your face as he goes lower. Your hand catches his wrist before he can cup your breast, peeling your eyes open reluctantly.
"I can't let you near me, you'll fuck me into the mattress." You mutter, making him smile. "Maybe don't beg me to cum inside you, and I'll leave you alone."
He holds up the plate in his hand, his chest swelling at your blushing cheeks. "I made breakfast, can you get up now? I want to pick your clothes!"
Your eyes widen slightly as you sit up, letting the duvet pool around your belly button as you wipe at your inner corners. "Really? You want to?"
"I love seeing you dressed up for work, babe. Can I? I'll make it pretty, I promise." He draws an x over his chest, and he notices how you can't bite back a smile as you take the plate from him. He turns away as you reach for the bedside lamp, clicking it on as he practically skips into your shared closet.
"You're really chipper…" You trail off, shoveling a peach slice into your mouth. He shrugs, holding up two shirts before putting them back. "It's your first day, and I read something a few years ago about marital ambiance. If I'm in a crappy mood, it'll rub off on you. We can't have that, can we?"
He smiles widely as he pulls out a black dress you hadn't worn in ages – the sleeves were long and slightly flared, and the flowy skirt ended just above your knee. The neck was high, so you wouldn't be exposing any of your weekend shenanigans. "This one? Haven't seen this in, what, two years?"
"We can try that one, yeah." You speak around a mouthful of oatmeal, and he nods as he turns to your shoes. "Are you walking a lot? Or can we go for the Hot Chicks?"
He holds up the black leather heels, and you just smile and shake your head. "I'll take my slippers anyway, so we can go with the Hot Chicks."
"I checked the temperature outside, it'll be a little chilly until lunch time. Do you want pantyhose? Stockings?" He drapes the dress over his arm as he worms out of the closet, placing your shoes on the dresser as he opens a drawer.
You like the sight of your husband like this. Excited for you, eager to see you take a step forward after being (willingly) stagnant for so long. You were afraid that maybe he'd discourage it – you'd overheard him talking to Sunghoon once about how your last job nearly made you lose your mind, and how worried he'd been about you.
He wasn't wrong, either – the fact that your impact felt so minuscule just made you feel like you were at home away from home. It felt like your marriage at the time, it felt like you were sixteen again talking to your mother about your dreams and being shut down. It felt bad, ugly.
You finish your breakfast and get dressed as your husband gets ready, his suit jacket the exact same shade of black as your dress, his button-up that cherry red that makes you ache with want. His slacks are pressed, his hair carefully styled as he appears behind you moments later, holding a flat iron to your head.
"No curls today, babe?" He leans against the doorway, and you smile shyly. "No, I think I want something sleek. The curls are not looking too good this morning."
"Yeah?" He's not listening, running his eyes down your backside. "Hee. Stop."
"I'm just looking, baby." He smiles, and you ignore the way his eyes raking across you make you feel warm. "Well, stop looking. I can't be late, not today."
"So, tomorrow?" He asks, and you scoff as you pull the iron down the last strand of hair, running over the ends twice before tossing it over your shoulder. You roll your eyes, unplugging the tool as your husband's hands run over your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. Swatting his hands away, you leave the iron to cool as you turn around.
"Heeseung, I'm serious." You're nose to nose with your husband, who only smiles down at you. "One kiss."
"In the car, after my lipstick, when you drop me off." You propose, and he shakes his head. "Right here, right now, before your lipstick and you let me go down on you."
"You're insane!" You laugh, pushing him out of the way – but not before he lands a soft smack to the swell of your ass. "Stop! Let me get ready!"
"Fine, fine! I'll make coffee." He scoffs, turning on his heel and going down the hallway.
You shake your head to yourself, wandering back into your bedroom and slipping your jewelry on. Small gold hoops, the same necklace you wore every single day. Your wedding rings, one silver ring with the letter H on your middle left, and one on your right pinky with Heeseung's and your birthstones. A watch that was a gift from your father on your graduation day, the leather band slightly worn and molded to your wrist.
You hear a soft whistle from the doorway, and look up to see your husband biting his lip. "Are you sure you can't be a little late?"
"Dude." You roll your eyes, watching Heeseung set down your silver tumbler on the dresser. He slides behind you as you check your earrings carefully, pressing his hips into your ass. “Did you call me dude yesterday? Could’ve sworn it was another word that started with—”
“Heeseung, you’re on thin ice.” You glare at him through the mirror, feeling him grind against you. “It’s almost like I can still hear you.” He hums against your shoulder, pressing a quick kiss before moving your hair out of the way, trailing gently up your neck and nipping at your ear.
“Please, daddy. Want you so bad.” He mocks you, watching your expression change in the mirror. You huff, your cheeks burning as you look away. “Don’t be shy, it was cute. You’re cute, baby.”
“Stop.” You murmur, before feeling his hand gently tilt your face towards his. He kisses you deeply, moving his hand lower slowly. Squeezing your neck softly, you whimper into his mouth before he pulls away, biting your lower lip and watching it spring back. “We’ll run this back later, yeah?”
You nod, earning a smile and a chaste kiss. “C’mon. It’s almost six-fifteen.”
He pushes off of you, his hand lingering on your hip before he leaves the bedroom. You sigh shakily, your fingers fumbling for your lipstick as you hear him jingle his car keys. You shove it into your dress pocket, grabbing your shoes and coffee cup off the dresser and exiting the bedroom.
You shove your shoes on as you reach the foyer, watching Heeseung pull your coat out of the hall closet. “I prepped your bag before I made breakfast, can you check it?”
Everything is there. You let him slip your coat on, pressing a kiss to your cheek and carefully fixing your hair. “What time are you off?”
“I’ll call you?” You say, and he nods. “Ten minutes before?”
“You got it.”
Neither of you say much else as you take a deep breath, opening your front door and stepping out together. You hold Heeseung’s sleeve as he locks the door, your other hand gripping the tumbler he prepared for you.
He turns, interlocking your fingers with his and bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You ready?”
You smile nervously, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Heeseung dropped you off a minute to seven, and even walked you to the doors of your clinic. He waited patiently as you applied your lipstick, puckering his lips cutely for his kiss goodbye. You pressed another to his cheek for good luck.
The day went smoothly. Your first two patients were two young men, both in their early twenties. One with dyed blond hair, the other with a dark brown perm. Both had tired eyes and chapped lips, bitten fingernails. The blond had a tattoo of a girl’s name on his forearm, the brunet two rings through his eyebrow.
Heeseung’s habit of jotting down small details has rubbed off on you.
Your last patient was set to arrive any minute, and you found yourself feeling uneasy. You kept changing the music you played, settling on Paradise by Sade. You smoothed the felt on the patient couch several times, even drawing a pattern in the fabric before hearing the soft knock on the door.
“Come in!”
A woman opens the door a crack, dark brown eyes peering in. Thickly lashed and lined with kohl, she presses her lips into a thin line before opening the door wider. You stand, smoothing your dress before offering your hand.
“I’m Dr. Lee. You must be—”
“I’m Jeon Chaeyoung. It’s on my file.” She mutters, bypassing your extended hand. She sits on the edge of the couch, and you brush it off. A lot of patients were standoffish at first — getting comfortable with someone you were going to share your problems with was always something difficult, you understood that.
“Yes, I know. I’m glad to meet you, I—”
“Can we just get into it? I don’t want all the formalities.” She cuts you off, and you try not to look discouraged as you settle into your chair. “Of course. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
She sighs, picking at her maroon polish. Something about her is off, something is oddly familiar, but you don’t know what. You notice her widow’s peak has been shaved off, and her teeth are a little too well shaped not to be veneers.
“Well, I’m twenty-eight. I dropped out of university when I was nineteen, and I left my hometown at the same time. Haven’t spoken to anyone since, and I moved to this town last year with my husband.”
You nod slowly, tapping your pen against your notepad. You glance at her file, seeing that she had a few name changes in the last three years. Twice — Jeon Chaeyoung, before that she was Cha Chaeyoung.
Before that, Cha Soyoung.
You choke on your saliva, coughing harshly into your fist. She looks startled, her hands out as you reach for the pitcher of water on the coffee table. You pour shakily, coughing off the side before picking the glass up and taking a sip.
“S-Sorry, sorry. Had a little something. You moved here last year?”
Her eyes are suspicious as you pour another glass for her, sliding it across the table. She takes it tentatively, taking a small sip before holding it in her hands.
“Yeah. I…ran away, I guess. I felt so much pressure from everyone around me. My mother wanted me to be a bigshot lawyer, my father wanted me to take over his company on top of that. My best friend…” She trails off, and you hope she can’t sense how nervous you are.
“He…ugh. He was so patient and understanding, and he tried so hard to understand me. He was there for me through every bad moment of my life — my mother pressing me to be successful, my father wanting me to take over his company. I couldn’t handle it.”
“So you left. You left everything behind and you started anew.” You say slowly, and she nods, her eyes teary. “I even changed my name. I knew he would look for me, I just disappeared without telling anyone. I think he gave up, but I still…”
She wipes at her nose, and you quickly offer tissues from the table. She takes a few, dabbing at her eyes before the kohl can run. She has the same look in her eyes as your first two patients — tired, scared. Even a bit…remorseful.
“I got surgeries to change the way I look, you know. I have a nose job, can you tell?” She turns to the side, and you can. You can tell, the way her nose no longer has the soft button look, but the straight bridge with pointed tip. But she doesn’t know you know that.
“Not that you’d know, sorry.” She laughs nervously, balling the tissues in her hands. You smile warmly at her. “I got my teeth done. And I even got half a syringe of filler in my lips.”
She puckers them, the clear gloss still shiny against the pink skin. You nod, “They look good, though. How do you feel about the changes? Do you feel more confident?”
She shakes her head, “No. I did it…to hide, I guess. I didn’t want my best friend to find me, I didn’t want anyone to find me. I went into hiding as long as I could, hoping my parents would just forget about me.”
“Mmh. I saw your file, and you said you’ve…changed your name. Why, exactly? Did you want to leave behind the person that was…Soyoung?” You tap the file, trying not to show the way her name makes your tongue taste sour, and she sighs. “They opened a Missing Persons case for me. It made everything a lot harder, you know? I just wanted to disappear and start a new life doing something menial. I know it sounds stupid—”
“Stupid?” You scoff, crossing your legs. “Nothing you feel is stupid, Chaeyoung. Everything and anything you’ve ever felt is valid. The need to run when things get too stressful, wanting to hide away from societal pressures. Everything, it’s valid.”
She lets out a shaky sob, covering her mouth as she breathes in. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! You’re just a human being. No one can get upset at you for not knowing how to navigate everything, this is your first time on Earth.” You shrug, and she peers up at you through teary eyes. “Can you tell me about yourself? M-Maybe it’ll be easier to get comfortable.”
“Sure!” You smile, eager to give her an update on Heeseung, despite her not knowing. “I’ve been married for seven years. I met my husband when we were nineteen, and we started dating a little after that. I was a stay-at-home wife for the last few years, because my job…”
She stares at you intently, and you rub your neck. “I didn’t feel fulfilled. My mother, quite like yours, had a lot of pressure on me. I was her only daughter, and she wanted so much. She wanted me to marry for money, and she wanted me to pursue a law degree.”
You smile sadly, and she nods. “Did you marry for money?”
“Not at all. I made more than my husband did in my first year as a therapist.” You laugh, remembering how you and Heeseung cheered as the two of you finally had enough saved for a new mattress. It was a silly stepping stone but the two of you were ecstatic.
“What does your mom think of you now? Do you keep in contact with her?” She tilts her head at you, and you shrug. “I don’t care what she thinks, and she doesn’t speak to me. She works distantly with my husband, so he sees her more often than I do. She’s an attorney for the city we live in.”
Chaeyoung nods, slowly. She pulls her phone out, typing quickly and scrolling before turning her screen towards you. It’s a picture of her and Heeseung smiling as kids. They’re dressed as Team Rocket from Pokémon, posing with V-signs next to their winked eyes.
“This is him. He’s my best friend. I haven’t spoken to him since I left.” She sniffles, and you can’t hide the way your smile falters. You feel your stomach sink a bit, realizing that she would always know Heeseung far more than you ever would. She grew up with him, she matched Halloween costumes with him. She held his hand trick-or-treating, she dyed his hair for the first time in grade nine.
She kissed him when they were seventeen, for the first time ever.
“Are you okay?” She asks, pulling her phone away. You nod quickly, “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just had some memories. I was super into Pokémon as a kid, but I moved around a lot and could never make friends over it.”
It’s not a lie. You collected the cards, played the video games, and watched the Indigo League.
“Do you and your husband have kids? My husband wants to have kids soon.” She mentions, and you shake your head. “No, not yet. We talked about it yesterday, actually.”
You had, in depth. While you were eating the shitty takeout from the diner down the road, he’d asked you. You admitted that you were open to having kids, but wanted to fix your marriage first. He agreed, but mentioned that getting off your birth control would take time to get used to. You nodded in response, saying you’d make an appointment with your doctor and the two of you could go from there.
“But us, first. Okay?” He’d said, holding his pinky out to you. You’d smiled and linked your fingers, “Us first.”
“This is my husband. His name is Jungkook.” She pulls up a photo of a particularly tattooed man, pressing his lips to her temple. He has a lip ring, and several rings through his ears. “He’s cute! Do you feel loved? Fulfilled?”
“Funnily enough, I do. I don’t feel any of the stress or pressure to be…perfect. He…gets me. He engages me, he makes me laugh. We dance together a lot, he sings me to sleep.” She nods, smiling at the photo. “Can I see your husband? Or is that too far?”
You try not to show your hesitation, but the words tumble out before you can stop them.
"Maybe next time, yeah?"
She nods quickly, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable–"
"Not at all! My husband is just particular, you know. His job stops him from really being a prolific person." You smile, shaking your head as you tap your notepad. It's true, you and Heeseung hardly posted things about yourselves or your relationship on social media. Your friends were all very private due to the nature of their jobs, and it'd do you well to follow that.
The rest of the session goes on without many more slip-ups. She focuses on telling you about her relationship with her husband, how he proposed. Their intimate elopement in his hometown, with just his friends and their girlfriends. You can't count how many times you heard her mention a couple named Jimin and Jeongyeon.
You can't focus on anything but the color of her eyes. How deep they are, how much of her story they hold. You're certain Heeseung would be able to figure her out in a split second, just by looking into them.
"You're very good at this, you know." She says as she tugs her jacket on, and you don't remember her ever taking it off. The hour she booked is almost up, and she looks a lot lighter than when she came in. You can feel the weight of her confessions, the weight of knowing she was alive and well after years of searching for her on your own shoulders.
You don't know if, or when, you should, or could – tell your husband.
"Good at what?" You tilt your head, and she gives you a quizzical look. "At creating a nice environment to share my struggles. I know I mostly talked about my husband, but…it felt nice. To tell someone about him and not have them tell me they already know that about him."
You smile inwardly, knowing exactly what she means. "Yeah. My husband…his best friends are also mine. Can't really talk about all his weird little habits without them knowing exactly what I'm talking about."
"Oh? You don't have friends of your own?" She tilts her head, and you laugh. "I mean, yeah. But I tend to spend most of my time with my husband. It's like…a really good amusement park. I wanna go on all the rides with him, you know?"
She smiles, but you see a slight flash of judgment in her eyes. Feeling your cheeks burn, you clear your throat, closing her file and putting it on the table. "Should I expect to see you here next week, Chaeyoung?"
"I'd like that, Dr. Lee. My husband said he'd wait for me, so I'm going to go ahead and relieve him." She nods, before standing. You do as well, walking her to the entrance. She turns on the steps, "Thank you for listening to me."
"Any time, Chaeyoung." You bid her a goodbye, watching as she walks out of the clinic with her hands in her pockets to a black station wagon. Leaning on your doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest, you see her husband get out, seeing the way he towers over her. He smiles down at her, tucking her hair behind her ear before pressing a kiss to her forehead. You can make out his lips asking How was it?
And her own saying I'm coming back next week. I really like this one, honey.
You feel your chest ache as he opens her door, pressing another kiss to her cheek as she pulls her seatbelt on. He shuts the door, and circles back to the driver's side. He looks up, catching your eye. He tilts his head, before smiling and opening his door. He gives you a quick wave, and you put your fingers up as he reverses out of his parking spot.
It looked so easy for them.
She looked so easy to love, he looked so eager to love her. Did people look at you and Heeseung that way, too? Did they think that about you?
Sighing, you turn into your office, stretching your arms over your head. You moved around, tidying up as the music you played switched to something that reminded you more of your husband – specifically, No Song Without You by HONNE.
He'd played this song almost every day when the two of you began dating. You remember this song playing in the restaurant you had your third date at. You remember this song playing in the car when he picked you up for your twentieth birthday.
You remember this song playing when he asked you to be his girlfriend, and ending just moments before he kissed you for the first time.
You remember this song playing when he took you out to the flower field he proposed in. You remember his teary eyes as he knelt down before you, one of the biggest displays of emotion you'd ever seen in him. Most of all, you remember him saying there is no him without you.
You don't realize you've been standing in the same spot for the last two minutes until you hear your phone ring on the desk. You rush to it, picking up the call before even looking at the caller ID.
"This is Dr. Lee." You say, fumbling with Chaeyoung's file and the cabinet. You open it before hearing your husband snort on the other end. "Hello, Dr. Lee. This is Lieutenant Lee, I'm calling on behalf of your taxi service."
"Yah! You're not my taxi." You scoff, shoving the file into the J section. He laughs, "I'm outside, baby. You didn't call, so I got worried. I picked up something light, are you almost done?"
"Shit, I'm sorry. D'you want to come inside? I still have things to wrap up." You screw your eyes shut, your fingers rubbing at your temples. "Yeah, sure. I'll be right there."
It doesn't take long for your husband to appear at your door, holding his badge in his hand as you type on your computer. You give him a quizzical look, before turning back to the screen. "Did the janitor give you a hard time?"
"You could say that." He shakes head, setting his keys and phone down on your coffee table. He's holding the bag of food in his hand, and you gesture to the room. "It's nice, isn't it?"
He looks around, putting the bag on your desk before opening it. "It's a lot bigger than your old office. I like the green…is that Take Me by Miso?" His ears perk at the new song playing through the speakers, and you sigh, nodding your head as you slump in your chair.
He nods along to the song before rounding the desk, and pressing a kiss to your hairline. "You don't look very happy, honey. Did something happen?"
His hands find your shoulders as he stands behind you, and you move your mouse all over the screen. "Nothing, I'm just rebooking a patient. She…something about her. I don't know."
You know your conscience won't let you hide this from Heeseung very long. Granted, you're protected by the law if you do tell him, and it's the right thing to do.
Something in your heart doesn't feel right.
"Jeon Chaeyoung." He reads, and you nod. "Jeon Chaeyoung."
"What's her deal?" He asks, making you pout up at him. "If I tell you, I'm violating our patient-provider contract."
He gives you a confused look, before leaning down, brushing a kiss to your cheek. "I'm sensing a but, here."
You sigh, exiting the schedule and turning the monitor off. "Let me make a scenario for you, yeah?" You stand, kicking your heels off as you walk onto the carpet under the coffee table. He nods slowly, before moving to the patient couch, taking a seat as you pace.
"Let's say, you're looking at someone in a line-up, yes?" You turn to him, and he nods. "Okay. What am I looking for?"
"Something familiar. You know the perpetrator and you've known them for ages. I mean, damn near your entire life."
Heeseung's eyes scan your face, before humming. He leans back, resting his elbows against the back of the couch. "We have a saying about eyes, I guess. That they never lie, you know. Eyes are the windows to the soul and what not."
"So if I show you a picture of me and a bunch of other people, and cover everything but our eyes, you'd know which one I am?" You feel like you're starting to sound a bit like a maniac, but your husband nods. "Of course I would. I love your eyes. I look at them all the time."
You nod quickly, before breathing out shakily.
"When you were nine, what did you dress up as for Halloween?"
"What?" He scoffs out a laugh, "What does that have anything to do with what we were just talking about?"
You kneel in front of him, and he sits up quickly, taking in your serious expression. "Babe, what is going on?"
"Did you match with Soyoung?" You murmur, picking at his slacks. "Were you Jesse from Team Rocket?"
Heeseung's brow furrows as he takes your hands, the clink of your rings grabbing your attention. "Y/N?"
"It's her. She changed her name and she changed her face but it's her, Hee. I know it is, I can tell by her eyes and she showed me the two of you dressed up for Halloween as kids. That picture your mom has framed in her office." You squeeze your eyes shut, sinking back from him. His fingers squeeze yours gently before he scoffs. "Y/N…Honey, I really, really need you to think about what you're telling me right now."
"I am, Heeseung! This is just as important to me, you know that! Countless sleepless nights, thousands of posters put up every single weekend just for her to waltz into my office today and tell me about her life!" You rip your hands from his, standing and walking to the file cabinet. You fish her file out, opening it and thrusting it into his hands.
He takes it reluctantly, his eyes scanning the file with a frown on his lips.
"She's married." He mumbles, flipping to the next page to her insurance information. He sees her name changes, before and after her marriage. His tongue pokes his cheek gently as you sit next to him, your ankles crossed as you sigh.
"This is rather anticlimactic." You mumble, leaning your head against his shoulder. He hums in response, thumbing the print of her electronic signature. "She never used to write her C's like this."
He flicks the file, before closing it.
"What happens now?" Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you feel him sigh before leaning his head on yours. "Nothing. Legally, she doesn't have to report her reappearance. She's an adult."
You look up at your husband, who has a surprisingly underwhelmed look on his face. He's nibbling on his lip as he gently tosses the file onto the coffee table. You rest your chin on his shoulder, scanning his face before he looks down at you.
"You seem tired." You say softly, and he closes his eyes. "I am. I'm so tired, honey."
"You don't feel any sort of way about this? I can refer her to another clinic. I can–"
"I just want to go home, Y/N." He shakes his head, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You allow it, moving to sit in his lap and feeling his hands drop to your waist. "I don't have…I can't…"
You look down at him, seeing the way he angrily blinks back tears as he tries to find the words he needs. Your hands gently cup his cheeks as he sighs frustratedly, burying his face in your chest. You can feel your stomach flip as he tries to breathe deeply, his shoulders tight as you wrap your arms around them. He sniffles, resting his forehead on your clavicle, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Is it wrong to be angry at her?" He mumbles shakily, and you quickly shake your head. "No. She left, and she told me it was willingly. She came back, just a thirty-minute drive from home and she didn't tell you. You're allowed to be upset."
"Then why do I feel shitty about it?" His voice trembles as he looks up at you, teary eyes full of resentment and bitterness, but behind it all is a 19-year-old boy who lost his best friend from night to the morning. You coo softly, your thumb moving to swipe under his eye as he pouts.
"Because you wanted things to be different. Finding out she's okay through me…probably wasn't the way you imagined it'd happen. Maybe you had an idea of her showing up to the precinct, or to your parents' house looking for you. Maybe you saw that she's married to someone else and it hurts you, maybe you have some underlying feelings." You shrug, not noticing the way your husband's eyes narrow at your words.
"Y/N, are you hearing yourself right now?" He scoffs, gently pushing you away from him. His hands rest on your thighs, nibbling on the corner of his lip as you give him a confused look. "What?"
"Did you just seriously try and equate my feelings about this entire situation to me having some sort of weird fantasy about being with her?"
You blink twice, only for Heeseung to huff out a humorless laugh before gently removing you off his lap. He stands, grabbing his keys and wallet off the table before tapping the file. "Let's go home."
"Hee–"
"Let's go." He sighs, fingers grabbing the bag of dinner that you're sure had gone cold by now. He waits by the door as you gather your things, holding your coat in his hand as you slide your heels back on. "Heeseung–"
"Turn around. It's cold outside." His voice isn't harsh or mean, but you can tell he doesn't want to speak unless it's absolutely necessary. You reluctantly let him slide your coat on for you, feeling his lips pressed to your temple quickly. He opens the office door, carefully pushing you out first and turning the lights off behind him.
"Can I drive?" You hold your hand out for the keys, and he sighs before dropping them in your hand. You walk quickly towards the exit, not bothering to bid the janitor a good night as you nearly threw the door open. You could feel your stomach turn as you reached the car, Heeseung still trailing behind you when his voice cut through the air.
"Walking that quickly won't get you away from this conversation, babe."
You tongue your cheek, waiting for your husband to appear next to you in front of the SUV you shared. His hand squeezed your hip gently, before pulling you close. "What are you running from, hm?"
The conversation where you tell me that our marriage is over and you want out because your best friend is back in the picture, you think. You shrug, shaking your head as he pulls open the driver's side door. He sighs as you skirt around him, pulling yourself into the seat without his help. He doesn't let you close the door, wedging himself in to buckle in your seatbelt for you.
"You say some really fucked up shit sometimes, you know." He murmurs, and you feel your cheeks hot as you reach around him to stick the keys in the ignition. His hand on your cheek stops you, forcing you to look at him. "I thought we said we'd work on this. On us."
"I don't want to do this here." You reply shortly, not recognizing your own tone of voice as your husband's eyes widen before he tongues his cheek. "Fine."
The drive is silent, the radio turned off by your fingers the moment you managed to get the car started. Heeseung sits in the passenger side, staring out the window with a tick in his jaw you'd only ever really seen a few times, but you remember most during your first fight. It'd been two days before your first anniversary, and it'd been over the dumbest thing ever – his phone dying and you freaking out when he showed up late to your early celebration. He'd apologized profusely but you didn't want to talk about it then, just like you don't want to talk now.
Heeseung is out of the car before you even manage to park fully, careful not to slam the door as he rounds the car, opening your door and taking your bag. You reluctantly let him help you down, and he takes the keys to open the door without a word. Your home is still warm and inviting, but something about the cold demeanors floating around the two of you makes it feel like you're not even there.
"Are you hungry?" He asks quietly, and you shake your head. "No."
"You had lunch at noon, why are you lying?" He scoffed, pulling his jacket off as you tongued your cheek, "I'm not. You're just assuming things."
"What is the problem, Y/N? Suddenly Soyoung…Chaeyoung reappears and you want to act like this? Did we not just have several lengthy conversations about fixing our relationship?" He grabs your elbow gently as you move to walk away, and you can't help but look at him with a frown on your face. "That was then, and this is now."
"Why are you being like this? Babe." Heeseung pulls you toward him, and you huff in frustration as you try to weasel from his gasp. "You're acting like I'm some insecure housewife who needs you to coddle her. I'm not insecure, and even if I was, there's nothing you can do about it. Who cares? Why do you even care?"
Heeseung gapes at you, before his hands circle your wrists so you can't move away from him. "Hello? Because I love you? Do I need another reason to want to understand why the woman I've been with for almost a decade is suddenly acting like she hates me?"
"Me? Hate you? Be fucking serious." You scoff, and Heeseung's eyes narrow. "Then tell me what the hell is going on in your mind, because I'm not a mind reader. I cannot fix a problem if you don't tell me what it is."
"Oh, but if I were Soyoung–" You start, but stop the moment his eyes meet yours. They're full of hurt and a hint of anger, a singular tear spilling from them before he drops your wrists with a click of his tongue.
"Don't."
His voice is soft, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he turns away from you, before shrugging his suit jacket off. He sighs shakily, and you feel your throat burn as you step out of your heels, placing them quietly on the shoe rack by the door. You purse your lips, taking a deep breath before turning on your heel, moving towards your bedroom before the tears spill from your eyes.
You didn't know what to do to stop the feeling of despair from clawing at you.
And you felt stupid, thinking that you needed to even allow that feeling into your chest. You and Heeseung had spoken in depth on Sunday about your relationship – when you weren't pinned under him or vice versa. You talked about having kids, you talked about your parents, you talked about each other. He admitted to you that Dr. Bahng had told him to take some time off for the two of you before the year ended, and that he'd talk to his Captain about submitting the paperwork for a vacation sometime this week.
He admitted that he wholly believes marrying you was one of the best decisions he's ever made, and profusely apologized for his inability to cherish you the way you deserved. He held you closely as his promises to do better rained over you, and you promised the same.
He admitted to feeling his heart racing in his chest the day he met you, but was too consumed with guilt about Chaeyoung to ever bring it up, and his crush on you started developing soon after. He admitted that you made him overthink every step he took, every word he said – so much so that he figured it was just better to push you away than tell you about his feelings.
The two of you recounted how Sunghoon made the two of you meet him at the campus cafe with the premise that he needed help on an assignment – only to ditch you with a frown, and figure your shit out falling from his lips as he left with Jake.
You brought up how he'd gaped at Sunghoon, and the way you awkwardly picked at your nails before confessing that you had a little crush on him. The way you rambled about knowing that his circumstances were really shitty, that you completely understood if he didn't feel the same, and that you were sorry Sunghoon put the two of you in this situation.
Heeseung had only smiled as he nodded along to your words, before abruptly interrupting you to ask if you were free that following Friday. You had been, and he picked you up at seven for a date – an arcade, where the two of you jokingly did a Love Test-O-Meter and got the highest level. The two of you had scrunched your noses, but you both had deep blushes across your cheeks as the other patrons woo'd you. After, you went back to his dorm and ordered takeout, before promptly getting intoxicated on a bottle of gin stolen from Jay and watched horror films for hours before you passed out on his bed holding hands.
The rest? History.
You're struggling to pull your dress zipper down when Heeseung enters the room, his fingers gently tugging the zipper down your back without a word. You hear the gentle jazz music playing in your living room as he shuffles towards the closet, unbuttoning his shirt before hanging it back up. His hand reaches for one of the towels on the shelves, before taking another out and placing it on the bed.
A silent invitation to join him in the shower, if you so felt like it.
You hesitated, watching the way he gathered his pajamas and tucks them under his arm, the urge to follow after him far too strong as you stepped out of your dress, letting it pool on the floor. You kicked it away with a huff, before stripping entirely and grabbing the towel and your robe off the back of your bedroom door. You linger at the bathroom door, hearing the water start to pour and the sound of the shower curtain being pulled open.
You walk in silently, setting your things down on the counter as Heeseung undid his belt, hanging it up on the hook by the door. You make a mental note to take it out when you leave, he'll forget it and not wear it for weeks until he sees it again. He tilts his head towards the shower as he peels off his undershirt, signaling for you to get in while he gets undressed.
The water is hot against your skin, and you close your eyes with an inward sigh. He steps in moments after, before tilting your head back just slightly so the water can cascade through your hair. Your hands instinctively move to touch him, but you retract back to your sides. He gently takes them, wrapping them around his waist like you usually do.
He doesn't say anything as he washes your hair gently, your eyes closed so as to not take in the image of your husband's slightly swollen eyes. His fingers card through your hair smoothly, before you feel his lips on your forehead.
"I love you. Don't say it back. Don't say anything."
You don't, but you're sure he sees the tear that slips from your eye as you nod silently. It comes so easily to him now. So, so easily to let you know how he feels about you.
It makes you weak in the knees.
The rest of your shower is like that, his lips brushing chaste kisses all over your face as he repeats himself over and over, I love you, I love you, I love you. Your tears are hot as they continue to spill, and you finally slip out of the shower when he asks you to take the extra pillows off the bed – his final kiss to your lips after carefully washing your face for you.
You do as he asks, taking your decorative pillows and piling them in the closet like you usually do. You silently get dressed for bed, not bothering with your skincare – you'll just cry it off. Your hair is still damp when you lie down in one of your husband's old shirts and a pair of Spiderman briefs you stole from him years ago. He quietly turns all the lights off but leaves the music playing in the living room, before walking into the bedroom as he pulls his shirt over his head.
Your vision is blurry as you look up at him, his face illuminated by the evening moonlight. He sighs as he sits on your side of the bed, his hand sliding under the duvet to rest on your thigh. "Come dance with me."
You blink a few times, staring at him before closing your eyes, shoving the duvet to the side and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. He stands, taking your hand in his and making you follow him to the living room.
You hear the opening notes of Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers – yet another song from your wedding – as Heeseung pulls you into him, planting a soft kiss to your hairline as his hands find home on your lower back. You exhale into his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken as you slide your hands under his shirt, resting them high on his back.
"I love you, I'm sorry." You mumble as he sways the two of you gently, and he hums in response.
"I need you to know that I've never had feelings for Chaeyoung." He says clearly, and you close your eyes. "I've never had feelings for her, in any way that wasn't platonic. There are plenty of reasons she and I never got together after she kissed me when we were teenagers. Not that they matter, because all that matters is that I didn't feel the same, I never have and I never will."
You don't respond, feeling your eyes sting with tears.
"It's only ever been you for me. I've never once thought back to when we started dating and thought that I'd would’ve been better off with anyone else. I've never wanted anyone that isn't you, and I think that is equally as beautiful as it is terrifying. In lieu of you, who? I'd have no first love without you, you’re the only love I want."
"I'm sorry." You whisper as your tears soak into his shirt, and he pinches your hip lightly.
"I'd genuinely be nothing without you. You are the most patient, loving person I've ever met. No one makes me want to be a better man like you do. I feel sick every time I have to get out of bed and go to work, but I remind myself that you only deserve the best. This house, our things, what I hope I can provide for our future kids…it can only be the best. So, I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry for giving so much importance to the future, which isn't a bad thing in itself. But, I've ignored my present. You're a gift from life, I've ignored you and it pains me to know I've caused you so much distress. So much so that you resort to feeling like this, like I'd ever leave the love of my life, the love for my life, for someone else."
His hands find your face, cooing at the pout on your lips as he gently wipes your tears. "I meant everything I said this weekend, too. I could never ask for a better woman, not when I have you."
You only let out a sob in response, your husband cuddling you into his chest as he turns the music off when the song changes. He rubs your back as he moves the two of you back to the bedroom. He only separates from you to slide under the covers, but pulls you flush to his chest and envelopes you tightly in his arms.
"I love you so, so endlessly. Please don't ever doubt that again." He sighs shakily, pressing his lips to your temple as you bury your face in his neck. "I love you, Hee."
Friday, 3:40pm.
It'd been three weeks since you told Heeseung about Chaeyoung's return, and she'd become a regular patient at your clinic. She told you more about her husband, her friends, and how she missed Heeseung. She asked you about your life, and you did everything to avoid mentioning names, even going as far as avoiding certain questions. You kept Heeseung updated with everything, and the more you told him…
…The more disinterested he became. It was odd to you, but you said nothing as he changed the subject, as he rolled his eyes, as he kissed you in the middle of your sentences.
Heeseung also made it a point to drop you off and pick you up from work every day, insisting he enjoyed it. He made your breakfast and picked your clothes, and it was like every morning was a challenge to see if he could convince you to take a trip to the bedroom in your work clothes. He'd succeeded twice, and you were late to work both times. He hadn't been successful since, earning soft swats of your hand and gentle shoves.
However, this morning – you did it all on your own. Heeseung had recently taken on a new case and it was cutting into his sleep. He came home not even an hour before you woke up, several apologetic calls and texts throughout the night before you fell asleep at midnight without him.
You tucked him in, planting kisses across his face as you shrugged your coat on. He didn't stir, and you packed his breakfast and lunch and left it on the table. You took the long way, playing the same soft jazz station he did every morning.
One of your patients had called to reschedule, so you'd have an early afternoon home. You got a text from Heeseung moments after arriving at the clinic, complaining about why you didn't wake him up to take you – only for him to call you at noon and say he'd barely gotten up for work. You'd laughed and teased him about thinking he'd be able to take you to work when he clearly needed the rest, only to hear Sunghoon tell your lovebird of a husband to get off the phone and focus.
It'd been nearly four hours since then, and you were about to wrap up with Chaeyoung.
"I found him on social media, you know. His mom posted a congratulatory post, he works in the same town. He's a lieutenant at the Seventh Precinct." She picked at her nails, a frown on her lips as you try not to show your shock at her words. "Who, your best friend?"
"Yes. He's married now, too. I couldn't find anything about her, though. His parents didn't post anything about the wedding but a backshot of him and the bride." She sighs, and you think back. You'd both asked his parents to keep it private, and they both chose that photo to post across their social media to boast to their friends. You'd appreciated it so deeply that you bought them a rice cooker for Christmas that year.
"Do you plan on going to see him at some point?" You ask smoothly, refilling her glass of water as she shrugs. "I planned on going today, actually. I'm just…nervous. I had a friend drop me off today, and I'd be going alone. I feel like I'd need a support system."
"I can go with you, if you'd like. I'm headed that way anyway." The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and her eyes widened with surprise before she smiled. "You'd do that?"
"Of course. This is a big step for you, you know? I'd just have to make some calls, I know that precinct happens to be rather finicky with visitors." You shrug, feeling the pit in your stomach grow deeper as you wonder how you're going to tell Heeseung. She nods excitedly, and you excuse yourself, walking down the hall so nothing can be heard through the door.
The line rings three times before Heeseung picks up.
"Hey, baby. What's up?"
"You can't be mad at me. Promise you won't get mad." You rush out, and he laughs. "I won't be mad. At least, I don't think I'll be. Are you okay?"
"She wants to meet you. She said she's going over there today, and my stupid ass offered to drive her over because I'm going home early, anyway." You're wincing as the line goes silent, before your husband sighs. "Oh, babygirl."
You can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, the particular pet name only really slipping when he's stressed. "I'm sorry, honey."
"No, no. It's fine, just..let me get some stuff settled, I'll let Minseo know to let you through without issues." He trails off, before another sigh is heard. "Does she know we're married?"
"She found that back shot from our wedding. She doesn't know it's me." You sigh shakily, and your husband only echoes it back. "Alright, I'll let the guys know. Will you be in the room? I don't think I can do this alone."
"Yes, of course. I won't be there as your wife, though, if that's…fine. Just think of it as that one time we roleplayed."
Your husband snorts, "Babe, that was the most awkward thing ever."
"Because you can't hold character! But don't worry, we'll spin that one back someday." You hum affirmatively, earning a soft laugh. "I love you, baby. I'll see you in what, thirty?"
"I'd run red lights for you if it wasn't illegal and dangerous." You shrug, despite him not being able to see you. He's probably rolling his eyes, a click of his tongue coming through the phone. "Be good, honey. I'll see you. Love you."
"I will. Love you."
You shoot a few texts off to the other detectives as the line hangs up, before sliding back into your office and seeing Chaeyoung sprawled across the couch with her arm over her eyes. "You alright in here?"
Your soft chuckle startles her, and she straightens quickly, brushing her hair out of her face. "Sorry, I'm nervous."
"Not to worry. They know me well, so don't be startled if anyone says anything." You smile as you grab your coat, before floating over to your computer and clicking around. "Ready to go? We can even stop and get a little drink for the drive."
"You're such a girl, I love it." She giggles, and you feel your stomach sink as you shake your head with fake amusement. You feel awful lying to her – she'd been so open and honest, warming up to you incredibly fast. She eagerly bounces alongside you as you walk to your car after gathering your belongings and locking your office, slipping into your passenger seat as you quickly buckle yourself in.
The ride is full of nervous chatter from her and you drop your guard a bit, opting to talk to her about Heeseung through memories. You tell her about your first date, and she's amused, telling you about her first date with her husband – talking about how the two of them wound up getting lost in Busan because he'd forgotten his way around a smaller part of town. You only smiled throughout.
You arrived at the precinct with an iced coffee from a shop a block away, Chaeyoung holding an Americano as she nervously chewed her lip. You spoke to Minseo softly, your eyes pointed as she nodded – it seemed Heeseung had vetted everyone before your arrival. "Go ahead, Dr. Lee. Lieutenant Lee should be in his office, his schedule is clear for the afternoon."
"Thank you, Minseo. Take a break soon, okay?" You give her a warm smile and this time, she returns it, before printing your visitor stickers and giving one to Chaeyoung. Her fingers tremble as she sticks it on her denim jacket, and you see Sunghoon staring intently in your direction before you give him a dirty look.
"Dr. Lee! Good to see you, it's been a while." He wanders over, draping his arm over your shoulders as you try not to groan in annoyance. "Detective Park, always a pleasure."
"Sunghoon?" You hear Chaeyoung whisper, and he glances over at her with a mock look of surprise. "Yes? Do I know you?"
She opens her mouth, but you quickly shake your head, reaching for her hand. "Later. I promise you'll have time."
"Sorry." She mumbles, but she looks over her shoulder at Sunghoon for a bit as you walk through the precinct. You note the way her eyes widen at the sight of Jake and Jay, their serious faces contorting to ones of confusion at her longing glances. They all pretend like their hearts aren't racing out of their chests as you knock on Heeseung's door, hearing an affirmative sound to come in.
"Lieutenant Lee." You poke your head in, squeezing Chaeyoung's hand in yours as your husband looks up. You fight the urge to say he looks handsome in his white button down and blue suit jacket, but he stands before you can say anything else.
"Dr. Lee, always a pleasure to see you. How can I help you?" He opens the door further, and you can almost hear the way he thanks his years of training for the stoicism on his face as he sees Chaeyoung. You pull her into the office as he steps out of the way, her eyes wide as you sit her down and quickly close the blinds, sticking your tongue out at Sunghoon for good measure.
You almost forget Heeseung has a few photos of you on his desk, and you look over your shoulder to see them all facing the wall behind his chair. You nearly sigh in relief, but clear your throat instead as you sit next to Chaeyoung. Heeseung smiles softly, checking his watch.
"How can I help you, ladies? Oh, I'm Lieutenant Lee Heeseung. At your service." He extends his hand, noting the way hers trembles as she takes it. He gives it a firm shake, before glancing at her again. "You look…kind of familiar. Have we met before?"
"I can't." She whispers, her hand gripping onto the sleeve of your coat as you nod, before clearing your throat. "It's okay. You want me to talk?"
She nods without a word, and you give Heeseung a pleading look. "So, we have a bit of a…predicament."
"Right, as one would assume." He nods slowly, and you note the way he nervously chews his lip before taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch. "Are you in danger, or some sort of trouble?" He clicks a pen from his pocket, opening a drawer from the side table to take out a notepad.
"More like we have some answers to a case that went cold a few years back." You hear him hum, the pen not touching the paper as he looks up. "Alright, should I pull up some records?"
"If you'd like, but it was a Missing Persons case you were involved with. Do you remember when we talked about it when we first met? The Cha Soyoung case?"
"Ah…right. Right." He clears his throat, and you can see the tears beginning to well in his eyes as he blinks them back. "That case has long been dry, with lots of dead ends. Everyone in the precinct is familiar with it. Last update was, what, three years ago? Some sightings a few miles away."
"Lieutenant, this is Jeon Chaeyoung." You introduce her properly, her eyes peering at him over your shoulder. He blinks, nodding slowly. "Formerly known as Cha Soyoung."
He tilts his head at your words, as if he didn't already know. He stares blatantly, and you make her scoot up a bit so he can get a better look at her face. His eyes scan her repeatedly, before he stands up and moves to his desk, opening a drawer and taking out one of the many missing posters you used to put up every week. He looks at it for a moment, and sighs shakily.
"You know, I appreciate you coming by–"
"Hee, it's me." She blurts, a few tears rolling down her face as you see a pained look on your husband's face. He nibbles on his lip, his eyes full of stress as he looks at you. She stands up, and Heeseung tongues his cheek as he shakes his head. "Soyoung had a widow's peak, and a birthmark on her neck."
"Heeseung, please. I know you're upset, and I…I'm sorry. I've missed you..." She trails off, and you note the way he's near tears, looking away from her, the paper crumpling in his hand as he clears his throat. "Dr. Lee, can I see you outside?"
Chaeyoung gives you a look of despair, and you just pat her shoulder with an apologetic look as you watch Heeseung storm out. "I'll talk to him, don't worry."
She opens her mouth to speak, but she just sighs. Nodding, she takes a seat, and you tighten your coat around you as you follow your husband out. He's in the break room a few feet away, and he nearly shuts the door with a slam as you slip inside. His arm reaches for you, pulling him into you roughly and squeezing you so hard you can't breathe for a moment.
"I can't do this. I'm not strong enough, Y/N." His voice is unsteady, but you snake your arms around his waist with a hum. "You know, I was worried. I was beginning to think you were going to let this all just…go. You are strong enough, and you can do this.. I know this is scary, it's so overwhelming. I know you, though. You're Lee Heeseung, you don't give up on anything. It's been almost a decade and you've worked so hard to get here. Don't you want to see the fruit of your hard work?"
Your voice is soft but stern, and your husband only whimpers pitifully into your shoulder. You coo, running your hand down the nape of his neck as you sway the two of you gently. "I love you, baby. I believe you can get through this. You deserve a happy ending to it all. So many years of stress won't be good for your hairline."
He actually snorts at your joke, but the tears continue nonetheless as he moves away, pouting as he sits in one of the chairs. You wipe your hands on his cheeks gently, offering him a tissue from your pocket as you squat in front of him. "It's gonna be okay. I promise."
"I don't want to make amends. I don't think I can forgive her for this." He sniffles, and you nod in understanding. "That's okay, too. You don't need to be her friend again, even if that's what she wants. You owe her nothing, and vice versa."
"I love you." He whines, covering his face with his hands as you laugh softly. "I know, I love you too, Hee."
"No, seriously, I'd ask you to marry me again if we weren't already married." He grabs your hands quickly, and you nearly lose your balance as he jerks you forward, enveloping you in a crushing embrace. "Submit your vacation paperwork and we can renew our vows instead."
"I love you so much!" He cries into your coat. You can't help but laugh out loud, a bit of shock running through you as you take in his very big emotional outburst. "I know, I know! Now please, get it together. We've got to get back, and you need to talk to her. The poor girl is vibrating out of her skin."
"Kiss me." He pouts, looking up at you as you stand. You roll your eyes. "After. Promise."
"I need it for encouragement. Be the wind beneath my wings, babe." He begs, making you sigh. "One kiss, and keep your tongue in your mouth."
"Two kisses to make up for the lack of tongue." He counters, and you smack his arm before pressing your lips to his. His hands instinctively hold your waist, your own moving to hold his cheeks gently. It's slow and sweet, and you pull away as his teeth nip at your lower lip.
“Stop that."
You brush two more chaste kisses on his lips, a pout appearing as you squeeze his hand. "Come on, we have to."
"I love you." He repeats for the umpteenth time, and you know he's finding comfort in knowing that you both feel the same and are there for moral support. "I love you, Hee. Now, let's go."
The other detectives pretend they don't notice the way you hold his hand tightly as you both exit the break room, Heeseung ducking his head to hide his teary eyes as you open the door to his office. You pop your head in, seeing a rather disheveled Chaeyoung on the couch.
"How're we feeling?" You call gently, squeezing Heeseung's hand behind you before you let go. She gives you a thumbs down as she wipes her eyes, and Heeseung clears his throat behind you as he carefully slips past. She shifts as he does so, and you shut the door behind you. He sits across from her carefully, her eyes shimmering with tears as she peers up at you.
Heeseung does the same, before glancing at your wedding rings. They're snug on your finger, and you carefully thumb at them as you gingerly take a seat on the couch next to Chaeyoung. You give him a pointed look, and he sighs, running his hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry, Hee." She whispers, and he nods. "I'm sure."
"I really am. You would've talked me out of it, I know you."
Heeseung's hands flex on his knees, "You could've talked to me, at least. You could've said literally anything. You just up and left and expected no one would care."
"You don't get it, Hee. I felt so much pressure from everyone around me, I was so tired of pretending like I wanted any of that for myself. I didn't want to take over the company, you knew that." She tries to reason, but you can tell he's fighting himself from saying anything out of line as he takes a deep breath.
"It's always what I knew and what you knew, but you clearly forgot the fact that you were my best friend. Since we were kids, and the most painful part of this all is confirming that you didn't trust me that entire time. There's no coming back from this."
She's silent as he picks at his nails, before she speaks softly. "Don't you at least want to know how I'm doing?"
He scoffs quietly, folding his hands in his lap. "Sure. Tell me everything you've built for yourself while I've spent a decade agonizing about whether or not you're alive." His tone is harsh and you find yourself giving him a hard look, your jaw tight as she looks down. He doesn't apologize, and you find yourself speaking softly.
"A lot of big feelings here, hm? There's a lot of pain to get through, so…let's not take anything to heart right now." You nod, and Chaeyoung nods next to you as she clears her throat. Heeseung doesn't acknowledge it, opting to bounce his leg.
"I got married. I know you did too, right? During college?" She nods, and he clicks his tongue.
"Heeseung, be nice." You say his name out of habit, his eyes snapping to you as you wince at your mistake. "Didn't know we were on a first-name basis, Dr. Lee."
"You know what I mean." You roll your eyes, and Heeseung sighs. "Yeah, I got married in college right after I turned twenty-one. Seven years ago."
"You're awfully young to be a Lieutenant." She says softly, and he struggles not to roll his eyes. "Doesn't take much to get promoted when you're constantly mulling over cases and neglecting other things for someone who didn't want to be found. You could've called, you know."
"Could I have? Because it seems like you hate me for doing what's best for me." Her eyes are narrowed now, and he scoffs. "I think I'm allowed to hate you for all its fucking worth at this point. You abandoned me nine years ago, you just up and left without a word! Do you know how many birthdays I had to spend answering questions about you instead of celebrating with my loved ones? You know how many date nights I shoved aside with my wife because I was here, hoping I'd get a crumb of knowing that you're at least alive? Do you understand how much of my life has gone into this?!"
Heeseung is starting to lose his patience, but it seems Chaeyoung had been ready to blow her top for years.
"What about me, Heeseung?! You think I liked always being on the fucking sidelines, waiting for you to notice me? I had to fucking disappear for you to care about me? For you to look my way even once, I had to uproot my entire life? Is that what it had to fucking come to?!"
Your lips part at her words, Heeseung's eyes widening before they narrow. "Are you serious? That's what you want to attribute this to? I didn't reciprocate your feelings so now I'm the bad guy? You fucking left, instead of communicating with anyone. You made that decision, no one forced you to take that road."
"I did what I had to, and the fact that you never wanted to be with me despite us literally being the perfect love story was just the cherry on top. It was my catalyst and I hope you know that I resent you for making me feel so undesirable." She huffs, and you clear your throat as Heeseung glowers.
"I think…we've lost our way a bit. This was more about reconnecting, I assumed it'd be a bit more peaceful. The blame game gets us nowhere." You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Chaeyoung takes a deep breath, struggling not to roll her eyes before pulling her phone out. "This is my husband. You'd like him, he plays bass and he produces music for an entertainment company. His name is Jungkook, we got married two years ago."
Heeseung gives you a glance, your eyes nervous as you breathe out.
"Everything alright?" He asks gently, and you know it's his way of asking if he can talk about you. Your eyes are nervous, but you nod anyway, playing with the hem of your dress. Chaeyoung gives you a once over, patting your knee with a smile.
"I'm sorry, I know this must be stressful. I should've never taken your offer, Dr. Lee."
"No, I think this was necessary, really. For the three of us." You shrug, attempting to appear nonchalant. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes as Heeseung clears his throat, standing up to grab the photo of you off his desk. It's you on your honeymoon – the two of you took it the summer after you graduated from college. You were wearing a white dress and it was one of the most picturesque candids in your collection. He gives you a waywards glance, but you only nod as he sits down.
"This is my wife. You'd like her, she plays piano and crochets and does cross-stitch. She's a therapist. Her name is Y/N, we got married seven years ago." He flips the picture, and you watch her eyes widen out of your peripheral vision. She takes it gently, her manicured thumb stroking your smiling face. She looks pale as she turns to you, her jaw tight.
"Chaeyoung, I'm sorry." You whisper, and she gives you a glare. "Are you? You knew this entire time and you let me open up to you about everything? Did you tell him, too? Did you tell everyone here?"
Her voice only raises as she scoots away from you, and you feel your cheeks heat as you run a hand through your hair. "We spent years looking for you, Chaeyoung. There were so many sleepless nights, so many tears, so much stress over you. This is hard for me too, you know."
"What, loving a man who is nothing but a shell of a person? Yeah, I'm sure you loved filling his fucking cup until it overflowed while he casted you aside." She sneers, and you feel your chest tighten. "I'm sure it felt great being stuck in your house, wondering when the fuck he'd be home because he was here. Looking at case files, talking to forensics, doing anything instead of being home with you."
Your throat burns as you clear it, but Heeseung interrupts as he takes the photo of you back. "Chaeyoung, you're obviously angry. I can't blame you for that, but I also won't allow you to speak to Y/N like this. She's here to help both of us."
"Yeah, well you can take your help and fucking shove it, Y/N." She huffs, gathering her coat from the couch cushion. You stand quickly, holding your hands out to deter her from leaving. "Chaeyoung, please let me explain–"
"Explain what? How you're a lying bitch?" She spits, and Heeseung's eyes narrow as he opens his mouth to say something, only for you to wave him off. Your gaze is unreadable as she continues to berate you.
"You want to explain why you let me agonize over Heeseung for three weeks, and how you listened to me tell you how I felt about him and said nothing? What kind of fucking therapist are you?"
"A dumb one." You say softly, "I didn't tell you I was married to Heeseung because that's none of your business. Getting you involved in my personal life could be incredibly damaging to my career, but I did it because I've known about you since before I met Heeseung."
Her eyes are aflame as she stares you down, but you don't budge.
"I don't fight over men. I never have, I never will. What I will do, though, is tell you that though I knew mixing my personal life and my career could be a disaster, I did it because I love Heeseung. You suffered, you left because of all the pressure you felt. I understand that pressure, too. I know what it's like for your family to expect something from you that you simply don't want to provide, or feel like you can't."
Her eyes well with tears as she looks away.
"Just as you suffered, though, we did, too." You gesture at the space between you and Heeseung, and he steps slightly closer. "I cannot tell you the nights we spent walking all over town and putting posters anywhere they'd allow us to. I cannot even begin to explain the stress everyone felt, all of your friends, all of your family members because you just disappeared. I wasn't your friend, and I didn't know you personally…but it affected me, too."
A tear falls down her face, and you reach to wipe it with the sleeve of your coat.
"There were so many nights that I'd be in Heeseung's dorm just talking about you. He'd tell me so many stories, he's shown me so many photos of you together. He's told me every piece of your life that he knows, and you've sat in my office for three weeks and done the same for him. Things I already knew, and things I didn't."
She silently sits back down, letting the tears drip down her face.
"I know it's painful, to want something or someone so bad and have it be just out of your reach. I know it sounds like I'm bragging, or maybe like I'm trying to rub it in your face but I promise I'm not. Loving Heeseung has not been easy, there were many times I wanted to give up. There were nights he'd be locked in the home office, overthinking himself into a bottle of bourbon." You laugh softly, taking Heeseung's seat across from her. He stands behind you, his hand running up and down your back.
"There were times I wanted to scream at him, I wanted to hurt his feelings because he made me feel neglected. He'd come home late, he'd miss dinner, he wouldn't be around to just hang out. You told me during our first session that you and Jungkook dance together all the time, that he sings you to sleep. I cannot tell you how envious I would have been, had I met you just a week earlier."
Her gaze meets yours, surprised. "What?"
"I mean what I say and I say what I mean." Heeseung speaks up, his voice a lot softer. "I was not a good husband. I'm still not, but it's not your fault. It's my fault, I wanted so badly to know that you were at least okay that I completely neglected Y/N. I wasn't present, emotionally or physically."
"I knew it wouldn't be easy, loving someone like Heeseung." You interrupt him, "I knew loving someone who had gone through something so gut wrenching would be one of the most difficult things I'd ever have to do. I wanted it so bad, Chaeyoung. I wanted to love him, and be the glue that held him together. I wanted to be the person he woke up with in the mornings and the person he kissed goodnight. I wanted to be there, no matter what it took."
"So you allowed all of it." She murmurs, and you sigh.
"I fought it. I didn't want to brave the storm that was Lee Heeseung in college. But like a moth to a flame, I stayed. I got hurt time and time again, but the good outweighed the bad so much. I saw so much potential, I saw so much kindness and I knew in my heart I could help it flourish. And now, we're here."
"Don't you feel jealous?" She asks, making you smile sadly before nodding. "Of course I felt jealous. I knew there was a girl that knew my husband more than I ever would, and I envied that. I wanted to know everything there was to know, but I had to come to terms with the fact that it simply couldn't be. We're ever-evolving, and while you may have known each other for so many years…you've both changed so much."
She closes her eyes, her chipped nails digging into the fabric of her peacoat. Heeseung's hand rubs circles into your back, before you feel him squeeze your shoulder.
"I don't hate you." She says suddenly, her eyes on Heeseung. He clicks his tongue, "I don't expect you to. I haven't done anything to you to make myself worthy of hating."
"Why not me?" She mumbles, and Heeseung's eyes close as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Just tell me that."
"I can't do that to you, Chaeyoung." He shakes his head, and you hear her scoff. "Just do it, it'll make getting over you a lot easier. I already know you're married, I'm not going to make a fucking move."
"I wouldn't allow it, either." He says through gritted teeth, making you shift in your chair, clearing your throat. "Would you like for me to step out?"
"No." They say in unison, and Heeseung holds onto your shoulders as he looks at Chaeyoung. "Don't you think your family wants to know you're okay? It's been nine years."
"What, do you keep up with them? Do they care about anything else besides that stupid company now?" She rolls her eyes, her jaw tight as she stares at her boots.
"Your father sold it." Heeseung speaks softly, "He sold it not even a week after you left. Your sister bought it from him and funded half of the search party that looked for you for a year."
Her eyes stay narrowed as her lips purse. "Doesn't mean they care. It was always the company this, the company that. Just like you, Hee." She glares up at him, "Focus on school, Soya. Let's study, Soya. We got into college and you just stopped wanting to hang out like we used to."
"I'm 'just like them' because I prioritized my studies? Because I was on scholarship while mommy and daddy paid your way? My fucking bad, Soya." He scoffs, making her scowl. "See? You're just like them."
"You're ungrateful! You've always been so blind at how things were just handed to you, you were always so fucking out of touch with everything! Your father had an entire company, a collection of businesses that he sold because you just wanted to up and leave! I don't think you will ever understand how privileged your life has been, even in the years you've been gone." His laugh is humorless as he shakes his head, and you clear your throat.
"I think maybe this has been enough for one day."
"You don't get to decide that, Y/N. I still want an answer. Why. Not. Me." She's standing now, her face tear-stained but her eyes…they're full of fury. Towards who, you're not entirely sure anymore.
You look up at Heeseung, his jaw clenched as he runs a hand through his hair. "You just don't have what I need. I won't be with someone who can't make me feel fulfilled in all aspects of life, or someone who doesn't share the same goals as me. You don't see the world the way I do, and you never have."
"And she does?" She gestures at you, her voice thick as her eyes gloss over once more.
"Yes. She does. She is everything I could ever ask for and so much more than I will ever deserve." He folds his hands in front of him, "There is always going to be something in this life you cannot have, whether it be an object, a person, even a stick of gum. You can't hold onto that resentment forever, it will make you miserable. You shouldn't live your life that way, not when you have a husband who loves you and a life people would kill for. Not when someone you said was your best friend over and over has someone who loves him."
She glares at him, her chest rising with shallow breaths. She shakes her coat off, pulling it over her arms and walking towards the door. Her hand wraps around the doorknob as she looks at the two of you, the tick in her jaw growing tighter as she sees you stand.
"You don't have to act like this, Chaeyoung. You don't have to keep running away, you'll never solve anything this way."
"You're married to the man I've been in love with since I was six years old. You lied to me, knowing I was in pain about this entire situation, and you stand here and try to act innocent. You're just as guilty as I am, so you don't get to tell me how I get to act, Y/N." She whispers, a singular tear rolling down her face as she turns to Heeseung.
"You can tell my parents, and whoever else you please. Y/N can give them my information. I won't be coming back to Seoul, and I won't be visiting your practice again. Do not contact me further, and I won't make a scene."
She throws the door open, revealing the gaggle of detectives bunched around the door. Sunghoon nearly falls into the office as they disperse like bugs, catching himself on the doorframe. Chaeyoung stares up at him, his own eyes flickering to you.
"You okay in here?"
"Fine." Heeseung replies curtly, and Chaeyoung scoffs, pushing past Sunghoon with a scowl on her face. She stalks through the precinct, and Minseo stares wide eyed as she shoves Jay and Jake out of the way to the double doors. Your eyes never leave her, continuing to stare after her as the doors shut.
You hear a disappointed sigh from your husband, and you peer up at him as Sunghoon shuts the door with his lips pressed into a thin line. He looks a mess, and you move to comfort him as Jay opens the door. He strides in confidently, a quirk in his brow as he pulls his hand out of his pocket, a new pack of cigarettes in his hand.
"Shall we?"
It doesn't take much convincing to get you and Heeseung out the backway of the precinct, and you find yourself resting your forehead against the rough brick of the building. Jay lights your cigarette, sliding it between your fingers as Heeseung lights his own. You mumble a thanks, before holding it between your lips.
"Long day, huh?" He starts, his words muffled as he holds his own between his lips, the flicker of the lighter catching your attention. You nod, pushing off the brick wall to face the two men. Jay gives you a once over, "New dress?"
"Storage." You shake your head, blowing smoke from your lips as Heeseung paces back and forth. "How's your girlfriend?"
"Not my girlfriend, just a fling. Cut her off a bit ago. Feeling good, though." He nods, and Heeseung walks by you, your hand reaching for him. He takes it, leaning against the wall as he pulls you to him. He spins you around, making you face Jay as he wraps his arm in front of you. "PDA? From Lee Heeseung?"
Jay acts shocked as you snort, closing your eyes as you lean your head back onto his shoulder. "You'd be surprised what Lee Heeseung has been up to these days."
"Mmh, do tell." He shrugs, flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Did you know sharing details of your sex life to your friends is considered inappropriate social behavior?" You smirk, and he raises his brow.
"Oh, don't tell me the people who have been married for seven years are fucking. Oh man, holy shit." Jay sarcastically rolls his eyes, holding his hand to his chest as if he were clutching pearls.
"Like animals." Heeseung speaks for the first time since you stepped outside, making your eyes widen as Jay's do the same. You glance up at him, watching the way he throws the cigarette butt onto the floor and stomps it out with his foot. He plucks yours from your fingers, slotting it between his lips for a slow drag before giving it back. His lips have a layer of glitter on them from your lipgloss.
"Hee, you cannot say that."
"Who cares? It's Jay. It's not like he's going to ask to watch us fuck." He shrugs, making your cheeks grow hot as you turn to Jay to apologize, who is looking away with red ears. Heeseung looks over, blowing smoke out of his lips as he speaks. "Dude."
"You fucking brought it up, dickwad." Jay scoffs, before stomping out his own cigarette butt. You don't speak, opting to run a hand through your hair as Heeseung sighs.
"Did you guys hear anything through the door?"
"Every word. Walls are thin, you know." Jay nods, offering another cigarette. Heeseung takes it, sighing as Jay hands him the lighter. "I cannot believe she's been in love with you since you were kids."
"She's not in love with me, she's infatuated with the idea of me." He rolls his eyes, fiddling with the lighter. "Her parents used to fight in front of us all the time, and when we were seventeen she told me that she wanted something better than that. Admirable, truly, but she was never going to find that with me."
He holds the blue flame to the cigarette, before handing it back to Jay. "Wasn't she your first kiss?"
"Ugh, yeah. I only said yes because she kept talking about how Mina, you remember her sister Mina? Mina had her first kiss at sixteen." He rolls his eyes again, his arm around you tightening slightly as he leans his head back onto the building. "I think a part of me hates her."
"That's valid." You and Jay say in unison, before Jay tilts his head for you to continue. You shake yours, shrugging as Heeseung continues to talk.
"She always pushed for us to become more and I just didn't want that. She lacks so much compassion, and that's why her father wanted her to take over the company. She's cold and calculated and that's why I befriended her in the first place, because no one wanted to be her friend. She was mean to everyone, but I guess she learned how to fake it well."
You'd never heard Heeseung speak of her this way, but he clicks his tongue before you can ask anything.
"I don't want to keep talking about her. I still have to call her parents, fuck." He runs his hand over his face. The three of you sigh in unison, a snort from Jay as he notices it, "Well…I can say that I'm glad to know she's alive, even if we don't let her back into our lives."
"Yeah." Heeseung nods, taking a final drag from the cigarette in his mouth before dropping it and putting it out. "I guess that's the silver lining in this all. Nine years…man."
You nod silently, before patting his arm. "We can call on Monday when I get home from work. I have to get all her information, anyway, and remove her from my patient registry so her insurance stops getting processed."
"Shit, I forgot about that." Heeseung groans, slumping slightly as Jay laughs. "You guys head on home, we can get paperwork processed to actually close the case. We'll see you on Tuesday, Lieu."
"Tuesday?" He echoes absently, and Jay scoffs. "Fine, Wednesday. Is that too much time away for you, workaholic?"
Your laugh makes Heeseung look up, watching you as you put out your cigarette. The two of you only indulged every once in a while, and Heeseung never fully took the habit up after you refused to kiss him one night after a smoke. Jay bids the two of you goodnight as you all walk back into the building, his box of cigarettes now broken in and Heeseung beelining for his office to grab his coat.
"Hungry?" You ask as he shrugs it on, and he shakes his head. "Wanna go home and shower, go to bed. Wanna cuddle?"
He never asks. You can’t bring yourself to say no, not that you’d want to anyway.
It's easy with you. You end up leaving your car in the precinct parking lot, dropping the keys on Jake's desk with the promise of dinner if he dropped it off at your house before morning. He rolled his eyes but agreed. The entire precinct watched as you left, Heeseung's arm holding you close – a sight they'd never seen.
"Can I be the little spoon tonight?" He asks as he buckles you in, and you press a kiss to his temple.
"Yeah, Hee."
Monday, 6:32pm
The two of you spent the weekend processing everything that happened. You reluctantly left your husband's side for work this morning, driving yourself as he slept soundly. Your day felt incredibly slow, your hands aching to feel his warm skin under yours.
You'd felt the need to coddle him all weekend – you made his favorite meals, you massaged his back, you even made him a new pair of slacks. A navy blue this time, his smile shy as he modeled them for you on Sunday night. The two of you cuddled for hours, Heeseung burrowing his face in any crevice you'd allow. He kissed your skin all over, mumbles of I love you and hold me tighter falling from his lips as you spent the passing hours in your bed.
Your last patient of the day was a young girl in her twenties, her eyes constantly glossed over with tears as she tried to get comfortable with you. She wound up sobbing, your chest aching as you tried to comfort her. By the time she left, she looked much better – and she told you, thank you for your help. You have no idea how long I've been holding that in.
It was enough to make your chest swell with pride as you drove home, a smile on your lips as you picked up dinner and played soft jazz on the radio. You felt the weight of the world slip onto your shoulders as you pulled into your driveway, killing the engine as you fished your house key out of your bag.
You'd contacted Chaeyoung's insurance the moment you got to the clinic, and pulled her from your patient registry without a second thought. You shoved her file into your bag and pushed the thought of it all out of your mind, choosing to focus all your energy on your patients and the way your shoes hurt your feet.
"Baby?" You called into the house as you opened the door, kicking your heels off with a sigh of relief. The cold tile of the foyer against your hot skin felt like Heaven, a shiver running down your spine as you set the bag of takeout down on the dinner table. You stop to listen, but hear nothing. "Baby, are you home?"
You walk down the hall, reaching to take your earrings out as you cross the threshold to the bedroom. You see your husband laying on his back with his headphones on, the light off and curtains drawn. He wouldn't be able to see you if his eyes were open, but you can see him thanks to the light in the hallway behind you. His arms are crossed over his face, but you hear the familiar quiet sob fall from his lips. You feel your chest ache at the sight, but you don't interrupt him. You merely move your hands from your ears, leaving the earrings he gifted you a few years ago on as you fold your hands behind your back.
You watch him cry for a few minutes, before he groans in disgust. He wipes at his face angrily, sitting up abruptly with his eyes wide. He jumps as he sees you, his hand flying to his chest as you smile. "Hi."
"Holy shit, babe. Don't do that." He takes his headphones off, carding his fingers through his hair as you shrug. "Maybe don't lay on our bed in the dark when I call for you twice."
He rolls his eyes as you near the bed, your palms cool against his skin. "Anything you want to talk about?" Your thumbs wipe his cheeks as he shakes his head.
"Same old, just angry at the entire ordeal." He mumbles, his hands finding your hips. You hum, pressing a kiss to his hairline. "Well, I brought dinner. Come eat with me."
"What did you get?" His voice is muffled as he buries his face in your stomach, the buttons of your vest annoying him as he huffs. You card your fingers through his hair, dragging your nails along his scalp, "I stopped at Pasta La Vista."
"What happened to no more cheesy pun restaurants?" He snorts, and you pinch his cheek. "Ah, but I love going to those places with you. I love you, you know."
He sighs, reaching up to turn the light on. His fingers tug gently on the pull cord, the soft yellow light illuminating the room suddenly. You both wince as your eyes adjust, blinking rapidly before looking at each other. His mouth drops, making your head tilt. "Something wrong?"
"Babe. Are you serious?"
His voice is whiny, paired with the splotchy cheeks and swollen lips from his crying. You furrow your brow in confusion, feeling his hands tighten on your hips. "What? Did I do something wrong?"
"Be so fucking serious with me right now. Look at what you're wearing." He huffs, pulling at one of your belt loops. You glance down at your outfit, a form-fitting black pinstripe suit you hadn't worn in a few years. It had a matching vest, one you paired with a white button down underneath. You'd worn your white Hot Chicks, much to the dismay of your poor feet.
"Do I look bad?" You ask softly, glancing at yourself in the mirror when he gets your attention by pulling at your belt buckle. "Are you kidding me? You look fucking amazing! You haven't worn this in ages, where the hell did you find it?"
"You could've started with that! You had me thinking I did something wrong!" You huff, swatting at his shoulder as his fingers fiddle with the buttons of your vest. "I'm sorry, but you really caught me off guard. Fuck, have these always fit like this?" He runs his hands down the back of your thighs, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly as you shove his hands off you.
"Stop feeling me up and come eat dinner. We have things to do before we can turn in for the night." You remind him as you turn around to walk out of the bedroom when you feel his fingers pinch the swell of your ass. You reach behind you and smack his hand away, "Stop it!"
"Fine, fine. Let me…get cleaned up I guess. I feel gross." He groans, rolling his eyes as he slides off the bed. You make your way to the kitchen without any more of Heeseung's touching, and you carefully plate everything up. You know he'd be content just eating on the couch with a show on, but you need something to busy yourself as your mind whirls with the idea of calling Chaeyoung's parents.
What would you even say? "Nice to meet you, now let me tell you all about how I betrayed your daughter when she came to me for therapy!"
You groan, running your hands through your hair as you overwhelm yourself with thoughts. You thought you'd be fine, but you sort of thank your stars that you managed to make it through work without thinking about it. You'd rather be home and agonizing over it than anywhere else.
In all your thinking, you don't hear Heeseung walk into the kitchen. Your head is low between your shoulders as you hold onto the sink, taking deep breaths. You jolt when you feel his hand on your back, a concerned look in his eyes. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Sorry, just…thinking." You sigh, before pushing off the sink. He gives you a stern look, his hands moving to your waist to pull you into him. “Talk to me.”
You gently bang your forehead against his chest, “What are we even going to tell them?”
A low whistle comes from your husband’s lips, “I have no idea. Promise to still think I’m sexy if I break down?”
You snort, slapping his chest lightly as he smiles down at you. “Emotional vulnerability is sexy, Hee.”
“You want me so bad.” He chides, making you roll your eyes. You try not to let your eyes linger on the muscle of his arms, now showcased by a sleeveless white shirt he must've changed into. “Let’s eat dinner and I’ll take care of whatever hornball issue you have later.”
“Will you keep the suit on?” He asks, brow raised as he scans your face. You rub your temples, before feigning an annoyed sigh. “Yes, Heeseung, I’ll keep the suit on.”
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He smiles as you try to weasel your way out of his arms, but he holds you tightly. He pins you against the sink, his hand moving to hold your face gently. The tip of his nose touches yours slightly, the same electricity that skin-to-skin contact with your husband causes runs down your spine. “Have I?”
“You’re going to wax poetic after I said I’d keep the suit on to get you off?” You snort, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m going to wax poetic after my wife agrees to some weird shit I ask of her simply because she loves me as I love her.”
You struggle not to roll your eyes, but your warming cheeks give you away. "Please focus on the order of events, will you? Dinner, dreaded call, then whatever freak shit you have in your head. Move it."
He grins as he presses a kiss to your forehead, before letting you worm out of his grasp. Dinner is quiet, with neither of you wanting to talk too much in detail about your days. Heeseung would know you were so stressed that you skipped lunch, and you'd know that he'd had to change his pillowcase twice because of how long he'd been crying. It wasn't something either of you wanted to share, but simultaneously, you both knew.
"Do you think they'll be happy?" You murmur around a breadstick, a pout on your husband's lips as he chews. "I mean…I would hope so. Mrs. Cha lost her mind when she disappeared."
"Define lost her mind."
He sighs, taking a sip of his water. "I guess the same way I did, but worse. The first year had to have been the worst. No sleep, she barely ate and was having constant breakdowns…but it's different. A mother's love is nothing compared to what I may have felt then." He shrugs, and you find yourself humming in response.
Your eyes are downcast, pushing the remaining pasta around on your plate as he gazes at you. "I'm sorry to have put you through that."
"Do you remember our vows? I'd promised I'd be there, always." You say pointedly, and he shakes his head. "I mean, through what happened on Friday. I will never stop apologizing for any of it, I know that in my heart. That day was just too much for you, I saw it in the way you looked at her. She hurt your feelings."
"Calling me a bitch is hardly hurting my feelings, I've heard far worse." You snort, but Heeseung leans slightly across the table. "You know that's not what I'm talking about, honey. You're great at your job, you have to know that."
You sigh, "I know, I even had a patient today tell me I helped her a lot and it made me feel really nice. But, I will admit it was a dumb move to keep Chaeyoung as a patient. I should have told her from the get-go who I was and what I knew, and then maybe Friday would've gone differently. If at all, you know."
"It's too late to think about what we should have done. We can only look forward, and unfortunately that means we have to make that call to her parents." He slumps in his chair, closing his eyes. "What if I cry?"
"Then you cry, honey." You shrug, "I'll be here anyway. We're doing this together."
Nothing more is said as the two of you clean up, opting to brush your teeth to remove the taste of the garlic from your tongues. You find yourself reapplying your lipstick, wiping the corners of your lips as you cap the wine red wax. Heeseung sits on the couch with his phone in his hand as you retrieve the file from your purse. He sighs as you walk over, your thigh brushing his as you sit next to him.
"Ready?" You ask softly, your fingers flicking the file open. Heeseung sighs inwardly as he dials the number he's known by heart since he was a kid. You drape your leg over his to feel him closer, his hand sliding around your upper thigh as the line rings.
"Cha Residence, Seonmi speaking."
The woman's voice is tired, and Heeseung squeezes his eyes shut as he speaks. "Hi, Mrs. Cha. It's uhm…it's Heeseung."
The line is quiet for a moment, before a gentle sigh is heard. "Hi, sweetheart. Long time."
"I know, I'm sorry." He mumbles, earning a soft laugh from her. "Nothing to be sorry for. Are you alright? How's your wife?"
"She's good. She's here, actually. Would you like to say hello?" He holds the phone towards you, and you clear your throat as you say a soft hello.
"Oh, hello! Wow, I've never heard you speak, I've only seen photos of you. How are you? Heeseung treating you well, I hope?"
You feel your cheeks heat as you respond, "Yeah, yes ma'am. I'm okay, how are you?"
"Oh, you know. Same old, struggling. Did you guys need something from me? Maybe something of Soyoung's?"
She sounds so tired, it makes your heart ache.
"Actually, we called with an update. If you're in the headspace to hear it." Heeseung says shakily, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to his cheek, stamping your lipstick on his skin. He leans into your lips, and you brush another in the same place before leaning your head on his shoulder.
"Oh, boy. Another sighting, I assume?" Mrs. Cha sounds defeated, and you can hear the clicking of a keyboard in the distance. You clear your throat, and Heeseung holds the phone to you. "I think it's better if my wife tells you."
"Sweetheart, please get on with it."
You take the phone gingerly, clearing your throat. "For starters, I'm a therapist in the next town over. I started that job a few weeks back, and I've been taking new patients. Your daughter was one of them."
Nothing is heard on the other end, and Heeseung gives you a nod to keep talking. His hand squeezes around your thigh, and you speak again.
"She's changed her name, and she's married. I…she talked about everything that led to her disappearance as well as everything going on in her life currently. She's well, and she's established."
"So…you found her?"
You hear a soft sob from the other end, your own eyes stinging. "We did. She talked a lot about Heeseung, so I didn't tell her we were married. I drove her to the precinct on Friday to see him again for the first time since she disappeared, and it did not go well, to say the least. However, she did give us permission to share her information with you, and I've got everything in front of me if you've got a pen or something to jot it down."
You hear the rustling of paper and pens knocking against each other as someone talks in the background. Mrs. Cha sniffles into the phone, "Go ahead. I'm ready."
You read everything out to her, spelling street names and offering to send photos over as well.
"And you're sure it's her? You know it?" Mrs. Cha's voice is shaky as you hear a chair get pushed back, and Heeseung replies, "Positive. We wouldn't have called if we weren't sure, I was in denial when Y/N told me."
"Do you…should I call her? I know she's angry with me, she must be." Mrs. Cha sounds distant, like she's walking somewhere. "She may be angry, but I'm sure she wouldn't have allowed us to give you her information if she didn't want you to contact her or know of her reappearance." You say gently, and hear Mrs. Cha laugh through her presumed tears.
"You chose the right profession, Y/N. I can see how easily this comes to you."
Heeseung's eyes widen as he looks down at you, your own lips spread in a shy smile. His eyes speak for themselves – See? Told you.
"Thank you." You murmur, and Heeseung squeezes your leg as he clears his throat. "Well, that's all we really called for. Feel free to keep us updated, we'll get all the paperwork for the case figured out. We can handle our end privately, but you can choose how to go about things on your end."
"Thank you, sincerely. I know the last nine years have been grueling for you as well, Heeseung. I hope you know you'll always have a place in our family and our hearts, and you're welcome in our home any time. You as well, Y/N. We'd love to have you over for dinner."
You gape as Heeseung answers gently, saying he'll figure out some dates and get back to her. She agrees, and a soft take care is whispered from your husband before he hangs up.
He leans forward to put his phone and Chaeyoung's file on the coffee table, before sighing. You rest your arm against the back of the couch, smushing your cheek with the heel of your palm. He slumps against the cushions silently, his hand slinking up and down your thigh.
"Feel better? This was somehow under and overwhelming."
"Weight off my fucking shoulders, I'll tell you that much." He huffs, rubbing his face in frustration. You hum, reaching to run your fingers through his hair as he turns his head to face you, a pout on his lips. "Why does everything have to suck?"
"Does everything suck?" You repeat thoughtfully, looking around your living room. "I mean, consider the good things. We've got this wonderful home, we have our health and your family. We have our jobs. Job market is garbage, you know."
He sighs, looking around the room. "Now I just sound ungrateful."
You snort, before pushing yourself up and straddling his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You settle high on his thighs, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your hips. "You're not ungrateful, you're just going through the motions. I honestly thought you'd be worse. That's why this all seems so underwhelming to me, I thought it would be a much bigger ordeal, that you'd be excited to see her."
"I would have been, if it weren't for the fact that she left at her own will. A part of me just wishes she would have fucking said something, I could've talked to her. Or her parents, or something, you know?"
He's frustrated as you nod, thumbing the lobe of his ear. "Oh, but you can't save everyone. You're only human. I know that's one of the first fates you face when you do the kind of work you do."
He huffs, "I just have questions that I won't ever get answers to. It bothers me because no matter what she does or says, it just feels like betrayal over and over again. If we pile the fact that she said all those shitty things to you, it just makes me hate her more."
"Hating people is so taxing, baby." You shrug, "It's not good for the spirit, or your hairline."
"Keep making jokes about my hairline, see how that works out for you." He scoffs, making you scrunch your nose at him. "I've been making jokes about your hairline since we met, I think it's worked out just fine. I have this house, I have this couch…"
You trail off as you lean closer, brushing your nose with his, his eyes wide as he looks up at you. "I have you, on this couch, in this house and your signature on a paper that says you're my husband. What does that say about you?"
"That I like gorgeous women in suits who make fun of me, I guess." He shrugs, his hands squeezing your hips as you brush your lips against his. You move away as he tries to connect your lips, making him roll his eyes. "Just kiss me, will you?"
"Is that how we get the things we want?" You pull back, your brow raised as he sighs. This was a game you liked to play every once in a while, knowing that Heeseung easily flustered when you took charge. He reveled in it, sure, but it definitely took him a bit to accept that you called the shots.
"Babe, come on."
"Hm, I don't like that answer." Shrugging, you start moving off his lap, earning a groan as he uses his strength to hold your hips flush to his. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please kiss me, I need it."
"You need it?" You scoff, your hands on his shoulders as he blushes, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. "I need you."
"Yeah? Need me where?" Your eyes look at him expectantly, feeling him shift under you with nerves, looking down. Your gaze doesn't waver as you tilt his chin back up, his eyes full of lust and adoration. "Where?"
"Here." His cheeks flushed impossibly deeper as he pouted up at you, moving your fingertips to his lips. He kisses the pads of your fingers, making you coo as you press your lips to the tip of his nose. He chases your lips as you plant kisses around his entire face, stamping your lipstick on his skin carefully. "Baby, please."
"I love you." You murmur against his lips, making his eyes flutter shut as you finally kiss him. His hands move to your waist, pulling your chest flush to his as you shrug off your suit jacket, tossing it to the side as you gently lick into his mouth. He groans into your mouth, his fingers flexing against your body as you suck on the tip of his tongue. His hips rut up against you slowly, a whine from your throat making you pull away, dragging your lips down his jaw.
"Can I take care of you, baby?" You murmur against the shell of his ear, making him shiver as you nip at the lobe, a quiet please from his throat. His hands twitch at your sides, soft whines from his lips as you trail your tongue down the slope of his neck. You feel his fingers move to fumble with the buttons of your vest, before he untucks your shirt, sliding his hands slightly under it to feel the heat of your skin against his.
"I love you so much." He mumbles as you kiss his swollen lips again chastely, your fingers undoing your shirt buttons as he watches your face with low eyes. His hands snake higher on your stomach, before the tips of fingers brush your bare breasts. His eyes widen as he pulls away, jaw falling slack as he sees your lack of undergarments. "Baby."
"Just enjoy it." You roll your eyes, shivering as he runs his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. He leans forward slightly, before your hand cards through his hair. "This is not about me."
"You said enjoy it. How can I, if you don't let me?" He scoffs, moving your hand from its spot on the nape of his neck, pulling you forward into his mouth. His tongue swirls expertly around the hardened nub, your hand finding and digging into the back of the couch. Heeseung feels his head spinning as he breathes you in, the soft scent of his favorite perfume on your skin. You groan quietly as your hips roll against his, a soft fuck from your lips as he carefully drags his teeth on the sensitive bud. He moves to the other side, your hand tangling in his hair again as he plants wet kisses across your chest.
"So perfect for me." He murmurs, flattening his tongue against your nipple as his hands move to undo your belt. He pulls it through the loops within seconds, tossing it aside and palming your ass over your pants, moving you over his bulge slowly. He relishes in the sounds you make, whimpers from your throat making his cock twitch in his pants as he continues to lap at your chest. "Always so fucking beautiful. You make me insane."
You whine in response, pulling his head away from your chest and reconnecting your lips. He feels your hand snake down between your bodies, palming at his hardened cock through his sweatpants. He groans into your mouth, his hips rutting into your hand involuntarily. You slip your tongue in his mouth, letting him messily kiss you back as he tangles a hand in your hair – your own beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging at them gently. He obliges, lifting his hips for you to pull them down to his knees.
You pull away from his lips as much as the hand in your hair will allow, your hand wrapping around his leaking cock gently. He shudders as you stroke him, whining against your lips when you pull his hand out of your hair, sliding off his lap and settling between his knees.
He lets out a breath as you glance up at him through thick lashes, before pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. His hands move back to your hair, gathering it into a messy ponytail as you continue to drag your lips around his skin, faint lipstick stains marking your path. He feels his stomach cave the moment you swirl your tongue around his tip, a broken moan cutting through the air.
"S'fucking pretty like this…" He groans, watching as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks slightly. Your tongue laps at the underside of his cock, following the thick vein as his tip hits the back of your throat. Gagging around him, you feel his hips jerk up involuntarily, a murmured apology as you pull off, shaking your head. "Want it, want you to do that."
Your ears are watery as you look up at him, your hand wrapped around his shaft as his lips parted in a soft grunt. He wipes his thumb across your lower lip before he takes his cock in his hand, "Beautiful."
You feel your cheeks flush, not responding to the compliment as he opens your mouth for you. You stick out your tongue, making him smirk as he slides the heavy head of his cock on it. You blink up at him before you sink down on him, hearing a soft sigh fall from his lips. He rocks his hips up slowly, throwing his head back with a whimper as you gag around him.
"Feel s'fucking good, baby. Love you so much, fuck…" You feel your skin prickle at the praise, your eyes brimming with tears as the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat, a groan making him shiver. "Always so good to me…"
You hum as best as you can, feeling his hand tighten in your hair as the tell-tale whimper falls from your husband's lips. He pulls you off almost reluctantly, staring up at the ceiling and biting down on his lip as you look up at him, seeing his chest move in shallow breaths. "Hee–"
"Need to feel you." He pulls you off your knees by your wrists, making you slide your knee between his for balance. His lips feel frantic as he kisses you messily, groaning at the slight taste of himself inside your mouth as you try to keep up. "Need to cum inside you, baby."
His lips ghost over yours as he unbuttons your slacks, your teeth nipping at his bottom lip as he hooks his thumbs into the belt loops. You let him tug them down, stepping out of them when he snaps the waistband of your underwear against your skin. "Take it off."
"What, do you want me to strip for you?" You roll your eyes, and he smirks lightly. "We can spin that back another time. Take it off."
You oblige, feeling your husband's hands wrap around your thighs as you kick your underwear off to the side. He pulls you forward, instinctively making you straddle him slightly before he looks up, his hand snaking between your thighs. "Do you need–"
You shake your head quickly as he glides his fingers through your wet folds, his eyes widening as you shiver. He holds his hand up to the light, your arousal stringy between his fingers, gathering around his wedding band. He peers up at you, "Really?"
"Shut up." Your cheeks burn as he scoffs out a laugh, before running his tongue over his fingers. "All fours, please." He tilts his head towards the free space on the couch, your eyes narrowing as you do as he says, hearing the thwip of his shirt being pulled over his head.
"You know," You mumble as you settle on your elbows, "This is not-ah!"
The warm feeling of Heeseung's tongue on your clit makes you jolt, and you feel him smile into your skin as his hands rest on your hips. He groans as you push your hips against his face, your fingers digging into the couch cushion as you whine into the brown suede. "So fucking wet, for what? A little kissing?" He's talking down to you, amused at the way your pussy clenches around his tongue, your whimper muffled by your shirt sleeve, "I love you."
"Yeah? My messy girl loves me?" His voice is clearer now, and you feel his hand grip your hip as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds with a hiss. You push back against him with a whine, earning a firm smack to the back of your thigh. "Behave. You can wait."
You can hear him mutter under his breath as he ruts against you, his breathing shaky as he holds you steady. You feel him sink inside you slowly, the wet squelch making your cheeks burn in embarrassment as you whimper at the stretch. "I know honey, I know."
Heeseung's voice is almost goading as he rocks into you slowly, biting down on his lip as you clench around him. "You take me so well, baby. Just love this dick, huh?" He holds your hips tight as you nod, your voice lost on you as he brushes that spongy spot inside you. You're pliant in his hands, your eyes rolling back when you feel his hand come down on your ass sharply, a moan falling from your lips into the cushion.
"Filthy little thing." He mutters, running his hand over the reddened skin. "Love being treated like a slut, don't you?" His fingers move to hold onto your waist, hearing you mumble something before leaning down slightly. "Don't you?"
"Yours. Your slut." You mumble as you nod shyly, the duality making his chest ache as he coos. "All mine, yeah? Get this wet for me only, right?" The sound of your soft moans is almost drowned out by the smack of his hips against your ass.
"Always feel so good around me, baby, shit.." His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you up carefully. You whimper as your back hits his chest, your hand holding onto the back of the couch as he bullies his cock into you. He feels you clamp down around him, your skin hot to the touch as he slides his hand down, circling your clit with his fingers.
"Always take such good care of me, my gorgeous girl. My wife, fuck, I love you." He mutters into your neck, his eyes catching your earrings swinging as he nips at your skin. You whine inwardly, looking away from him as you clench around him, your orgasm on the tip of your tongue as he thrusts into you.
His hand moves from your hair to cradle your face, turning you just slightly to see the fucked out glaze in your eyes, your lips swollen and slick with spit. He smiles softly, brushing his lips over yours, "I love you."
You close your eyes as he kisses you messily, nothing but teeth and tongue as your orgasm washes over you, a whiny moan into your husband's mouth. He carefully tugs off your vest and shirt, "Just a little more baby, almost there. Gonna fill you up, yeah?"
"Y-Yeah." You whimper as he lets you fall forward slowly, your trembling thighs only egging him on as he runs his hands over your bare back. "So fucking perfect. S-Such a perfect woman, could never ask for anyone better. M-My angel, my everything."
He's rambling, forcing himself to focus as he overstimulates you chasing his orgasm. You mewl into the cushion relentlessly, pushing against him when he notices you holding your hand out behind your back. He interlocks your fingers, before spilling inside you with a whimper. He shudders above you, your hand squeezing his gently before you let go.
He digs his fingers into your hips deeply, earning a groan as you shakily try to sit up on your elbows. You only manage to push back on him, a choked moan ringing through the air as he grabs at your hips. He winces as he pulls out carefully, his eyes glued to the way you clench around nothing with soft breaths. His fingers ghost over your hole as you push his release out, not realizing how sensitive you are as he smears it all over your glistening folds.
"H-Heeseung!" You reach back to swat at him, making his eyes snap up to look at you. He smiles sheepishly, apologizing under his breath as he wipes his fingers on his shirt.
"You okay?" He murmurs, his cheeks aflame as he realizes how spent you are, your hips almost giving out as he holds you up. You give him a tired nod, "We cannot fuck on my precious couch again. People sit here."
He scoffs, and you feel the soft cotton of his shirt wiping down your legs. You feel him shift behind you, flinching when you feel his shirt wiping between your thighs. "Can't we just shower?"
"We can, but I can't lie…I kind of like watching it drip out." He admits quietly, and you roll your eyes. "I feed so many of your guilty pleasures, but this is one I'm going to cut short. I'm all sticky."
"I can make you stickier, if you want." He runs his hands up your thighs, and you scoff as you use your remaining strength to flip yourself onto your back. He's red in the face, and not just from your lipstick, his eyes glued to your center. "Hee, stop. You fucking freak."
"This fucking freak is your husband, I'd be nicer to me if I were you. I suggest you tell me you love me, that's a pretty good start." He shrugs, acting nonchalant as he leans down. You give him an amused look as you run your fingers through his hair, "And I married you, why?"
"Because I'm tall, tan, young, lovely." He shrugs, making you snort. "Girl from Ipanema, is that you?"
"I love you." He wrinkles his nose as you press a soft kiss to it, his hands carefully moving your hair out of your eyes. "Thank you. I didn't realize how much I needed this. How much I…need you. I'm sorry it's taken me this long, baby."
Your cheeks warm at his confession, your thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. "I love you. I'm always here when you need a little TLC."
"And when I don't?"
"And when I do, and when I don't. Whenever, you know I'm here." You assure softly, his eyes slightly glazed over as you press a chaste kiss to his lips. "However, I will admit…my TLC of preference right now is a hot shower. Care to join me?"
"You and your hot showers. Can you even stand up?"
"If I can't, it just means you can eat me out in the shower." You shrug, seeing the wheels turn in your husband's head as he locks your legs around his waist. A shriek falls from your lips as he picks you up, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he moves towards the bathroom with a kiss to your lips.
"And suddenly, I too, love hot showers. Shall we?"
Tuesday, 12:33pm.
It'd been a few weeks since you and Heeseung reached out to the Cha family, and the case had been officially declared closed by the Seventh Precinct. However, such a reappearance after so many years for such a prolific family meant many, many interviews and involvement with the press. It meant seeing Chaeyoung and her husband, as well as her family over and over again, even when it came to things that weren't about her.
Your relationship was still not perfect – with you and Heeseung slowly working through your issues, things got easier. He managed to submit the paperwork for his vacation to start on Friday, and had some final things to settle at the Seoul Central District Court with a few attorneys involved in a case he and Jay were attempting to break into. He'd called you to meet him and Sunoo for lunch and a meeting to bring you on as an expert witness, as you had a short day in the office.
Short day in the office does not warrant a short day outside of it, though – and you found your husband crowded by reporters and flashing cameras as you tried to quietly make your way into the courthouse. You hoped they wouldn't see you – Heeseung had been pissed enough already when a few reporters dragged your name through the mud when Chaeyoung gave her side of the story, pictures of you that he loved now torn to shreds by internet trolls and what little social media you did have had been flooded with hateful comments. You wound up deleting everything, and staying away from your phone as much as possible. Heeseung arranged private security, and even had Sunghoon assigned to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity around you.
Nothing had happened, and you were sure nothing would – but you couldn't lie, you felt safer when you and Heeseung were behind the locked doors of your home, hidden away in your bedroom.
You could hear the reporters shouting questions at Heeseung, the tick in his jaw evident as he answered one question at a time. You watch from afar a bit, your facemask protecting you from being discovered as you inch closer. You can see his patience begin to thin and you're about to barrel down the steps to him when you hear a reporter shout over all the others.
"Lieutenant, your wife has been dragged by the media in all forms. What are your thoughts on that, considering that Jeon Chaeyoung was once your life-long friend?"
Heeseung's face hardens, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he speaks.
"I have nothing to say on Mrs. Jeon, I cannot understand why she'd speak about Dr. Lee that way. Please write that down, put that into the world. She's not just my wife, she's her own person and she had a huge role in this case. I would have lost my mind if it weren't for her, and her impact should not be reduced simply because we're married."
You feel your chest fill with warmth as you take a few more steps down, a reporter spotting you and you press a finger to your facemask, your wedding ring making her eyes widen. She says nothing as you listen to Heeseung speak.
"Dr. Lee was a pertinent witness to the entire case, and had she not been involved, had she not said something, Mrs. Jeon's case would've remained open and no one would know of her whereabouts. Her family had been in absolute shambles for the last nine years, and frankly, as harsh as it sounds, I'm glad that it's finally over. Dr. Lee is not to blame for whatever upset feelings Mrs. Jeon may have, or whatever resentment she may have towards myself. If she wants to drag anyone through the dirt, she might as well drag me. Dr. Lee is entirely innocent in this, she was a huge stepping stone in bridging crucial pieces of information together and restoring the Cha family. In other words, keep my wife's name out of your mouth unless you're praising her. I'm tired of hearing this, so I have nothing more to say on the matter."
Your eyes are wide as he shrugs, before the reporter who spotted you makes a few moves up the steps, trying not to alert anyone else. You tilt your head at her, and she quietly steps up to you. She holds her recorder up slightly, and you nod, beckoning her closer with your hand.
"Dr. Lee, how do you feel about Lieutenant Lee coming to your defense amongst the influx of hate from netizens?"
You lean down to her to speak into the small microphone, clearing your throat. "I think Lieutenant Lee is one of the most kind-hearted, driven, loving people in my life. There's a reason he's my husband, you know. I couldn't ask for a better man."
The reporter's eyes soften as Heeseung turns around, bidding the reporters a goodbye as he buttons his coat up, trekking back up the stairs. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours as you give him a little wave. He walks up to you, giving the reporter a curt nod before slipping his fingers in yours.
The reporter gives you a soft thank you, before walking down the steps. You let Heeseung guide you up the steps, and glance over your shoulder to see reporters taking photos of the two of you from behind. You nudge him with your elbow, and he looks down at you.
"Yes?"
"Kiss me." You tilt your head towards the reporters, and he snorts as the two of you reach the doors. "You sure?"
"Positive." You nod as you pull your mask off, the camera flashes almost blinding as they watch you press your lips to Heeseung's, his arm wrapping around your waist as his hand cradles your cheek. Your lipstick stains his mouth as you pull away, and you give the reporters a cheeky thumbs up as he pulls you into the courthouse.
Sunoo's eyes are wide as you walk into his quarters with Heeseung, your lipstick now also stamped on his cheek from a kiss you gave him in the hallway. He smiles warmly as you offer a hug, embracing you tightly. "God, it's so nice to see you in love." He murmurs into your hair, patting your back before you all take a seat at his desk.
The three of you are going over the options for lunch when you hear a knock at the door, your head whipping around to see your mother entering the office. Your eyes widen, and Heeseung is up before you know it. He's greeting her warmly, her face remaining stoic as he takes her coat. She looks tired, and you stand on shaky legs.
"Hello, Mother." You say softly, your eyes flickering to Heeseung and Sunoo as they stand to the side. She steps in front of you, her eyes scanning you carefully. You wince as she steps slightly closer, only for her to breathe out softly.
"I wanted to speak to you earlier this week, amidst everything in the media. However, I'm too prolific and I worried I'd be followed to your home, so I left a few messages on your answering machine. I assume you didn't receive them, so is now a good time?" She's still professional, your mother had no idea how to be comforting or warm. You nod slowly, shoving your trembling hands into your coat. "S-Sure. Yeah, we can talk."
Your mother had never cared who was around when she spoke to you about anything. It was one of the more mortifying things about her, but she made up for it by keeping her voice quiet enough that only you could hear her.
"May I touch you?" She asks with a twinge in her voice you'd never heard, and you nod slowly. "Okay."
She doesn't wait for another second, throwing her arms around you as she pulls you into a tight embrace. Your eyes are wide as you look at Heeseung and Sunoo, their own the size of saucers as you awkwardly wrap your arms around her. "Are you…alright?"
"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I read everything that you said in your interviews, about Chaeyoung and her reasons behind leaving, and how deeply you understood her dilemma. I never realized I was pushing you away, and I'm incredibly sorry if I ever made you feel like I wasn't supportive of your dreams or career choices. I know that this may be a too little, too late sort of situation, but I couldn't let more time go by without letting you know how proud I am of you and everything you've accomplished, not just as a professional but as a woman, as my daughter, as a wife."
Your eyes are stinging with tears as Heeseung's jaw drops, your mother pulling back to cup your face in her hands. "And I'll sue that little bitch for all she has for dragging you through the mud. I'll do it, I'll wring her dry of every asset she's ever acquired."
Her eyes are full of tears as you gape at her, before she presses a kiss to your forehead. "I love you so much, darling. I'm so, so sorry."
"Mom-"
"I'm so glad to have you, darling. Please don't disappear on me, I promise you I cannot handle it."
You let her pull you back into her embrace, the tears streaming down your cheeks before she pulls away quickly. "Alright, I've got a meeting I'm running late to. I just saw you in the window and I needed to pop in and talk to you. As you were, I'll give you a call later." She gives the three of you a curt nod, before taking her coat and skirting back out of Sunoo's office.
The three of you are silent, your arms wrapped around yourself as you cover your mouth with your hand. You don't wipe your tears as they stream down, and you look up at the men staring at you in shock.
"She said she's proud of me." You whine suddenly, and Heeseung lets out a soft laugh as you walk into his embrace, Sunoo smiling to himself as Heeseung strokes your hair, sharing a glance with his long-time friend as you sob into his shirt. "Oh, my baby. You deserve all that and more."
"Should we push the meeting? I think we've got a lot of big feelings to work out, Dr. Lee." Sunoo speaks up gently, and you pout as Heeseung agrees before you can say anything. You mumble out an apology, but Sunoo shakes his head, waving you off. "Let me lead you out the backway, those reporters would have a ball with your crying face."
"Shut up, Sunoo." You scoff, making him snicker as he leads you both out of his office, your head bowed as you let Heeseung hide you from onlookers. You both quietly thanked Sunoo as he opened the door for you and bid you farewell, saying he'd try and get everything done before Heeseung's allotted vacation time. They agreed to meet again on Thursday, with Sunoo giving your shoulder a soft squeeze.
"Give yourself some more credit, Y/N. You deserve it."
Saturday, 4:44pm.
"You found it? You look so beautiful, holy shit."
Heeseung was laid on the bed, held up by his elbows as you stood in front of the mirror, a quizzical look on your face as you clipped in your earrings. You purse your lips, turning to face him, the sarong skirt of the dress he'd made you swinging slightly.
"You sure? It's not too…showy?" You pout, running your hands over the soft white fabric. You'd dug this dress back out specifically for this occasion, renewing your vows with your husband on a simple vacation in the middle of nowhere. By middle of nowhere, you mean the same field he proposed to you in, two hours out of Seoul and likely full of flowers this time of year.
"Baby, it's just you and me. You can be as showy as you want in your dress, as bummy as you want in your sweatpants. You're fucking angelic." He pulls you to him by your hips, "I did great on this hem, you can't lie."
"Wonderful, yes." You roll your eyes, feeling his hands snake under the skirt. You allow it, feeling your cheeks warm as he snaps the waistband of your underwear against your hip. "Let me go down on you."
You sigh, rubbing your temples as your husband presses a kiss to your cleavage. "Heeseung, the sun is going to set and we're going to be doing this in the dark."
"Can I go down on you after?" He questions, not really paying attention as he stands, his hands low on your back as he pulls you to him. "Heeseung."
"Two orgasms, right after we're done, on the hood of my car." He offers, making you snort. "One orgasm, after we're done, in the backseat."
"I'll take it!" He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, making you giggle as he lands a soft smack to your ass. "Stop it!"
"You love me! Now get your cute ass in the car, we've got shit to do."
And it feels easy. It feels light, sitting next to Heeseung as he pulls out of the driveway with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding your fingers tightly. It feels good, listening to your husband sing along softly to soft jazz songs on the radio before you plug in your phone, and then hearing him sing along to your playlists.
It feels like getting a breath of fresh air when you see the afternoon sunlight beaming on his skin, his white shirt reflecting the light painfully into your eyes. It feels like the way your heart starts beating a little faster when you catch a whiff of his spicy cologne, your eyes falling on him with a soft smile. It feels like an emotional orgasm when he times playing No Song Without You by HONNE perfectly to when you arrive, your pout being kissed off frantically by your attentive, doting husband.
It feels like falling in love when he holds you close, pressing his lips anywhere you'd allow him to as you both reach into your pockets for the thick packets of words you've written. It feels like falling in love when he goes off script, holding the papers in his hand as he looks into your eyes. It feels like falling in love when he kisses your tears off your face as you tell him how much you appreciate his changes, it feels like falling in love when he says you should never thank him for doing what's right. It feels like falling in love, when he pulls a box out of his pocket and presents yet another gold ring to add to your set, with your initials engraved on the outside.
It feels like falling in love with he suggests you both pick flowers from the field to press when you get home. It feels like falling in love when he holds your hand and pulls you close when you've wandered too far, it feels like falling in love when he's kissing you against the hood of his car. It feels like falling in love when he carries you into the backseat and you wind up naked in his lap, a whining and writhing mess as he tells you how pretty you are, how much he loves you, how bad he wants to get you pregnant so everyone knows you're his. It feels like falling in love, when on the ride home, he can't keep his hands off you.
It feels like falling in love, when he wastes no time getting you in the bedroom, your dress on the floor with his shirt and pants. It feels like falling in love when he draws a bath for the two of you, it feels like falling in love when he tells you I love you as he washes your hair, your body, your face.
It feels like falling in love again, but this time?
You don't feel like you're falling alone.
byr. lots of teasing. mentions of lingerie, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering oral (fem receiving), penetration (p in v, unprotected BOOOOOO), dom! jay MDNI
“we said three designers at least, baby,” jay said with no real malice. “don’t test me.”
“three at least? seongie—”
“nope. not hearing it. you’re carrying my child, you’re glowing like a deity, and i’m stupidly rich. we’re shopping.”
she sighed like it pained her but she knew he was not going to let up anytime soon. “i’m not even gonna look at the price tags.”
“that’s the spirit,” he said proudly, leaning in to kiss her temple.
the day was a flurry of luxury. she tried on chanel flats, gucci skirts, dior sunglasses—all while jay nodded with that quiet, attentive admiration he always had when she did anything. he hyped her up in a way that wasn’t loud or over-the-top, but so deeply sincere that she couldn’t even play modest.
but the real chaos began when he made a detour.
“where are we—” she began, as they stepped into the next store and then her jaw dropped.
victoria’s secret.
“no. no. seongie, this is—this is not on the list!”
“oh, it’s at the top of my list,” he said smoothly, steering her toward the luxe section. “i’ve literally been waiting for this.”
“but it’s so expensive,” she whispered, clutching one of the silky hanger straps. “i’ve never even bought—”
“you’re my wife now. if you see something you want, you get it. that was the rule, remember?” he picked up a black lace corset trimmed with deep wine red. “especially if it looks like this.”
she snatched it from his hand with a shocked laugh. “you’re so unserious.”
he smirked. “try it on.”
“right now?”
“yes. and show me everything.”
she stared at him for a beat, eyes wide. “that’s risky. you sure you can handle that?”
jay’s smirk widened. “you clearly think i’m weak. go test your theory.”
she stepped out of the changing room slowly, hips swaying with the ease of someone who knew she looked devastating. her blush toned lingerie clung to her like a second skin, delicate mesh, those satin straps framing her curves like ribbon on a gift and that tiny velvet bow between her breasts practically begging to be untied.
she wore nothing else except for a pair of pointed nude heels, just high enough to make her legs look endless.
jay had been sitting on the edge of the couch outside the private changing room, jaw clenched, fingers tangled together like he was holding himself back with every ounce of willpower he had.
and then she twirled.
a perfect, teasing spin that made the ribbons dance, her soft hair brushing her shoulders, the heels clicking like punctuation on the floor.
he let out a noise—genuine, desperate, and completely involuntary. his knees buckled even as he stayed seated.
“oh my god, hon,” he breathed, leaning back on the couch, this time like his body just couldn’t hold up anymore. his eyes dragged across her figure, savouring the way his wife—his wife—looked, clad in barely there lingerie. “i’m—i’m actually dizzy.”
she laughed softly, a bit breathless herself. “you okay, seongie?”
“no,” he said, eyes trailing over every inch of her, hands gripping the couch. “you look… i don’t even have a word for it. divine? illegal? dangerous, definitely.”
she padded closer, slow and deliberate, heels tapping against the floor like a countdown.
“still think you can handle me wearing this out in front of you?”
jay looked up at her like she was the sun and he was seconds from burning.
“i can’t even handle it in private,” he muttered. “you’re walking around like that, and i’m just supposed to sit here?”
she leaned down just a little, teasing the edge of his control. “you are sitting.”
“barely.” his hands finally reached up, ghosting along her thighs with so much reverence it made her shiver. “you really like torturing me, huh?”
she smiled. “i like making you speechless.”
“mission accomplished.” his voice was thick with want now, breath hot against her skin as he pulled her forward, standing up himself. “now come here, mrs. park. before i forget we’re in a store and not somewhere i can ruin you properly.”
with a breathy laugh and a wicked glint in her eye, she stepped between his knees—his completely undone, worshiping mess of a husband. her fingers found his wrists and guided them slowly, deliberately, down to rest over the curve of her bare ass—skin soft and still warm from the changing room lights.
jay’s breath hitched at the contact, his fingers instinctively tightening, digging in just enough to make her hum in satisfaction.
she leaned in, her nose brushing against his, eyes wide and teasing, voice soft like a secret.
“what do you wanna do, seongie?” she asked, all sweetness and danger, pretending she didn’t already know exactly what she was doing to him.
jay’s eyes darkened instantly.
his voice dropped, low and ruined. “i want to bend you over this fucking couch, rip this pretty little thing off you with my teeth, get on my knees behind you and make you shake before i even put anything in.”
her breath caught in her throat.
“i want to fuck you slow, angel. slow enough you feel everything—every inch, every goddamn vein. i want to watch you fall apart on me again and again. i wanna see you look back at me, eyes glassy, lips swollen from begging.”
her thighs clenched involuntarily.
“i want those heels on the whole time,” he went on, eyes fixed on her mouth now. “digging into my back while your nails scratch down my shoulders and you’re whining my name like you’ll die if i stop.”
she let out a shaky exhale, lips barely parted now.
“i want your voice echoing off the walls, your moans muffled by my palm or my mouth or the goddamn mirror if i have to press your face against it. i wanna leave this store with your lipstick smudged, your thighs trembling, and everyone knowing exactly what i did to you.”
her body jolted with heat, knees weak, breath stuck somewhere in her chest as she stared at him, completely caught off guard even though she asked for it.
“and if you keep looking at me like that, baby,” he murmured, leaning in so his lips ghosted hers, “i’ll make sure you don’t walk out of here at all.”
“seongie…” she whispered, more like a gasp, and he just smirked, satisfied.
he tugged her even closer, both hands firmly gripping her ass now. “you’re playing a dangerous game, baby. wearing that? twirling like that? asking questions like that?”
“i like danger,” she whispered shakily.
“yeah?” his voice was practically a growl now. “then don’t run when i give it to you.”
without another word, he pulled her flush against him, his hands firm over her bare ass, fingers digging in like he was trying to memorise every curve. his mouth crashed into hers—not gentle, not teasing, just desperate. the kind of kiss that left no space to breathe, only feel.
she gasped into it, caught off guard by the sudden shift and he used it to deepen the kiss, tongue hot and demanding, tasting her like he hadn’t just seen her thirty seconds ago but like it had been months.
one arm swept under her thighs, lifting her clean off the floor as if she weighed nothing. she squealed into his mouth, hands flying to his shoulders for balance, but he didn’t stop—just carried her straight back into the changing room like a man on a mission. the curtain barely closed before he kicked the bench aside and pinned her to the wall, bodies flush, his hands already everywhere.
“you know what i said i’d do?” he breathed against her jaw, licking down her throat, biting just under her ear. “i lied.”
she barely managed a breathy, “wh-what?”
“i’m not gonna go slow.”
her back hit the wall, cool against her overheated skin and he dropped to his knees. right there. right in front of her in the tiny space. grabbing her thigh and pulling it over his shoulder. she squeaked, hands slamming against the wall behind her for balance.
“jay—” she tried, but then his tongue slid over the fabric of her thong, and her head hit the wall with a soft thud.
“you wore this,” he growled, voice muffled against her. “you chose this, knowing i’d see.”
she was already trembling and he hadn’t even moved it aside yet.
he did now. pulled the thin lace to the side like it was an inconvenience, baring her completely to him. and then he devoured her.
no warning. no slow buildup.
just filthy, open-mouthed licks—long, hot, deliberate. his grip bruising on her thighs to hold her in place. she was gasping, moaning shamelessly, hips jerking forward only to be pushed back by the sheer strength of his hold.
“jay—seongie, oh my god—”
he sucked hard, flicked fast, moved in patterns she swore were illegal. her leg shook over his shoulder, the base of her heel digging slightly into his mid back and she was spiraling fast, panting as her hand found his hair and tugged.
he groaned into her.
his voice, husky and raw: “come on, baby. be good. gimme everything. right on my tongue.”
and she did. with a broken whimper, her head dropped forward, lips parted in disbelief as waves crashed over her. he held her through it, tongue relentless, letting her ride his face until she was twitching and pulling away with a choked, “too much—jay, i—”
he finally let go, rising with a satisfied glint in his eyes, licking his lips as he looked her over.
“you’re not walking out of here,” he said again, voice wrecked. “not until i’m done.”
and he wasn’t.
he spun her around, pressed her chest to the wall, and dragged her thong down—because now it was his turn.
with her thong now bunched uselessly at one ankle, her chest pressed to the wall of the small changing room, and her heels still on, jay stepped closer—so close his clothed chest was flush against her bare back, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the other moving lower, down the front of her thigh and then between.
“look at you,” he rasped against her ear, his voice low and raw. “still dripping for me.”
she gasped when he dragged two fingers through her folds, slow and deliberate. he didn’t even have to look—he felt it, how ready she was. and he groaned, head dropping to her shoulder as he gently rocked his hips against her, his hard-on pressed between them through the layers of his pants.
“i should take my time,” he muttered. “should tease you ‘til you’re crying.”
her breath hitched. “why… don’t you then?”
he bit her shoulder softly. “because i need you too fucking bad.”
his fingers left her, only to unbuckle his belt in one clean, practiced motion. she heard the jingle, the low hiss of his zipper and she felt her entire body tense in anticipation.
then he lined up, guided himself to her with one hand, the other braced beside her head, caging her in.
“last chance, baby,” he whispered, voice shaking with restraint. “tell me to stop.”
she didn’t. instead, she pushed back against him, her body giving the answer her voice couldn’t manage yet.
he slid in all at once and the moan that left him was guttural, primal. the one that left her was broken and breathy, head tilting back as she felt him stretch her, fill her, claim her.
“fuck,” he cursed, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “you’re so tight—how are you always this tight?”
she could barely think, let alone speak, her fingers scrambling for purchase against the wall as he bottomed out and held still, letting her adjust, both of them trembling.
then he moved, slowly at first. deep, rolling thrusts that made her toes curl, her eyes flutter shut. the small room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric, the wet sound of him sliding in and out of her, and their breathless moans.
he picked up the pace.
faster. harder. each thrust shoved her against the wall, her hands pressed flat to brace herself. he wrapped an arm around her torso to pull her back into him and she cried out, overstimulated and breathless.
“you’re mine,” he growled into her neck. “say it.”
“i’m yours,” she panted, barely able to keep herself upright as he ruined her from behind.
“say it louder.”
“i’m yours, f-fuck, seongie—YOURS!”
he bit down on her shoulder, muffling another groan as he slammed into her again and again, chasing the high that was building in both of them like a tidal wave.
her legs were trembling and she was close. so was he.
“i want you to come again,” he said, voice wrecked. “all over me. now.”
his fingers found her clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles making her scream.
her body clenched hard around him, spasming as she shattered with a cry of his name. he groaned loudly, hips stuttering as her orgasm triggered his own, heat spilling deep inside her as he collapsed forward, holding her tight while they both tried to catch their breath.
for a long moment, they stayed like that. panting. holding. heartbeats thudding against each other.
finally, he pulled out gently, catching her when her legs gave way, lifting her into his arms bridal-style.
“okay,” he whispered, kissing her sweat damp temple. “we’re never shopping without supervision again.”
she laughed weakly against his neck. “noted.”
masterlist / prev / next
nessie 🗯️ Sigh . . . . . there they go again, humping like bunnies SIGH
⋮ ⌗ ┆ IN WHICH , Jay and you are having a late night conversation about kids that turns into something more, until your mom calls and Jay refuses to let go of you.
.ᐟ pairing : husband!jay x f!reader
.ᐟ genre : suggestive, fluff, married couple
.ᐟ content : kissing, swearing
.ᐟ wc : 1.5k
The thing about being married is that you stop pretending to fall asleep. There's no more lying on your respective sides of the bed, counting sheep or waiting for the other person's breathing to even out so you can finally relax. You just exist together. Talk or don't talk. Touch or don't touch. You let the night happen however it wants to happen.
Tonight, the night wants to happen with Jay's fingers tracing patterns on your bare arm and the both of you staring at the ceiling like it was a night sky full of millions of stars. The lamp on his nightstand is still on. Your legs are tangled under the blanket. Somewhere outside, far below, the city vibrates with its late night energy, but up here, in this apartment, in this bed, everything is quiet.
"I saw Carla today," you say.
"Yeah?"
"Mm. She was with the baby." You pause. "He's gotten so big. He’s walking now and has opinions about everything."
Jay laughs softly. " I wonder where he gets that from."
"Oh shut up."
He chuckles quietly and keeps tracing those patterns, lazy circles and lines, like he's drawing something only he can see.
"She looked tired," you continue. "Happy, but tired. And she said the baby woke up at like 3 AM and just...wanted to play. For two whole hours."
"Brutal."
"Right?" You turn your head and look at his profile. He's still staring at the ceiling, but there's a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Can you imagine? Being woken up at 3 AM by a tiny human who just wants to show you their toy or whatever?"
He turns to meet your eyes. That smile widens just slightly. "I mean. You've woken me up at 3 AM for worse reasons." You shove his chest. "That's actually not the same thing. And I had nightmares every nights."
"Is it?"
"Yes. We're conscious adults."
"So are they, technically. They just don't know it yet." You snort. "That's a terrible argument and you know it." He laughs, and the sound fills the room softly. This is what you signed up for. This is what you didn't know you needed until you had it. The laughter fades and the tracing continues. The quiet settles back in, comfortable and warm.
"Would you want that?" he asks quietly.
"What ? Waking up at 3 AM?"
"You know what I mean." You do know. You've thought about it, of course you've thought about it. You've been married for three years, together for five before that. It's the kind of question that lives in the background of every conversation about the future, waiting for the right moment to step forward.
"I don't know," you admit. "Sometimes I think yes. Sometimes I think I'm too selfish."
"Selfish how?"
"I like our life." You gesture at the room, the bed, the two of you. "I like sleeping in. I like spontaneous trips. I like being able to just...go. Do whatever I want and not having to plan around someone who depends on me for everything."
He nods. "I get that." His hand moves from your arm to your waist. "I like our life too."
"But?"
He looks at you with a careful expression, soft and open and a little bit scared. "But I also think about what it would be like. Of having a tiny version of you running around, getting into trouble, having opinions about everything."
You smile. "You just want a mini version of me to boss around."
"I want a mini-you to spoil rotten." He pulls you closer until there's no space left between you. "Babe, imagine it. A little kid with your eyes, your stubbornness, your habit of leaving socks everywhere."
"I don't leave socks everywhere."
"You left a sock by the kitchen sink last week."
"That was—" You stop. "Okay, that was me. But I was tired, okay?"
"Exactly. Mini-you would also be tired and leave socks everywhere and I'd have to follow them around picking up their mess."
"You make it sound exhausting."
"It probably would be." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch softening in his movements. "But it would be so worth it."
Something shifts in the air. The conversation was hypothetical and almost playful, but now it's not.
"You think so?" you ask.
"I know so." His eyes hold yours. "Any kid lucky enough to have you as their mom would be the luckiest kid in the world."
Your throat tightens. You don't know why. It's just words after all, he’s just acting like himself, just Jay saying the thing you didn't know you needed to hear.
"You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because." You don't have a real reason. You kiss him instead of finding one. The kiss is soft and sweet. But then his hand slides up your back, pulls you closer, and soft becomes something else. His mouth moves against yours slow and sweet, like he's tasting something he wants to remember. Your fingers find their way into his hair, you tug just enough to make him breathe in sharp against your lips.
"Jay."
"Yeah?"
You’re rolling half on top of him, deepening and letting your body say what your voice can't. His hands find your hips, guide you until you're straddling him, the duvet bunched somewhere between you. The amber light catches his face, makes him look golden, makes him look like something you want to keep forever.
"I’m so lucky I get to love you," he murmurs against your mouth.
"You're biased."
"Doesn't make it less true." You kiss him again, harder this time. His hands slide under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you arch into the touch like a cat seeking sunlight. He groans, quiet, low, the kind of sound that goes straight through you. His mouth leaves yours and trails to your jaw, your neck, that spot below your ear that makes your whole body react. You tilt your head to give him more space, and he takes it greedily.
"We should do this more often," you breathe.
"We do it pretty often."
"Should do it even more."
He laughs against your skin, and the vibration makes you shiver. "Greedy."
"Your fault."
"My fault," he agrees. His teeth graze your neck, just enough to make you gasp. "Definitely my fault." His hands are everywhere now, your back, your waist, the hem of your shirt pushing higher. Your own hands are busy with his, with his hair, with the buttons of his pajama shirt that suddenly feel like obstacles.
Your phone rings and both of you stop your tracks.
"Ignore it," Jay murmurs against your skin, lips already returning to your neck.
"It's late, probably just—" You glance at the screen. Mom. "Shit. It's my mom."
"She can leave a voicemail."
"She'll call seventeen times." You're already reaching for the phone, already knowing you can't ignore it. "One minute. I'll be quick."
Jay sighs dramatically but doesn't stop you. His hands stay on your hips as you answer, thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.
"Hey, Mom. Everything okay?". Her voice comes through, chatty and unconcerned. Just calling to check in, to tell you about her day, to ask about your week. Normal mom stuff. Wrong place, wrong time, but normal.
"Yeah, we're good. Just—" You cut off as Jay's lips find your neck again. Soft at first, barely there. "Just winding down for the night." He kisses the spot below your ear. You bite your lip. Your mom keeps talking. Something about the neighbor's dog but you're not really listening. Jay's mouth trails lower, open now, wetter. His tongue drags across your skin and you have to physically stop yourself from making a sound.
"Uh huh," you manage. "That's—that's crazy."
His teeth graze your pulse point. Gently. Just enough to make your breath catch.
You elbow him lightly but he doesn't stop.
"Mom, I—" Your voice comes out weird. You clear your throat. "I'm sorry, can I call you tomorrow? I'm really tired."She keeps talking and doesn't hear you, or doesn't care.
Jay's hand slides higher on your hip. His mouth is doing something devastating to the side of your neck, sucking gently, and you know there's going to be a mark tomorrow and you don't even care.
"Mom." Your tone firmer this time. "Tomorrow. I'll call you tomorrow." She's saying goodbye now, finally, and you're saying it back, and your voice is supposed to sound normal but it doesn't, it can't, not when his tongue is tracing that same spot again, not when your eyes are trying to close and your whole body is leaning into him.
You hang up and throw the phone somewhere in the direction of the nightstand. You don't care where it lands. "You couldn’t wait for 5 minutes," you breathe.
"I'm patient." He looks up at you, lips swollen and eyes dark. "I waited."
"That was torture."
"It looked like you survived."
You kiss him again, hard enough to wipe that smug look off his face. He laughs into your mouth, but it's cut short when you tug his hair, when you press closer. The phone can ring again tomorrow. Right now, there's only this. Only him. Only the amber light and the tangled sheets and the marks he's leaving on your skin that you'll find in the morning and pretend to be annoyed about. You're not annoyed. You're not anything except his.
