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pjs - The Prince's Diaries - full fic

💌 Synopsis: Jongseong is a prince—refined, disciplined, and expected to marry a woman of his father’s choosing. You, on the other hand, are just a college student struggling to keep up with rent—until a team of royal advisors shows up on your doorstep and tells you that you’re the lost princess of Genovia. But royal life isn’t a fairytale, and duty doesn’t care about love. Because when the clock strikes midnight on the constitutional deadline, you’ll have to choose: your country or your heart. “If I were just Jay, not a prince, would you still choose me?”

cw: SMUT but lots of fluff, smut on a piano, smut in a library, smut on a chaise, lots of fluff barely any angst the reader is in distress cuz of this whole princess thing.

-

Your alarm blares for the third time, and you finally surrender to consciousness, throwing your arm out to silence the offending device. Another Monday. Another week of classes, part-time work, and trying to stretch your student budget until the next paycheck. Nothing special.

The apartment you share with your roommate isn't much—a cramped two-bedroom with perpetually spotty WiFi and a temperamental shower—but it's home. At least for now.

"Late night?" Your roommate smirks over her coffee mug as you stumble into the kitchen, hair still wrapped in a towel.

"Research paper," you groan, reaching for the coffee pot. "Professor Kim is trying to kill us all before midterms."

You're pouring cereal when a sharp knock at the door makes you jump, spilling Cheerios across the counter.

"You expecting someone?" your roommate asks, already heading to answer it.

You aren't. It's 8:37 AM on a Monday. Nobody visits at 8:37 AM on a Monday.

When your roommate opens the door, the hallway seems suddenly filled with people. Men in dark suits. A woman with an impossibly tight bun. All of them standing with perfect posture, like they've collectively swallowed broomsticks.

"May we come in?" It's not really a question. The woman steps forward, eyes scanning your apartment with barely concealed judgment. "We're looking for Y/N L/N."

Your roommate points at you wordlessly, backing away as the entourage enters.

"Ms. L/N," the woman says, her accent crisp and foreign. "I am Charlotte Martell, private secretary to Her Majesty Queen Clarisse Renaldi of Genovia."

You nearly choke on your coffee. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Genovia," she repeats, as if that clarifies everything. "A small sovereign principality between France and Spain."

"I know what Genovia is," you lie. You absolutely do not know what Genovia is. "But what does that have to do with me?"

The woman—Charlotte—gestures to one of the men, who produces an official-looking folder stamped with a crest you don't recognize.

"Queen Clarisse is your grandmother," Charlotte states, watching your face for a reaction. "And following the tragic death of your father, Crown Prince Philippe, you are now the sole heir to the Genovian throne."

Your roommate gasps dramatically. You burst out laughing.

"Okay, who put you up to this? Was it Kyle? This has his film project written all over it." You look around for hidden cameras.

Charlotte's expression doesn't change. "This is not a prank, Ms. L/N."

"Right. Sure. I'm secretly a princess." You roll your eyes. "And I suppose I've got a glass slipper and fairy godmother too?"

"Your Highness—"

"Nope. Stop right there." You hold up your hand. "I don't know who you people are, but my dad's name was Michael. He was an artist from Cleveland. He died when I was six. My mom raised me alone."

Charlotte and her companions exchange glances.

"Perhaps we should speak with your mother," Charlotte suggests delicately.

"Great idea," you agree, reaching for your phone. "She'll clear this right up."

But when your mom answers, her voice sounds strange. Strained.

"Mom, there are people here saying I'm some kind of princess and you've been hiding it from me my whole life. Tell them they've got the wrong apartment."

The silence on the other end stretches too long.

"Mom?"

"Honey," she finally says, her voice small. "Maybe you should sit down."

Your stomach drops. "No. No way."

"I never thought this would happen," she continues, words rushing now. "The agreement was that they'd never contact you. That you could live a normal life."

The room starts to spin. You grip the counter for support.

"This isn't funny anymore."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. Philippe—your father—wanted to acknowledge you, but I couldn't bear the thought of raising you in that world."

"Philippe?" Your voice sounds distant to your own ears. "My father's name was Michael."

Your mother's sigh crackles through the phone. "Michael was my brother. After Philippe died, Michael helped us... create a story that would protect you."

"Protect me from what? The truth?" The betrayal cuts deep, making your voice sharp.

"From a life that would never be your own," your mother says softly. "I wanted you to have choices."

You look at Charlotte and her entourage, still standing stiffly in your kitchen. This can't be happening.

"I think I'm hallucinating," you announce to no one in particular. "I haven't slept in thirty-six hours. This is just sleep deprivation."

Your roommate pinches your arm. Hard.

"Ow! What the hell?"

"Not dreaming," she says helpfully.

Your mother is still speaking through the phone. "These people—the Genovian royal staff—they'll bring you to the consulate. I'll meet you there, and we can talk properly."

"Mom, I can't just—"

"Please, sweetheart. Let me explain in person."

The phone call ends, and you stare at the device in your hand like it's suddenly turned into a live snake.

"This isn't real," you mutter. "This can't be real."

But three hours later, you're sitting in the Genovian consulate—a building you've passed a hundred times without noticing—watching your mother cry as she explains how she met the Crown Prince of Genovia during a semester abroad, how they fell in love, how she discovered she was pregnant after he returned home, how he died in a car accident before they could marry.

"The Queen wanted to acknowledge you officially," your mother explains, wiping her eyes. "But I refused. I didn't want that life for you."

"That life being...?"

"Being royal," she says, as if it's a disease. "Living in a gilded cage. Every move scrutinized. Never making your own choices."

Charlotte, who has been standing silently against the wall, clears her throat. "If I may, the situation has changed substantially. Without a direct heir, Genovia faces a constitutional crisis. Parliament may vote to dissolve the monarchy entirely."

"And that's... bad?" you ask, still struggling to process any of this.

"The monarchy has protected Genovia's independence for centuries," Charlotte explains. "Without it, larger neighboring countries would likely absorb our territory."

Your mother squeezes your hand. "I never wanted this burden for you. But it's your decision now."

"What decision? I don't even know what's happening!"

"The Queen requests that you come to Genovia," Charlotte says. "Learn about your heritage. Meet your grandmother. After that, you're free to make your choice."

"My choice to... what? Become a princess?"

Charlotte nods solemnly. "To accept your birthright, yes."

You look at your mother, this woman you've trusted your entire life, who has apparently been lying about your identity since before you could speak.

"I have exams next week," you say weakly. It sounds ridiculous even to your own ears.

"All arrangements have been made with your university," Charlotte assures you. "This is, after all, a diplomatic matter."

You laugh, a slightly hysterical sound. "Right. Diplomatic."

Your mother takes your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. "You don't have to do this. You can walk away right now, and we'll figure something out."

But you can see in her eyes what she's not saying—that this moment was always coming, that the lie was never sustainable, that a door has opened that can't be closed again.

"I just want to know the truth," you tell her. "All of it."

She nods, tears streaming now. "Then you should go. Meet her. Learn who you are."

-

Twenty-four hours later, you're on a private jet somewhere over the Atlantic, still half-convinced you're having an elaborate mental breakdown. Your mother came home with you to help pack, both of you moving through the motions like sleepwalkers.

"The Queen is eager to meet you," Charlotte says from across the aisle, breaking the silence that's stretched between you since takeoff.

"My grandmother," you say, testing the word. "My grandmother the Queen."

Charlotte's expression softens slightly. "This must be overwhelming."

You laugh, the sound hollow. "I keep thinking I'll wake up."

"I assure you, this is quite real," Charlotte says, missing the point entirely.

You stare out the window at endless darkness, trying to reconcile the person you were yesterday with whoever you're supposed to be now.

"What's she like?" you ask suddenly. "The Queen."

Charlotte considers this carefully. "Her Majesty is... formidable. Dignified. Dedicated to Genovia above all else."

"Sounds warm and fuzzy," you mutter.

"The Queen has experienced great loss," Charlotte adds quietly. "Her husband. Her son—your father. She has sacrificed personal happiness for duty."

That silences you. What do you say to a grandmother who's spent decades thinking her bloodline ended with her son, only to discover an heir she never knew existed?

"I don't know how to be a princess," you admit after another long silence.

"No one expects you to know already," Charlotte replies. "There will be extensive training, of course."

"Of course," you echo faintly. "Princess training."

The palace is like something from a fairy tale—all soaring spires and perfect gardens. Dawn is breaking as your motorcade passes through massive iron gates, and you catch your first glimpse of your apparent new home.

"This is insane," you whisper, pressing your face to the window like a child. "People actually live here?"

"The palace has been the royal residence for over three centuries," Charlotte informs you. "The east wing houses government offices, while the royal family occupies the north wing."

Your suite is bigger than your entire apartment. The bathroom alone is the size of your bedroom at home. You're staring at the claw-foot tub, wondering if you're allowed to actually use it or if it's just for show, when there's a knock at the door.

A young woman in a uniform curtsies—actually curtsies—when you open it.

"Your Highness," she says, eyes downcast. "I'm Olivia, your lady's maid."

"My... what now?"

"I'm here to help you prepare to meet Her Majesty."

Your laugh has a slightly manic edge. "I've been wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours and haven't slept. I don't think 'preparation' is going to help much."

Olivia smiles sympathetically. "Perhaps a bath first?"

You pace back and forth in your suite after your mother's confession at the consulate, hands pressed against your temples. The weight of everything—your father's true identity, your grandmother the Queen, this entire hidden heritage—crashes over you in waves.

"This can't be happening," you mutter. "This doesn't happen to normal people."

Olivia, your newly assigned lady's maid, watches anxiously from the doorway. "Your Highness, perhaps some tea would help calm your nerves?"

"Stop calling me that!" you snap, whirling around. "I'm not a 'Highness.' I'm just—" You break off, unable to even finish the sentence. Who are you now?

Charlotte enters with a stack of leather-bound books. "These are Genovian history texts. Your lessons begin tomorrow. Also, the royal portrait artist would like to schedule a sitting, and we'll need to discuss your public introduction to the Genovian people."

Something inside you finally snaps.

"EVERYBODY JUST STOP!" you shout, throwing your hands up. Charlotte freezes mid-sentence, Olivia nearly drops the tea tray, and even the security guard outside your door peeks in with alarm.

"I need—" your voice cracks, "I need everyone to just stop for a second. Twenty-four hours ago, I was worried about my student loans and my biology midterm. And now you're talking about royal portraits and—and—"

You grab the nearest pillow from a velvet settee and scream into it, a muffled sound of pure frustration. When you pull it away, you're laughing hysterically.

"Holy shit," you gasp through semi-maniacal laughter, "I'm a princess. I'm actually a princess!"

You collapse onto the nearest chair, still clutching the pillow to your chest. Your laughter shifts to something closer to hyperventilation.

"This is completely insane," you continue, gesturing wildly. "I've never even been to Europe before, and suddenly I'm supposed to rule a country? I don't even know where Genovia is on a map! I can barely keep my succulents alive!"

Charlotte approaches cautiously, as though you might explode again. "Perhaps a moment alone would be beneficial—"

"No!" You jump to your feet again, pacing frenetically. "No more alone time to 'process.' I need answers. Real answers. Like, what happens if I just walk out right now? Get on a plane and go home? Will there be, I don't know, international incidents? Diplomatic immunity revoked? Does Genovia have an extradition treaty with the United States?"

Charlotte and Olivia exchange alarmed glances.

"I mean, what's stopping me from just saying 'thanks but no thanks' to this whole princess gig? I didn't sign up for this! My mother lied to me my entire life, and now I'm supposed to just—what? Put on a tiara and wave to crowds? Marry some prince I just met? Rule a country I know nothing about?"

You stop suddenly, a thought occurring to you. You turn to Charlotte, eyes wide.

"Wait. Do I get a tiara?"

Charlotte blinks, thrown by the sudden shift. "Several, actually. The Genovian royal collection includes—"

"Several tiaras," you repeat, dazed. "I get several tiaras."

You start laughing again, but this time with a hint of wonder breaking through the hysteria.

"I have a grandmother who's a Queen," you say, testing the words. "My father was a Crown Prince. I live in a palace now." You spin in a slow circle, taking in the ornate room with new eyes. "I'm a princess."

The reality of it finally, truly hits you—not as an abstract concept but as your new life. Your knees go weak, and you sink back onto the settee.

"I'm Princess Y/N Renaldi of Genovia," you whisper, the name strange on your tongue. "Holy shit."

The bath, it turns out, is heavenly. The exhaustion and tension of the past day seep out of your muscles as you soak in water scattered with actual rose petals. It's so ridiculous that you find yourself laughing alone in the massive bathroom.

"Is everything alright, Your Highness?" Olivia calls through the door.

"Fine! Just having an existential crisis in a bathtub fit for Marie Antoinette!"

After the bath comes what can only be described as a full-scale makeover. Olivia is joined by a team that includes a hairstylist, makeup artist, and someone called a "royal wardrobe consultant" who tuts disapprovingly at the clothes you packed.

"These won't do at all," she announces, holding up your favorite jeans like they're contaminated.

"What's wrong with them?" you demand.

"Her Majesty has certain... expectations regarding royal appearance," the woman explains delicately.

"I'm not actually a princess yet," you point out. "Technically, I haven't agreed to anything."

But your protests fall on deaf ears. Two hours later, you're staring at a stranger in the mirror. Your hair has been styled into something elegant and smooth. Your face has been transformed with makeup that somehow looks natural despite taking forty-five minutes to apply. And you're wearing a dress that probably costs more than your entire wardrobe at home.

"There," the hairstylist says proudly. "Now you look like a princess."

You don't feel like a princess. You feel like a fraud in costume.

The "Blue Salon" turns out to be a formal sitting room where an elegant older woman waits, standing by a window. She turns as you enter, and you see your own eyes staring back at you from her face.

"Your Majesty," Charlotte announces, "Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N Renaldi."

The Queen—your grandmother—studies you silently for a long moment. You resist the urge to fidget under her gaze.

"The resemblance is remarkable," she says finally, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of emotion. "You have his eyes. My son's eyes."

You don't know what to say. This woman is a stranger who is somehow your closest living relative.

"You must have questions," she continues when you remain silent.

"About a million," you admit. "Starting with why my entire life has been a lie."

If your directness offends her, she doesn't show it. "Your mother made her choice. I respected it, though I disagreed with it. But circumstances have changed."

"So I've heard. Constitutional crisis. End of the monarchy. Very dramatic."

A hint of a smile touches her lips. "You have spirit. Good. You'll need it." She gestures to a chair. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss."

The next hour is a crash course in your own heritage. The Queen—your grandmother—explains the history of Genovia, the role of the monarchy, and the crisis created by the King's death without a recognized heir.

"Parliament has granted a grace period of three months," she explains. "In that time, you must decide whether to accept your title and begin preparation for eventual rule, or to renounce your claim permanently."

"And if I renounce?"

"Then the monarchy ends with me," she says simply. "And Genovia's future becomes uncertain."

No pressure or anything.

"There's another complication," your grandmother adds, and something in her tone makes you brace yourself. "The Genovian constitution requires the heir to be married before taking the throne."

You choke on the tea you've been sipping. "Married? I'm twenty-one!"

"Which is why, should you accept your title, suitable candidates would be presented immediately."

"Suitable candidates," you repeat incredulously. "You mean arranged marriage?"

"Think of it as... pre-screened dating," your grandmother suggests with a straight face.

"This is insane," you mutter, setting down your cup before you drop it. "Twenty-four hours ago, I was worried about my midterms. Now I'm discussing arranged marriages and constitutional crises."

Your grandmother regards you thoughtfully. "I understand this is overwhelming. You need not decide everything today. Take time to adjust. Learn about Genovia. Meet some of the young men Parliament considers suitable."

"And if I hate them all?"

"Then we face that challenge when it arises," she says diplomatically. "For now, perhaps we can start with dinner. I've invited one potential candidate to join us this evening."

"Seriously? I just got here!"

"Time is a luxury we don't have," your grandmother reminds you. "Prince Jongseong of Astoria is already in Genovia for diplomatic meetings. It's an opportunity that shouldn't be wasted."

Your head is spinning. "Prince who of where now?"

Your grandmother hands you a folder. "Astoria is a key ally. A marriage alliance would be most beneficial."

You flip open the folder to find a dossier—an actual dossier—on someone named Prince Jongseong of Astoria. The photograph shows a young man about your age with perfect features and an expression of cool dignity. He's handsome in an intimidating way, like a sculpture you're not allowed to touch.

"Great," you say weakly. "Blind date with a prince. No problem."

The day passes in a blur of instructions, protocol lessons, and people telling you how to walk, talk, sit, and breathe like a princess. By evening, your exhaustion has been replaced by a surreal, floating feeling, as if none of this is actually happening to you.

"Remember," Charlotte reminds you for the hundredth time as you're escorted to the State Dining Room, "curtsy when he's introduced, address him as 'Your Highness' initially, then 'Prince Jongseong' after that. The Queen will lead the conversation."

"What if I just hide under the table?" you suggest. "Blame it on jet lag?"

Charlotte doesn't even acknowledge your joke. "The Prince is known for his diplomatic skill and decorum. Please try to match his level of dignity."

"No pressure there."

The dining room is intimidating—all crystal chandeliers and gold trim. Footmen stand at attention along the walls. Your grandmother already waits at the head of a table that could seat thirty, though only four places are set.

"You look lovely," she tells you, and you resist the urge to tug at the formal dress that feels like a costume.

"I look like someone else," you reply honestly.

"Sometimes appearing royal is the first step to feeling royal," she says, which doesn't make you feel any better.

The doors open, and a court official announces: "His Royal Highness, Prince Jongseong of the House of Park, Crown Prince of Astoria, and Lord High Commissioner of the Eastern Provinces."

Your first thought as he enters: people shouldn't be that perfect-looking in real life. It seems unfair somehow.

Prince Jongseong is tall and moves with unconscious grace. His formal attire—some kind of military dress uniform with medals and sashes—accentuates broad shoulders. His features are even more striking in person—sharp jawline, intense eyes that miss nothing.

You remember to curtsy, wobbling slightly in your heels. When you straighten, his eyes meet yours directly. No smile, just assessment.

"Wait," you blurt out before anyone can speak. "Are we related?"

The room goes absolutely still. Charlotte makes a small choking sound behind you. Your grandmother's expression doesn't change, but her eyes widen slightly.

Prince Jongseong blinks, the only indication that your question has caught him off guard.

"I beg your pardon?" he asks, his voice deeper than you expected, his accent subtle but distinctive.

"Sorry, I just—I'm new to this whole royal thing, and apparently everyone's connected somehow, so I wanted to check if we're like, third cousins or something before this gets weird."

Your grandmother clears her throat. "Prince Jongseong's lineage and the Renaldi family have no direct connection for at least seven generations."

"Oh. Good." You feel your face heating up. "That's... good to know."

Prince Jongseong's expression remains absolutely neutral, but something that might be amusement flickers in his eyes briefly.

"Your Majesty," he addresses your grandmother first, bowing formally. "Thank you for your invitation."

When he turns back to you, you feel suddenly, intensely scrutinized.

"Your Highness," he says, bowing again. "It is an honor to meet the Princess of Genovia."

You're supposed to say something regal in response, but what comes out is: "I only found out I was a princess yesterday, so we're kind of in the same boat there."

Prince Jongseong does something unexpected. The corner of his mouth twitches—almost, but not quite, a smile.

"An unusual circumstance," he acknowledges, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes suddenly more interested. "Though I assure you, the honor remains."

Dinner is a masterclass in awkwardness. Your grandmother and an Astorian diplomat discuss trade agreements while you try to remember which fork to use for each course. Prince Jongseong watches you with those observant eyes but says little.

It's during dessert that he finally addresses you directly.

"I understand you were a university student before this... revelation."

You look up, surprised he's bothered to learn anything about you. "Yes. Political science, ironically enough."

"A useful background for your new role," he comments.

"I was planning to work for a non-profit," you admit. "Not rule a country."

"Few of us choose our destinies," he says, and something in his tone makes you wonder if he's speaking from experience.

After dinner, your grandmother suggests a "stroll through the East Garden" which is apparently royal code for "leaving you alone with your potential suitor while still maintaining proper supervision," as Charlotte and two guards follow at a discreet distance.

The garden is beautiful under the moonlight, with flowering trees and perfectly manicured hedges. You walk in uncomfortable silence until Prince Jongseong speaks.

"You seem overwhelmed."

You laugh, the sound sharper than intended. "What gave it away? The identity crisis or the third cousin question?"

"Both were... illuminating," he replies, and you think you detect a hint of humor beneath his formal tone.

"Sorry about that," you sigh. "This is all just... a lot."

"I can imagine," he says, though you doubt he can. He's probably been a prince his whole life, never wondering who he really is or where he belongs.

"No offense, but this isn't exactly how I planned to spend my week," you tell him honestly. "Twenty-four hours ago, I was a normal college student with student loans and a part-time job. Now I'm having dinner with princes and learning how to curtsy."

"It's a significant adjustment," he acknowledges, which feels like the understatement of the century.

"Can I ask you something?" you say suddenly.

He inclines his head slightly. "Of course."

"Is it always this weird? Being royal, I mean. Does it ever feel... normal?"

The question seems to surprise him. He considers it seriously before answering.

"I cannot speak to your experience," he says carefully. "I was born into my role, prepared for it from childhood. But even so, there are moments when the weight of responsibility feels... alienating."

It's the most human thing he's said all evening.

"What do you do in those moments?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Something shifts in his expression—a momentary glimpse of a different person behind the perfect princely mask.

"I remember that even a gilded cage is still a cage," he says quietly. "But with the right mindset, it can also be a platform for meaningful change."

You study him more carefully. Maybe there's more to Prince Perfect than you initially thought.

"That's... surprisingly profound," you admit.

The hint of a smile touches his lips again. "You expected shallow platitudes?"

"I don't know what I expected," you say honestly. "Everything about today has been surreal."

"Including meeting a potential husband selected by parliament?" he suggests, and there's definitely a note of dry humor in his voice now.

You can't help but laugh. "Yeah, that's pretty high on the surreal list."

"If it helps," he offers, "I find the situation equally unusual, though perhaps less distressing as I've had longer to adjust to the concept."

"How generous of you," you say sarcastically before you can stop yourself.

To your surprise, a genuine smile briefly transforms his face, making him look younger, more approachable.

"You're very direct," he observes.

"Sorry. New to the royal filter thing."

"It's... refreshing," he admits. "Most people I meet have agendas carefully hidden beneath pleasantries."

"My only agenda is surviving this day without having a complete breakdown," you tell him truthfully.

He stops walking, turning to face you. The moonlight catches the sharp angles of his face, and for a moment, he looks like a real person rather than a perfect royal specimen.

"You're doing better than you think," he says, and it feels like the first completely genuine thing he's said all evening.

The moment stretches between you—something unnamed passing in the silence—before Charlotte clears her throat, reminding you of her presence.

"The Queen will be expecting us to return," she prompts.

Prince Jongseong straightens immediately, mask back in place. "Of course."

As you walk back toward the palace, your hand accidentally brushes his. A small touch, barely nothing, but something unexpected flutters in your stomach. His eyes meet yours briefly, and you wonder if he felt it too.

Back in the formal reception room, he bows over your hand. "It has been a pleasure, Your Highness."

"Likewise, Prince Jongseong," you manage, this time remembering the proper response.

As he prepares to leave, he hesitates, then adds quietly, "Perhaps when we meet again, you might be more accustomed to your title."

-

You wake to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains, momentarily disoriented. The canopied bed, the ornate furniture, the distant sound of voices speaking a language you don't understand—where are you?

Then it hits you like a freight train. Genovia. Palace. Princess.

You groan and pull a pillow over your face. Maybe if you smother yourself with Egyptian cotton, you'll wake up in your cramped apartment with your psychology paper still due and your normal life intact.

A gentle knock at the door shatters that fantasy.

"Your Highness?" Olivia's voice calls. "Her Majesty requests your presence for breakfast in thirty minutes."

You remove the pillow with another groan. "Tell her I've fled the country."

There's a pause. "I... don't think I can say that to the Queen, Your Highness."

Despite everything, you laugh. Poor Olivia, stuck with an unwilling princess who doesn't know the first thing about royal protocol.

"I'll be ready," you call back, dragging yourself out of bed.

The "breakfast room" (because apparently regular dining rooms are insufficient for morning meals) is sunshine-bright and intimidatingly elegant. Your grandmother already sits at the table, reading documents while sipping tea.

"Good morning," she says without looking up. "I trust you slept well?"

"Not really," you admit, slouching into a chair before remembering Charlotte's lecture about posture. You straighten awkwardly, feeling like you're balancing a book on your head.

Your grandmother finally looks at you, one eyebrow arched. "Honesty before coffee. How refreshing."

A servant appears instantly with a cup of steaming coffee prepared exactly how you like it. You stare at it suspiciously.

"How did they know...?"

"Part of the job," your grandmother answers simply. "Knowing what people need before they ask for it."

You take a grateful sip. "At least that's one perk of this princess gig."

Your grandmother sets down her papers. "Your schedule today is quite full. We have much work to do."

"Schedule?" You didn't know you had a schedule.

"Charlotte will brief you after breakfast. But first," she slides a leather portfolio across the table, "Your Genovian citizenship papers, passport, and diplomatic credentials. You'll need to sign where indicated."

You flip open the folder. The first document declares you Princess Y/N Mignonette Renaldi of Genovia, Crown Princess and Royal Heir.

"Mignonette?" You look up, confused. "That's not my middle name."

"It is now," your grandmother says with finality. "A royal name."

You sign where indicated, feeling like you're signing away your old identity with each stroke of the pen.

"There's something else we need to discuss," your grandmother says once you've finished. "Your... public introduction."

"My what now?"

"The people of Genovia must meet their princess. There will be a press conference tomorrow, followed by a formal ball next week."

You choke on your coffee. "Tomorrow? A press conference? I can't—I don't—I'm not ready for that!"

"Which is why today is devoted to preparation," she says calmly. "Diplomatic protocol, Genovian history, public speaking..."

Your appetite vanishes. People—actual citizens of an actual country—are going to be judging whether you're fit to rule them. The thought is paralyzing.

"What if I mess up?" you ask quietly. "What if I embarrass Genovia? Or you?"

Something softens in your grandmother's expression. "You are more capable than you realize." She hesitates, then adds, "Your father was much the same way. Doubting himself, yet exceeding every expectation."

It's the first time she's voluntarily mentioned your father, and the comparison catches you off guard.

"I wish I'd known him," you say before you can stop yourself.

"As do I," she replies softly. "As do I."

The moment of vulnerability passes as quickly as it appeared. She's all business again, consulting her watch.

"Charlotte will meet you in the library in fifteen minutes. And this evening, Prince Jongseong will be joining us for the diplomatic reception."

Your stomach does a weird flip at the mention of his name. "Already? I just met him yesterday."

"He's requested to assist with certain aspects of your diplomatic training," your grandmother explains, a hint of something—amusement? satisfaction?—in her eyes. "The prince has excellent connections throughout Europe. His guidance will be valuable."

"I'm sure," you mutter, wondering what his real agenda is. Nobody volunteers for tutoring duty without an ulterior motive.

-

The dress fitting is endless torture. The royal stylist, Madame Aubert, fusses over fabrics and colors while treating you like a mannequin rather than a person.

"Perhaps the blue? It brings out Her Highness's eyes," she suggests to Charlotte, who nods seriously.

"I like the green one," you interject.

Both women look at you with surprise, as if they'd forgotten you could speak.

"The green is... less traditional," Madame Aubert says diplomatically.

"I'm not exactly a traditional princess," you point out. "Raised in America. Didn't know I was royal until two days ago. Let's embrace the unconventional, shall we?"

Charlotte's lips thin with disapproval, but she doesn't argue. "The green then. With appropriate accessories."

The "appropriate accessories" turn out to be your first tiara—a delicate silver creation with small diamonds that makes your heart skip despite your determination to remain unimpressed by royal trappings.

"This is from the royal collection," Charlotte explains as Madame Aubert carefully places it on your styled hair. "Traditionally worn by princesses at their first official appearance."

You stare at your reflection, this stranger with perfect hair and makeup wearing a genuine tiara. The disconnect between who you were days ago and who you're supposed to be now has never felt more stark.

"What if I can't do this?" you whisper, fear finally breaking through the sarcasm you've been hiding behind.

Charlotte's expression softens slightly. "Everyone feels unprepared for significant change, Your Highness. Even those born to royal life."

"Even Prince Perfect?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

"Prince Jongseong?" Charlotte raises an eyebrow. "Especially him, I suspect. The burdens of Astoria's crown prince are considerable."

You turn to her, surprised by this insight. "What do you mean?"

"Astoria has undergone significant modernization in recent years," Charlotte explains. "Prince Jongseong has been at the forefront of many reforms, often against traditional factions. His reputation for perfectionism is... protective."

This new perspective on the prince is unexpected. You think back to his comment about gilded cages during your garden conversation.

"I misjudged him," you realize aloud.

"First impressions in royal circles are rarely accurate," Charlotte says with surprising gentleness. "We all wear masks of one kind or another."

The conversation is interrupted when your grandmother sweeps in to inspect the dress selection. She surveys you critically, then nods approval.

"The green is unexpected," she notes. "But it suits you. Bold without being inappropriate."

"Thank you," you say, genuinely pleased by her approval.

"Now," she continues briskly, "for this evening's diplomatic reception. There will be approximately fifty guests, primarily ambassadors and foreign dignitaries. You will be introduced formally, then circulate with me for the first hour."

Your momentary confidence evaporates. "Fifty people? Tonight? I barely know how to address half the titles Charlotte's been drilling me on!"

"Consider it practice for tomorrow's press conference," your grandmother replies calmly. "Prince Jongseong has offered to assist you. He knows most of the attendees personally."

Of course he does. Prince Perfect probably emerged from the womb networking with international dignitaries.

-

The diplomatic reception is held in yet another ornate room you haven't seen before. You're beginning to wonder just how many formal spaces one palace needs.

You stand beside your grandmother as Charlotte announces each arrival, desperately trying to remember their titles and countries while maintaining what you hope is a regal posture.

"His Excellency Antoine Dubois, Ambassador of France," Charlotte intones.

A distinguished older man approaches, bowing over your grandmother's hand. "Your Majesty, always a pleasure."

He turns to you with obvious curiosity. "And Your Highness, welcome to Genovia. France looks forward to a long and prosperous relationship with the future Queen."

You manage a decent curtsy. "Thank you, Your Excellency. I look forward to learning more about the historic ties between our nations."

The diplomatic phrase Charlotte drilled into you comes out smoothly, and you feel a small surge of triumph. Maybe you can do this after all.

As more guests arrive, you fall into a rhythm of greetings and basic pleasantries. Your nerves gradually settle—until Charlotte announces, "His Royal Highness, Prince Jongseong of Astoria."

He enters looking even more striking than yesterday, dressed in formal evening attire with a subtle military influence. A row of medals decorates his chest, and a blue sash crosses his torso. The effect is both regal and undeniably attractive.

He bows to your grandmother first, then to you, eyes meeting yours with unexpected warmth.

"Your Highness," he says, and there's something almost like approval in his gaze. "You look magnificent."

The compliment catches you off guard. "Thank you. You look... very princelike yourself."

A hint of amusement flickers in his eyes. "I try my best."

Your grandmother watches this exchange with interest. "Prince Jongseong, perhaps you would be kind enough to introduce Princess Y/N to some of our Eastern European allies? I believe the Latvian ambassador was hoping to meet her."

"It would be my honor," he replies smoothly.

Your grandmother leans closer to you. "Remember, diplomatic relations are built on personal connections as much as formal agreements," she murmurs. "Use this opportunity to establish yourself."

Great. More pressure.

Prince Jongseong offers his arm, and you take it, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at the contact.

"Nervous?" he asks quietly as he leads you through the crowd.

"Terrified," you admit. "I keep waiting for someone to realize I have no idea what I'm doing."

"A secret of royal life," he replies, his voice low near your ear. "Most of us feel that way. We're just better at hiding it."

You look at him in surprise. "Even you?"

"Especially me," he says, and for a brief moment, his perfect façade slips, revealing something vulnerable beneath. Then it's gone, replaced by his usual composed expression as you approach a group of diplomats.

"Ambassador Petrov," Prince Jongseong greets an imposing man with a silver beard. "May I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N of Genovia?"

The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and carefully navigated conversations. Prince Jongseong remains at your side, smoothly guiding interactions and occasionally rescuing you with well-timed interventions when you falter.

During a brief moment alone while getting drinks, you turn to him. "Thank you. For... all this." You gesture vaguely at the room.

"You're doing remarkably well," he says. "Most people would have fled the country by now."

"Don't think I haven't considered it," you mutter, making him smile.

"What's stopping you?"

You consider the question seriously. "I don't know. Maybe... responsibility? My grandmother needs me. Genovia needs me. Running away seems selfish."

He studies you thoughtfully. "That sense of duty will make you an excellent ruler someday."

"If I survive princess lessons," you joke weakly.

"You will," he says with surprising conviction. "And perhaps along the way, you might even find aspects of royal life to enjoy."

"Like what? The constant scrutiny? The lack of privacy? The arranged marriages?"

His expression shifts at that last point. "Not all royal marriages are purely political these days. There can be... compatibility considerations."

"Is that what this is?" you ask boldly, gesturing between you. "A 'compatibility assessment'?"

He doesn't answer immediately, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I would prefer to think of it as... getting to know each other without predetermined expectations."

"Except for the fact that my grandmother and your government clearly have expectations," you point out.

"True," he acknowledges. "But perhaps we could set those aside, temporarily. See if there's more between us than diplomatic advantage."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "And if there isn't?"

"Then we remain allies with mutual respect," he says simply. "No one can force a marriage in the modern era, regardless of constitutional requirements."

Before you can respond, Charlotte approaches. "Your Highness, the Prime Minister has arrived and wishes to pay his respects."

Prince Jongseong steps back slightly. "We should continue this conversation another time."

"I'd like that," you admit, surprised by your own honesty.

He bows formally, but his eyes hold something warmer. "Until tomorrow, Princess Y/N."

-

The press conference is a blur of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Despite your fears of public humiliation, you somehow manage to survive it—stumbling only twice over Genovian pronunciations and making just one awkward joke that, thankfully, the press seems to find charming rather than offensive.

"You were marvelous," your grandmother tells you afterward, her approval warming you despite your exhaustion.

"Really? Because I think I just agreed to visit a children's hospital tomorrow and I have no idea what a royal visit actually entails."

"Charlotte will brief you," she says dismissively. "The important thing is that you appeared genuine. The people responded to that."

You think back to Prince Jongseong's advice about authenticity over perfection. Maybe he was right after all.

"Speaking of Prince Jongseong," your grandmother continues, with that same hint of calculation in her eyes, "he's arranged for a tour of Genovia's historical districts tomorrow evening. The royal council believes it would be beneficial for you to be seen engaging with our cultural heritage."

"The royal council believes," you repeat skeptically. "Or you believe?"

Your grandmother's lips twitch. "Let's say our interests align in this particular matter."

You roll your eyes. "You're not exactly subtle about this matchmaking attempt."

"Subtlety is a luxury afforded to those with time," she replies. "We have precious little of that."

She's not wrong. The constitutional deadline looms over every decision, every interaction. Sometimes you forget that your grandmother faces the end of her life's work—the dissolution of a monarchy that has stood for centuries—if you don't step up to the challenge.

"Fine," you concede. "I'll go on the royal field trip. But don't expect me to fall madly in love just because he knows his way around old buildings."

"I expect nothing," your grandmother says innocently. "Though I would point out that an appreciation for history is an admirable quality in a potential consort."

That night, sleep remains elusive despite your exhaustion. Your mind keeps cycling through the day's events, replaying moments of triumph and embarrassment in equal measure. After tossing and turning for hours, you finally give up and slip out of bed.

The palace is different at night—quieter, less intimidating without the constant hustle of staff and royal obligations. You wrap a robe around your pajamas and venture into the hallway, nodding to the security guard who pretends not to notice your disheveled state.

Without any real destination in mind, you wander through dimly lit corridors, enjoying the rare moment of solitude. Somehow, you find yourself at a set of glass doors leading to the garden where you walked with Prince Jongseong that first night.

The garden is silvered with moonlight, the formal hedges casting complex shadows across manicured lawns. You step outside, breathing in the scent of night-blooming flowers, and follow a stone path deeper into the grounds.

You've just discovered a charming fountain featuring a mermaid when a voice behind you says, "You couldn't sleep either?"

You whirl around, startled, to find Prince Jongseong standing a few feet away. He's dressed casually—at least by his standards—in dark pants and a simple white shirt, open at the collar. With his hair slightly mussed and his perfect posture somewhat relaxed, he looks younger, more approachable.

"You scared me," you accuse, pressing a hand to your racing heart.

"My apologies," he says, taking a step closer. "I didn't expect anyone else to be out here at this hour."

"That makes two of us," you reply, suddenly conscious of your own appearance—hair hastily tied back, face bare of makeup, wearing palace-issued silk pajamas under a matching robe. Not exactly how you'd choose to encounter the frustratingly perfect prince.

"I watched the press conference," he says, changing the subject. "You did well."

"I stumbled over 'agricultural initiatives' and called the Finance Minister 'sir' instead of 'minister,'" you point out.

His mouth quirks in that almost-smile that's becoming familiar. "And yet, you were authentic. The people responded to that."

"That's almost exactly what my grandmother said."

"The Queen is a perceptive woman."

You study him in the moonlight, curious about this less formal version of the prince. "Do you always wander palace gardens at midnight?"

"Only when sleep proves elusive," he admits. He hesitates, then adds, "The demands of royal life can be... difficult to quiet."

"Tell me about it," you sigh, sitting on the edge of the fountain. After a moment's hesitation, he joins you, maintaining a respectful distance. "Two days ago, my biggest worry was my political theory midterm. Now I'm worried about constitutional crises and diplomatic incidents."

"It's a significant adjustment," he acknowledges.

"That's the understatement of the century," you laugh, but there's no real humor in it. "Everyone keeps acting like I should just accept all this—the title, the responsibility, the arranged marriage—like it's perfectly normal."

He's quiet for a moment, then asks, "May I speak candidly, Your Highness?"

"Please. And maybe drop the 'Your Highness' when we're alone? It's weird enough without the constant reminders."

He nods, then says, "Y/N, then." Your name in his voice, without the royal title, sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. "The truth is, none of this is normal. Not even for those of us raised in it. We're just better at pretending."

"You're saying you hate it too?" you ask skeptically.

"Not hate," he corrects. "But there are... challenges. Expectations. Sacrifices."

"Like what?"

He stares at the fountain, watching moonlight play across the water. "Privacy. Freedom to choose one's own path. The luxury of mistakes."

You study his profile, seeing something vulnerable in his expression that's never visible during daylight hours. "So why do it?"

"Duty," he says simply. "Family. The knowledge that privilege comes with responsibility."

"That sounds rehearsed," you observe.

To your surprise, he laughs—a genuine sound that transforms his face. "Perhaps because I've been repeating it to myself since childhood."

Your curiosity grows. "What would you have chosen? If you weren't born a prince?"

The question seems to catch him off guard. He considers it seriously. "I've never allowed myself to think about it. But perhaps... music."

"Music?" That wasn't what you expected.

"I play piano," he admits, sounding almost embarrassed. "Classically trained, of course, as all proper princes must be. But I find myself drawn to composing. It's... freeing."

You try to imagine Prince Perfect hunched over a piano, lost in music of his own creation, and the image is strangely compelling.

"Will you play for me sometime?" you ask impulsively.

Something shifts in his expression—surprise, certainly, but something else too. Something warmer. "If you wish."

"I do," you say, surprised by your own sincerity.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the gentle splashing of the fountain. Without the pressure of formal events and watchful eyes, you find yourself relaxing in his presence.

"What about you?" he asks eventually. "If you weren't suddenly thrust into royal life, what would you have chosen?"

"I was studying political science," you remind him. "I wanted to work in international development. Help people who are overlooked by traditional power structures."

"Noble aims," he observes.

"Now I sound like the one with rehearsed answers," you laugh.

"No," he says softly. "You sound like someone with genuine conviction." He pauses, then adds, "Someone who would make an excellent queen."

The compliment catches you off guard. "You barely know me."

"I'm a good judge of character," he replies. "It's a necessary skill in diplomatic circles."

"Is that what this is?" you ask boldly. "Diplomacy?"

His eyes meet yours, and something electric passes between you. "Not entirely," he admits.

"This is something unexpected," he says finally, his voice lower than before.

The air between you feels charged with possibility. You're acutely aware of his proximity, of the slight gap in his collar revealing a glimpse of collarbone, of the way moonlight catches in his eyes.

"Jongseong," you say, testing his name without the princely title. It feels intimate somehow, crossing an invisible boundary. "Why did you volunteer to help with my training?"

He doesn't answer immediately. When he does, his honesty surprises you. "Initially, for diplomatic reasons. An alliance between Genovia and Astoria would benefit both nations." He hesitates, then adds, "But after meeting you... my motivations became more personal."

"How personal?" you press, heart racing.

Instead of answering, he reaches out slowly, giving you time to pull away, and brushes a strand of hair from your face. His fingertips graze your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

"Personal enough that I find myself in gardens at midnight, hoping for a chance encounter," he admits quietly.

You don't realize you've been holding your breath until you exhale shakily. "That's... quite personal."

His gaze drops to your lips briefly before returning to your eyes. "May I..." he begins, then hesitates.

"Yes," you whisper, not needing him to finish the question.

He leans in slowly, deliberately, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is gentle, questioning, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You don't. Instead, you find yourself leaning into him, one hand coming to rest on his chest where you can feel his heart beating as rapidly as your own. The kiss deepens, becoming something more urgent, more honest than any interaction you've had since arriving in Genovia.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing unevenly. Jongseong rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

"That was..." he begins.

"Unexpected?" you suggest, echoing his earlier word.

He laughs softly. "Yes. Though perhaps inevitable."

"Is this going to cause an international incident?" you ask, only half-joking.

"Only if we let it," he replies, drawing back slightly to meet your eyes. "This... whatever is developing between us... it needs to be separate from politics. At least for now."

"Can it be?" you wonder aloud. "Everything about our lives is political."

"Not everything," he says firmly. "Not this." He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "When we're alone, I'd like to just be Jongseong. Not Prince Jongseong of Astoria with all its attendant expectations."

The vulnerability in his request touches something in you. "I'd like that."

"My friends at school used to call me Jay," he admits, sounding almost shy. "No one here uses that name."

The nickname humanizes him instantly, creating a contrast with the formal prince everyone else sees.

"Jay," you repeat, testing it on your tongue. His eyes darken at the sound of his nickname in your voice. "I like it."

"May I kiss you again... Y/N?" he asks, your name without titles sounding intimate in his accented voice.

In answer, you close the distance between you, kissing him with more confidence this time. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands that are usually so perfectly styled.

You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his mouth against yours, his hands tracing patterns on your back through the thin silk of your robe. There's an urgency building between you, a heat that makes you forget your surroundings, your circumstances, everything but the feeling of being in his arms.

It's the distant sound of a guard's footsteps that finally brings you back to reality. You pull apart quickly, both breathing heavily. Jongseong's hair is mussed from your fingers, his lips slightly swollen, and there's a flush across his cheekbones that you've never seen before.

"We should probably go back inside," you say reluctantly, glancing toward the sound. "Before someone finds us."

He nods, though he looks as unwilling as you feel. "You're right." He stands, offering you his hand to help you up. "Though I find myself wishing for more midnight encounters."

"Is that a royal request?" you tease, accepting his help.

"A personal one," he corrects, bringing your joined hands to his lips for a brief kiss that sends warmth flooding through you.

-

The historical districts of Genovia are charming beyond your expectations—cobblestone streets, centuries-old architecture, and views of both mountains and sea that take your breath away. But if you're being honest, you're far more aware of your tour guide than the sights.

Jongseong—or Jay, as you've begun to think of him in your private thoughts—appears perfectly princely today, back in formal attire with his public mask firmly in place. If not for the occasional heated glance when no one is watching, you might think you dreamed last night's encounter.

"This cathedral dates back to the 14th century," he explains as you enter a soaring space of stained glass and ancient stone. "The Renaldi family has traditionally been crowned here since 1523."

"Where I'll be crowned," you murmur, the reality of your future suddenly pressing in.

His expression softens briefly. "Yes. Though not for many years, one hopes."

The palace security detail keeps a discreet distance, but they're ever-present, along with several photographers approved to document your cultural education for the Genovian press. Every movement, every interaction is observed, recorded, analyzed.

"How do you stand it?" you ask quietly as you move between exhibits in a historical museum. "The constant scrutiny."

"You develop a public self," he explains, maintaining a proper distance as he guides you through a display of royal artifacts. "A version that can withstand examination."

"And the real self?"

His eyes meet yours briefly, intensely. "That remains private. Shared only with those who have earned trust."

The implication isn't lost on you. Last night, he showed you something real—something beyond the perfect prince facade. The knowledge feels like a precious secret.

The tour concludes with dinner at a historical restaurant overlooking the harbor. Security has cleared the establishment of other patrons, creating an illusion of privacy that you both know is false. Still, sitting across from him as sunset paints the water gold, you find moments of genuine connection between the formal conversation about Genovian history and culture.

"You've memorized a remarkable amount about Genovia," you observe as he explains the significance of an ancient trading route.

"I studied your country extensively after learning of your existence," he admits. "I wanted to be prepared."

"For what?"

"To meet you," he says simply.

Something warm unfurls in your chest. "That's... thorough."

"I prefer to be informed," he replies, but there's a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone. "Though I confess, no amount of research prepared me for the reality."

"Disappointed?" you ask, only half-joking.

"Quite the opposite." His gaze is steady, sincere. "You continually surprise me, Y/N. It's... refreshing."

The way he says your name, without titles or pretense, sends a thrill through you despite the public setting.

After dinner, as you're escorted back to the palace, the car's privacy partition offers a brief moment of seclusion from watchful eyes. Jongseong's hand finds yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining.

"I wish we could have a normal evening," he says quietly. "Without guards and photographers. Just the two of us."

"Is anything about our lives ever going to be normal?" you wonder aloud.

He squeezes your hand gently. "Probably not. But we might find moments of normalcy in the chaos."

The car slows as you approach the palace gates, and reluctantly, he releases your hand. The mask of royal propriety falls back into place with practiced ease.

"Thank you for the tour, Prince Jongseong," you say formally as the car stops at the palace entrance. "It was most educational."

"The pleasure was mine, Your Highness," he replies with equal formality, though his eyes convey a very different message.

Later that night, you find yourself drawn once again to the garden, hoping for a repeat of the previous evening's encounter. The fountain beckons with memories of his kiss, but the garden remains empty save for the ever-present palace guards.

Disappointed, you turn to head back inside when you notice something on the bench by the fountain—a folded piece of paper tucked partially beneath a small stone. Looking around to ensure no one is watching, you retrieve it, unfolding it quickly.

Inside, in elegant handwriting: Piano room, east wing, midnight. —J

Your pulse quickens. The east wing houses several music rooms, according to Charlotte's exhaustive palace tour. It would be simple enough to find your way there.

It would also be reckless, improper, and potentially scandalous if discovered.

You fold the note carefully, tucking it into your pocket, and head back inside, decision already made.

The palace at midnight is a labyrinth of shadows and silence. You've changed from your formal evening attire into something more comfortable—dark jeans and a simple blouse that feels like armor after days of princess couture. With your hair loose and face scrubbed of makeup, you almost recognize yourself again.

You navigate the corridors carefully, grateful for Charlotte's detailed palace tour. The east wing is older, with fewer guards patrolling its halls. The music room isn't difficult to find—soft piano notes guide you to a partially open door.

Inside, lit only by a single lamp, Jongseong sits at a grand piano. He's shed his formal attire for dark pants and a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair falls loose across his forehead as he plays, eyes closed in concentration.

The melody is hauntingly beautiful—melancholy yet hopeful, complex yet accessible. You stand in the doorway, transfixed by this version of him you've never seen before—completely unguarded, lost in his music.

When the piece ends, his eyes open and find you immediately, as if he sensed your presence all along.

"You came," he says simply.

"I came," you confirm, stepping fully into the room and closing the door quietly behind you.

He remains seated at the piano, watching as you approach. "Did anyone see you?"

"Just the guard outside my room. I told him I was going to the library."

He nods, satisfied. "That was beautiful," you add, gesturing to the piano. "What was it?"

"Something I've been working on," he admits, looking almost shy. "It's not finished yet."

"You composed that?" You're genuinely impressed.

"Music has always been... an escape," he explains. "Somewhere I can express things I can't say aloud."

"What was that piece saying?" you ask, perching on the edge of the piano bench beside him.

He considers this, fingers ghosting over the keys without pressing them. "It's about living between worlds. Belonging fully to neither." His eyes meet yours. "I started it the night we met."

The admission sends warmth flooding through you. "Play more?" you request softly.

Instead, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I'd rather talk. Without titles or expectations or diplomatic considerations."

"What should we talk about... Jay?" His nickname feels intimate on your tongue.

His eyes darken at your use of the name. "Anything. Everything. Who you were before Genovia. Who you hope to become."

So you talk—really talk—in a way you haven't been able to since arriving in Genovia. You tell him about college, your friends, your dreams of working in international development. He shares stories of his childhood in Astoria, the weight of expectation, the moments of rebellion carefully hidden from public view.

"I crashed a motorcycle when I was seventeen," he admits, and you try to reconcile this image with the perfect prince you first met. "Snuck out of the palace, borrowed a security guard's bike, ended up with three broken ribs and a lecture from my father I still haven't forgotten."

"I can't imagine you being that reckless," you laugh.

"I'm not, usually," he acknowledges. "But sometimes the pressure builds until something has to give."

You understand that feeling all too well. "What happened after?"

"I was sent to military academy to 'channel my energies appropriately,'" he says with a wry smile. "It actually helped. Gave me structure, purpose beyond simply being the crown prince."

As you talk, the distance between you gradually diminishes. His hand finds yours again, thumb tracing patterns on your palm that send shivers up your arm. Your shoulders touch, then your knees. The air between you grows charged with possibility.

"I haven't stopped thinking about last night," he admits, voice dropping lower. "About kissing you."

"Neither have I," you confess.

This time, there's no hesitation. He leans in, capturing your lips with his, one hand coming up to cup your face. The kiss deepens immediately, as if you're both making up for lost time. You shift closer on the bench, your hand finding its way to his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your palm.

His kisses are more confident than the night before, exploring rather than questioning. Your fingers thread through his hair, marveling at its softness. When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, you open to him without hesitation, a small sound of pleasure escaping you.

The bench is awkward, limiting movement, so when he pulls back slightly, breathing heavily, you stand, tugging him with you. He follows willingly, but instead of returning to your kiss, he guides you to a small sofa in the corner of the room.

"More comfortable," he explains, settling beside you.

This new position allows for closer contact. When his lips find yours again, his arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against him. Your bodies align perfectly, and heat builds between you with each passing moment. His kisses move from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, discovering sensitive spots that make you gasp.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your skin.

"More than okay," you assure him, tilting your head to give him better access.

Your hands explore hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence—the broad expanse of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest, the surprising warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. His own explorations become bolder, one hand sliding up your side, thumb brushing the outer curve of your breast.

Even this innocent touch sends electricity through you. You arch into his hand, silently encouraging more. He obeys your wordless request, cupping you fully through your blouse, thumb circling in a way that makes you bite your lip to stay quiet.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, eyes dark with desire. "From the moment I saw you..."

You silence him with another kiss, not trusting yourself with words. Your body is taking control, wants overwhelming rational thought. When his hand slips beneath the hem of your blouse, warm against your bare skin, you shiver with anticipation.

His fingers trace patterns up your ribcage, hesitating at the edge of your bra. "May I?" he asks, ever the gentleman even in this moment.

"Yes," you breathe, beyond caring about propriety or consequences.

The first touch of his hand against your bare breast draws a soft moan from you that he captures with his mouth. His thumb circles your nipple through the thin lace, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You press closer, wanting more, needing more.

Your own hands grow bolder, tugging his shirt from his waistband, slipping beneath to explore the warm skin of his back. You feel the subtle ridge of a scar near his shoulder blade, a humanizing imperfection that makes him even more attractive somehow.

"What's this from?" you ask, fingertips tracing the mark.

"Fencing accident," he murmurs against your neck. "Age twelve. Opponent didn't pull his strike."

You press your lips to his jaw, then his neck, enjoying the way his breath catches. "Any other scars I should know about?"

His laugh is low, slightly uneven. "Several. But discovering them might require more privacy than a music room allows."

The reminder of your surroundings is like a splash of cold water. Anyone could walk in—a guard, a staff member, your grandmother. The scandal would be immediate and irreparable.

Reluctantly, you pull back slightly, though your body protests the loss of contact. "You're right. This isn't the place."

His forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily. "I got carried away," he admits. "You have a... significant effect on me."

"Likewise," you assure him, pressing one more quick kiss to his lips before putting slight distance between you. "But you're right. We should be careful."

He helps you straighten your clothes, then adjusts his own, running a hand through his disheveled hair in a futile attempt to tame it. The sight of him—rumpled, flushed, looking nothing like the perfect prince the world knows—fills you with a secret satisfaction.

"When can I see you again?" he asks, taking your hand. "Like this, I mean. Just us."

"I don't know," you admit. "My schedule is packed for the next few days. Royal duties and all that."

"I have to return to Astoria briefly," he tells you, disappointment evident in his voice. "Diplomatic matters requiring the crown prince's attention. But I'll be back for the royal ball."

The royal ball—your official introduction to Genovian society. The thought fills you with anxiety, but now also anticipation at the prospect of seeing him again.

"Dance with me at the ball?" you request.

"Every dance they'll allow," he promises. He hesitates, then adds, "Though propriety will demand you dance with other suitable candidates as well."

"Other suitors, you mean," you clarify, the political reality of your situation reasserting itself.

His expression tightens slightly, but he nods. "Yes. The royal council will expect you to consider all options."

"And what do you expect?" you challenge softly.

His answer is immediate and sincere. "Only that you follow your heart, wherever it leads." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Even if it's not to me."

The selflessness of this statement catches you off guard. "That's... not what I expected you to say."

"What did you expect?"

"Something more possessive, maybe," you admit. "More princelike."

He smiles, that real smile that transforms his face. "I'm trying very hard not to be the prince with you, remember? Just Jay."

"Well, Just Jay," you say, returning his smile, "I can't make any promises about where my heart will lead. But right now, it seems rather fixated on a certain piano-playing prince with surprisingly skilled hands."

-

The next few days pass in a blur of preparations. There are fittings for your ball gown (a process that involves no fewer than seven people and countless discussions of hemlines and necklines and something called "appropriate royal décolletage"). There are dance lessons with Monsieur Laurent, who seems personally offended that Prince Jongseong isn't there to partner you. There are briefings about every guest who will attend, complete with flash cards for memorizing names and titles.

"The Duchess of Wellington prefers to discuss her charitable foundation, not her recent divorce," Charlotte instructs as you review the guest list. "And under no circumstances ask the Spanish ambassador about Gibraltar."

"This is worse than finals week," you grumble, flipping through the stack of cards. "At least then I was only tested on one subject at a time."

"Society is judging you on everything simultaneously," Charlotte confirms cheerfully. "Appearance, knowledge, grace, diplomacy..."

"Thanks. That's very reassuring."

The night before the ball, you find yourself restless, missing both Jay's presence and the calming effect of your midnight conversations. Over the past month, you've grown accustomed to his company, to having someone who understands both your old world and your new one. This week without him has left you feeling strangely adrift.

You wander down to the music room, hoping to recapture some of that peace, but the room feels empty without him. You sit at the piano, pressing random keys, creating nothing like the beautiful melodies he coaxed from the instrument. On impulse, you check under the bench, then inside the piano itself, hoping for another note, but find nothing.

It's silly to feel disappointed. He's a crown prince with actual responsibilities, not a lovestruck teenager leaving notes for his crush. Still, you can't help wishing for some connection, some indication that he's thinking of you too.

Back in your room, you're about to climb into bed when there's a soft knock at your door. Olivia enters with a small silver tray.

"This just arrived for you, Your Highness," she says, presenting what appears to be a letter sealed with dark blue wax.

Your heart skips as you recognize the crest pressed into the seal—the royal emblem of Astoria. You wait until Olivia leaves before breaking it open with trembling fingers.

Inside, written in that now-familiar elegant handwriting:

Y/N, Diplomatic obligations keep me in Astoria longer than anticipated, but I'll return tomorrow in time for the ball. Save a dance for me—preferably more than one. This week has felt like an eternity. I've missed our conversations, our moments away from public scrutiny. I find myself at my piano each night, working on the piece I started after we met. It's nearly complete now. Perhaps I'll play it for you soon. The past month has been unexpected in every way. When I first agreed to my father's request to help with your royal transition, I never imagined... Some things are better said in person. Until tomorrow, J P.S. I still feel your touch on my skin.

-

The day of the royal ball arrives with military precision. Your schedule is planned down to the minute—when you'll bathe (9:15 AM), when your hair will be styled (11:30 AM), when makeup will be applied (2:45 PM). It's as if you're a product being assembled rather than a person preparing for an event.

"I can bathe myself, you know," you inform Charlotte when she reviews the schedule over breakfast. "I've been doing it successfully for two decades."

"Today is not about efficiency, Your Highness," Charlotte replies. "It's about tradition. The royal ball has marked the formal introduction of new members of the royal family for generations."

You think about Jay's letter, tucked safely under your pillow. Tonight isn't just about tradition for you. After a month in the palace, you've reached a turning point—not just in your royal journey, but in whatever is developing between you and Jay.

The day progresses according to schedule, each hour bringing you closer to the evening's festivities. By the time you're finally dressed, you hardly recognize yourself in the mirror.

Your ball gown is a masterpiece of midnight blue silk that seems to change colors as you move—now sapphire, now indigo, now almost black. The bodice is fitted, adorned with subtle crystal beading that catches the light like stars, while the skirt flows outward in graceful folds. Your hair has been swept up in an elegant style that manages to look both regal and youthful, and atop it all sits a delicate tiara—platinum vines intertwined with small diamonds.

"You look every inch a princess," your grandmother declares when she sees you, genuine approval warming her voice.

"I feel like I'm wearing someone else's life," you admit.

She approaches, adjusting your tiara slightly. "It is your life now. You've taken to it more naturally than anyone expected—including yourself, I suspect."

There's a knowing look in her eyes that makes you wonder how much she's guessed about your feelings for Jay. Your grandmother misses little, and your increasingly frequent "diplomatic discussions" with Prince Jongseong over the past month have hardly been subtle.

"Remember," she continues, "tonight you represent not just yourself, but Genovia. Every interaction matters."

"No pressure," you mutter.

"Considerable pressure," she corrects, but with a hint of a smile. "That's the nature of our position."

The ball is being held in the palace's Grand Ballroom, a space so opulent it makes even the other royal rooms seem understated in comparison. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings painted with mythological scenes. Massive floral arrangements perfume the air. A full orchestra plays softly as guests begin to arrive.

You stand with your grandmother at the entrance, greeting each person as Charlotte announces them. Your hand is kissed so many times it begins to feel like a separate entity from your body. You cycle through the diplomatic phrases you've memorized, trying to match names to faces to countries to appropriate topics of conversation.

You continue greeting guests, anxiety gradually giving way to a strange confidence. After a month of intensive training, you're actually doing this—being a princess, representing Genovia, handling diplomatic small talk without major incident. The realization is both surprising and empowering.

And then finally, after what feels like hours, Charlotte announces, "His Royal Highness, Prince Jongseong of Astoria."

Your heart stutters as he appears, resplendent in formal attire—a midnight blue military-style jacket with silver accents that perfectly complements your gown, as if coordinated. (Knowing your grandmother's attention to detail, it probably was.) He looks every inch the crown prince, and yet all you can see is Jay—your Jay—hidden beneath the formal facade.

His eyes find yours immediately, warming in a way that feels intimate despite the crowded room. He bows formally to your grandmother, exchanging pleasantries, before turning to you.

"Your Highness," he says, taking your hand. Instead of the customary kiss to your knuckles, he turns your hand gently and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, just above your pulse point.

The gesture is technically within the bounds of protocol but charged with meaning only you understand. You feel your heartbeat quicken beneath his lips, and know he can feel it too.

"Prince Jongseong," you manage, your voice steadier than you expected. "Welcome back to Genovia."

"I understand congratulations are in order," he says smoothly. "The press has been most favorable regarding your public appearances this week."

"The princess has exceeded expectations," your grandmother agrees, watching this interaction with interest.

His eyes never leave yours. "I'm not surprised."

The moment stretches between you, full of unspoken feelings built over these past weeks, before Charlotte's announcement of the next guest breaks the spell. Jay bows again and moves into the ballroom, but not before one last glance that promises more to come.

Once all guests have arrived, the formal dancing begins. Your grandmother opens the ball with the Prime Minister, and then it's your turn. Tradition dictates that your first dance be with the highest-ranking unmarried nobleman present—which happens to be Jay.

He approaches as the orchestra begins a stately waltz, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, Your Highness?"

You place your hand in his, grateful for all those practice sessions over the past month. "You may."

His hand settles at your waist, familiar yet different in this public setting. You move together perfectly, your earlier clumsiness long gone, replaced by a confidence born of compatibility and practice.

"You look breathtaking," he says quietly as he guides you through a turn. "That color suits you."

"Thank you. You look..." You search for a word that encompasses how he affects you without being inappropriate for public consumption. "Regal."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Is that a compliment or a complaint?"

"Both," you admit. "I miss Jay. Prince Jongseong is very impressive, but..."

"But not who you want to be with," he finishes, understanding immediately. His hand tightens slightly at your waist. "He's still here. Just... constrained by circumstance."

"Can he break free later?" you ask boldly. "Perhaps after the ball?"

His eyes darken. "He'll find a way."

The orchestra's final notes signal the end of your dance, forcing you to separate. Jay bows formally, though his eyes convey much more intimate thoughts.

"Until later, Princess," he says, voice low with promise.

The rest of the evening becomes an exercise in diplomatic multitasking. You dance with Prince Nikolai, finding his conversation refreshingly direct. You dance with the French ambassador's son, the Duke of Wellington, and several other names from your grandmother's list of suitable candidates.

Each dance, each conversation, feels like a performance—you playing the role of princess, potential bride, future queen. Only your brief interactions with Jay feel real, though these are limited to passing glances and the occasional comment as you move in the same diplomatic circles.

During a momentary respite, you find yourself near a set of French doors leading to a terrace. Needing air and solitude, you slip outside, grateful for the cool night breeze after the stuffiness of the ballroom.

You've only enjoyed the peace for a moment when a familiar voice says, "Escaping your own ball?"

You turn to find Jay stepping through the doors, looking concerned.

"Just taking a short break," you assure him. "It's a lot to process."

He glances back at the ballroom, then joins you at the stone balustrade. "We shouldn't be alone together," he says, though he makes no move to leave. "Not where anyone might see."

"Yet here you are," you point out.

"Here I am," he agrees. "Unable to stay away despite knowing better."

You study his profile in the moonlight, drinking in the details you've missed during his week away. The strong line of his jaw, the perfect posture that somehow looks less rigid tonight, the subtle way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

"I missed you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression gentles. "And I you. Far more than I anticipated."

You glance back at the ballroom, where hundreds of guests dance and mingle, all potential witnesses to this private moment. "A week felt longer than I expected."

"I composed three new pieces," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Music seems to flow more easily when I'm... feeling something intensely."

"Is that your princely way of saying you thought about me?" you tease.

He turns to face you fully, close enough that you can see the subtle variations of color in his eyes, even in the dim light. "I thought about little else."

Your heart skips at the naked honesty in his voice. Over the past month, you've learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression, to understand what lies beneath his carefully controlled exterior. Tonight, he's making no effort to hide his feelings.

"The ball is beautiful," you say, changing the subject before you do something reckless like kiss him where anyone might see. "I'm surprised I haven't completely embarrassed Genovia yet."

"You could never," he assures you. "You've taken to royal life with remarkable grace."

"I've had a good teacher," you reply, holding his gaze meaningfully.

He steps closer, close enough that the skirt of your gown brushes against his legs. "There's a small courtyard beyond this terrace," he says, his voice low. "More private than here. Would you walk with me? Just for a moment?"

You know you shouldn't. You're the guest of honor at a ball being held in your honor. People will notice your absence. And yet...

"Lead the way," you decide, throwing caution aside.

He offers his arm with perfect formal correctness, as if you're simply taking a proper turn around the terrace. But once you're beyond the sight of the French doors, his hand covers yours where it rests on his arm, a much more intimate touch.

The courtyard is small and enclosed, lit only by the moonlight and a few distant lanterns. A fountain burbles quietly at its center, surrounded by hedges that provide welcome privacy. The music from the ballroom is muffled here, creating the illusion that you've stepped into another world.

The moment you're properly hidden from view, Jay turns to you, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"I've been waiting to do this all evening," he murmurs, before his lips find yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, a reacquaintance after a week apart. But it quickly deepens, a month of growing desire making you both less cautious than you should be. Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands settle at your waist, respectful even in passion.

"I missed this," you breathe against his mouth. "Missed you. The real you."

"I'm most real when I'm with you," he confesses, forehead resting against yours. "Everywhere else, I'm playing a role."

"Even in Astoria?"

"Especially there," he sighs. "My father has... specific expectations about how the crown prince should behave."

You pull back slightly to study his face. "You never talk about your father."

A shadow crosses his expression. "There's little to say. He is a traditional ruler with traditional views."

"About Astoria? Or about who you should marry?" you ask, cutting to what you suspect is the heart of the matter.

Jay's silence answers your question.

"He doesn't approve of me," you realize. "Of us."

"He doesn't know you," Jay corrects gently. "He sees only the diplomatic equation—a princess with an uncertain claim versus more established alliances."

The reality of your situation crashes back. No matter how genuine your feelings, how perfect this stolen moment, politics surrounds you both like the walls of this courtyard.

"And what do you see?" you ask, steeling yourself for his answer.

His hands frame your face, his gaze unwavering. "I see you. Not the princess, not the diplomatic opportunity. Just you—stubborn, honest, intelligent, beautiful you."

The sincerity in his voice melts your defenses. You reach up to touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone with your fingertips.

"When did this happen?" you wonder aloud. "When did you become so important to me?"

He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I don't know. Somewhere between your first disastrous curtsy and the moment you called me Jay instead of Prince Jongseong."

"It was the piano playing," you decide with a small smile. "I'm a sucker for musicians."

He laughs softly, the sound warming you from within. "I'll compose symphonies for you, if that's what it takes."

"Takes for what?" you challenge gently.

His expression grows serious. "To convince you that what's between us is worth fighting for, regardless of politics or convenience or royal expectations."

The weight of his words settles over you. A month ago, you were a college student worrying about midterms. Now you're a princess with constitutional responsibilities, standing in a moonlit courtyard with a prince who's looking at you like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

"Jay," you start, not sure what you're going to say.

"Don't answer now," he interrupts softly. "There's still time. Still much we both need to consider."

He's right, of course. The constitutional deadline looms, but it's still weeks away. Tonight isn't the time for final decisions.

"We should return," he says reluctantly. "Your absence will be noticed."

"Yours too," you point out. "The dashing Crown Prince of Astoria is quite popular, I've noticed."

A hint of a smile touches his lips. "Jealous?"

"Should I be?"

His answer is another kiss, deeper than before, his arms pulling you flush against him. When he finally releases you, you're both breathing heavily.

His eyes darken. "Meet me in the music room. One hour after the ball ends."

Your breath catches. "That's... quite direct."

"You asked," he reminds you, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Will you come?"

The music is drawing to a close, your time together nearly over. "Yes,"

-

Once alone, you change from your nightgown into something less formal but still respectable—dark pants and a simple blouse. You check the clock. Forty minutes until you're supposed to meet Jay in the music room. Enough time to let the palace settle, for guards to assume their night positions, for suspicion to fade.

The music room is dark when you arrive, only a single lamp burning low near the piano. For a moment, you think you've arrived first—then you spot him, standing by the window, looking out at the gardens below.

"Jay," you say softly.

He turns, and the expression on his face makes your heart skip. He crosses the room in a few long strides, and then his arms are around you, his lips on yours, and all pretense of formality evaporates.

This kiss is different from those that came before—less hesitant, more certain. A month of growing feelings, a week of separation, an evening of pretending indifference—all of it culminates in this moment of honesty between you.

When you finally part, both breathing heavily, he rests his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to do that all night."

"Even during our dances?" you tease.

"Especially then," he admits. "Having you so close, yet having to maintain proper distance... it was excruciating."

You laugh softly. "Poor prince. Such diplomatic hardship."

"You have no idea," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "The things I wanted to say to you..."

"Say them now," you encourage, pulling back slightly to see his face.

He studies you in the dim light, his expression serious. "I don't want to overwhelm you."

"Try me," you challenge.

He takes a breath, then leads you to the small sofa where you've sat during previous late-night conversations. Once you're settled side by side, he takes your hand, his thumb tracing patterns on your palm.

"When my father first suggested I assist with your royal transition, I saw it as a diplomatic assignment," he begins. "Astoria helping Genovia, building goodwill, assessing a potential alliance. Very... political."

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Then I met you," he says with a small smile. "This defiant, overwhelmed, utterly genuine person who didn't fit any diplomatic template I'd prepared for."

"I was a mess," you remind him.

"You were authentic," he corrects. "Do you know how rare that is in royal circles? How precious?"

His sincerity catches you off guard. "I just didn't know how to be anything else."

"Exactly," he says, squeezing your hand. "And over these past weeks, watching you navigate this new world while somehow maintaining that authenticity... it's been remarkable."

"I find myself thinking about you constantly," he continues. "Looking forward to our conversations. Composing music inspired by your laugh. Wondering what you're doing when we're apart."

"I know it's fast," he acknowledges. "Barely a month since we met. But I also know that when I'm with you, I feel more myself than I ever have. Like I don't have to choose between the crown prince and the person beneath it."

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I'm falling in love with you, Y/N. Not the princess. You."

The confession hangs in the air between you, honest and terrifying and beautiful all at once.

"Say something," he urges when you remain silent, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Instead of answering with words, you lean forward and kiss him, trying to convey through touch what you're not sure how to express aloud. Your feelings for him have grown so gradually yet so intensely that putting them into language feels impossible.

When you finally break the kiss, you keep your face close to his. "I don't know what this is," you admit. "Everything in my life has changed so completely in the past month. But the one thing that feels real, that feels right, is you."

His eyes search yours. "But?"

"But I'm scared," you confess. "Of feeling this much. Of making decisions based on emotions when the stakes are so high. Of disappointing my grandmother, Genovia, everyone counting on me to make the right choice."

"What if the right diplomatic choice and the right personal choice are the same?" he asks quietly.

"Are they?" you challenge. "Your father doesn't seem to think so."

His expression tightens slightly. "My father sees alliances in terms of historical connections and military strategy. But a union between Astoria and Genovia makes sense on multiple levels—economic, cultural, geographic."

"Very romantic," you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiles, recognizing your deflection. "I'm trying to address your concerns about duty. The personal reasons are..." His voice drops lower. "Well, I think I've made those clear."

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his implication. "Crystal clear."

"We don't have to decide anything tonight," he assures you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "The constitutional deadline is still weeks away."

"And until then?" you ask.

"Until then," he says, shifting closer, "we continue getting to know each other. Without pressure from our families or royal councils or diplomatic expectations."

"Can we really separate those things from who we are?"

"Perhaps not entirely," he admits. "But we can try. Starting with this."

He kisses you again, and for a while, the complications of royal life fade into the background. There's only this moment, this connection, this growing certainty that whatever path you choose, you want him beside you.

Much later, as you reluctantly prepare to return to your separate rooms before the palace awakens, Jay pulls you into one last embrace.

"We should go," he murmurs against your hair, though his arms tighten around you instead of letting go.

"Not yet," you whisper, unwilling to break the spell between you.

Jay studies your face in the dim light, something shifting in his expression. "Come with me," he says suddenly, taking your hand.

"Where?"

"Somewhere more private," he answers, leading you toward the door. "The guards change rotation in five minutes. We'll have a window."

Heart racing with equal parts excitement and nervousness, you follow him through the shadowed corridors. He moves with practiced ease, clearly familiar with the palace's nocturnal rhythms. After several turns, he stops before an ornate door you don't recognize.

"The royal library," he explains, producing a small key. "It's never guarded at night. No one will look for us here."

The library is vast and silent, moonlight streaming through tall windows, illuminating shelves that stretch toward the ceiling. A small fireplace holds the remnants of embers, casting a faint glow across a single chaise longue and a smaller, more intimate piano than the grand one in the music room.

Jay locks the door behind you, then crosses to stoke the dying fire. The flames leap higher, casting dancing shadows across the room. When he turns to face you, something has changed in his expression—something darker, hungrier.

He approaches slowly, giving you every chance to step away, to maintain the careful boundaries you've observed until now. But you don't move, don't want to move, transfixed by the intensity in his gaze.

Now, his breath is warm against your lips, fingers brushing your cheek with a reverence that makes your chest ache. The only light comes from the dying fire in the hearth, flickering shadows across the lone chaise and the grand piano beside it. The rest of the palace sleeps, unaware of the two figures standing too close in the quiet of the library, the air between them thick with something forbidden.

"Tell me to leave," he murmurs, voice wrecked with restraint.

"I won't," you whisper.

And then he kisses you.

It's slow at first, a gentle press of lips meant to savor, to test, to give you one last chance to stop this before it spirals beyond control. But when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, something breaks.

Jay groans softly, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding to your waist, gripping you like he's afraid you'll disappear. He backs you up until you collide with the piano, your hips pressing against the polished wood, a soft creak echoing through the empty library.

"God," he breathes against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me," you whisper, tilting your chin up to capture his lips again.

That's all it takes.

Jay's hands slip beneath the fabric of your blouse, fingers finding bare skin, warm and wanting. He lifts you onto the edge of the piano in one smooth motion, the wood cool against your thighs as he steps between them, fitting his body between yours like you were carved for each other.

His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, trailing down your throat, slow, deliberate. Your breath hitches when he reaches the curve of your collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, leaving heat in his wake.

He pulls back slightly, dark eyes locking with yours as his fingers skim higher up your thigh. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice strained.

Instead, your fingers tangle in his hair, your breath unsteady as you part your legs just a little wider, inviting him in.

His chest rises and falls sharply as his hand slides higher, fingertips brushing over the heat of your core, teasing through the thin lace.

"Fuck," he exhales, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his fingers press against you, feeling just how wet you already are.

You tremble beneath his touch, hips shifting forward, seeking more friction, more of him.

Jay lets out a soft, desperate laugh against your skin. "So eager," he teases, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

"Shut up and do something about it," you whisper, voice wrecked.

His control snaps.

His fingers slide beneath the lace, parting you with a slow, torturous stroke that has your head falling back, mouth parting on a silent gasp.

"Jay," you whimper, your hands clenching his shoulders as his fingers dip lower, circling, teasing, never quite giving you enough.

"Patience," he breathes, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. He's just as wrecked as you are.

Then, finally, he sinks a finger inside you.

Your body clenches around him, a sharp inhale breaking the silence of the library.

"That's it," Jay murmurs, lips brushing your temple, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. "Let me hear you, my love."

His fingers work you open slowly, curling, pressing, stroking in time with the shallow thrusts of his hips against your thigh. His mouth never stops—kissing, biting, sucking at your skin, leaving marks that will be hidden beneath your clothes come morning but burn with the memory of him.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you, his thumb circling exactly where you need him most.

"Fuck," he groans when you roll your hips into his touch, chasing the friction. "You're so wet for me. Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

"Jay—" Your voice catches as he strokes deeper, his fingers curling just right, white-hot pleasure spreading from your core outward.

He presses a soft kiss to your parted lips, swallowing every moan, every gasp, his pace slow and purposeful, like he wants to memorize the way you fall apart beneath him.

"Say my name," he whispers against your mouth, his voice shaking.

"Jay—"

"Louder."

"Jay," you gasp, body trembling as the pleasure coils tighter, too much and not enough all at once.

"Good girl," he breathes, curling his fingers one last time, pressing his lips against yours just as you shatter around him, your back arching against the piano, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

He keeps working you through it, slow, lazy strokes that make you shudder, pressing kisses to your throat, your jaw, everywhere he can reach.

And when your breathing slows, his forehead rests against yours, his fingers still buried inside you, the taste of your pleasure still on his lips.

"I should let you go," he murmurs, but his hands don't move, his body still pressed against yours, hard and wanting.

You cup his face, pulling him back down for another kiss, deep and slow and full of everything you can't say.

"Not yet," you whisper.

And just like that, Jay groans, dragging you down from the piano and onto the chaise, his mouth and hands promising you're nowhere near done.

-

The palace is quiet as you slip through the corridors, heart still racing from the evening's events. You pause at a window overlooking the gardens, watching moonlight silver the paths where you first kissed Jay weeks ago. How much has changed since then—how much you have changed.

You're so lost in thought that you don't hear the approaching footsteps until it's too late.

"Your Highness?"

You turn, startled, to find your grandmother standing a few feet away, wrapped in a dressing gown that somehow manages to look regal despite the hour.

"Grandmother," you manage, hoping the dim lighting hides your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. "I was just... getting some air."

Her expression remains neutral, but her eyes miss nothing. "A common need after such an eventful evening."

You wait for questions or accusations, but instead, she joins you at the window, both of you staring out at the moonlit garden.

"I couldn't sleep on the night of my first royal ball either," she says unexpectedly. "Too much excitement. Too many decisions looming."

You glance at her, surprised by this rare personal revelation. "Was your ball also for... matchmaking purposes?"

A small smile touches her lips. "Of course. Royal balls have rarely been simply for dancing."

"Did it work?" you ask, genuinely curious. "Did you find someone suitable?"

"I did." Her voice softens with memory. "Though not whom my parents expected."

"Grandfather?"

She nods. "He was considered politically inconvenient. The third son of a minor royal house with more titles than fortune. My parents had their sights set on a neighbor with stronger military forces."

You absorb this information, struggling to reconcile it with the pragmatic queen you've come to know. "But you chose him anyway."

"Love is not a luxury afforded to royalty," she says, her tone measured. "But sometimes, if one is very fortunate, duty and affection may align."

The implication hangs between you. She knows. Perhaps not the details, but enough.

"Is that what happened with you and Grandfather?" you ask.

Her smile deepens. "We built something real from an arrangement that began as political. Not love at first sight, perhaps, but a deep and abiding partnership that grew into something... essential."

You think of Jay—of the way he looks at you when no one else is watching, of his hands on your skin just hours ago, of his confession in the music room.

"I'm not sure what to do," you admit quietly.

Your grandmother turns to face you fully. "You've grown quite... fond of Prince Jongseong."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway. "Yes."

"And he of you," she observes. "That much has been evident for weeks."

Your head snaps up. "You've known?"

"I have eyes, my dear. And considerably more experience with clandestine palace romances than you might imagine."

For a moment, you glimpse a different woman beneath the queenly facade—younger, perhaps, with her own secrets and desires.

"I don't want to choose wrong," you confess. "For myself or for Genovia."

"The choice is rarely wrong or right," she replies. "Merely different paths, each with its own challenges and rewards."

"That's not very helpful," you point out.

To your surprise, she laughs—a genuine sound rarely heard in palace corridors. "I'm afraid that's the most honest counsel I can offer. But I will add this: I have been watching you these past weeks, Y/N. You have taken to royal life with remarkable adaptability. You have won the respect of the council, the diplomatic corps, and, most importantly, the people of Genovia."

"Have I?" You find this hard to believe.

"Indeed. Which means you have earned the right to make this choice for yourself, with Genovia's interests in mind but not at the expense of your own happiness."

Her hand touches your cheek briefly—a rare gesture of affection. "Besides, I have not spent thirty years preserving this monarchy only to see its next ruler miserable in a politically expedient marriage."

With that cryptic statement, she turns to leave. At the end of the corridor, she pauses.

"One more thing, Y/N."

"Yes, Grandmother?"

"The southeast wing has far fewer night patrols than the east wing." Her eyes twinkle momentarily. "For future reference."

She disappears around the corner, leaving you speechless in the moonlight.

The next morning, a note arrives with your breakfast tray.

Meet me in the rose garden at noon. There are matters we must discuss before the council meeting tomorrow. —J

The formality of the message concerns you, so different from his usual warmth. You spend the morning distracted during your language lesson, earning several pointed looks from your Genovian tutor as you massacre conjugations.

By noon, you're a bundle of nerves as you make your way to the garden. You find Jay seated on a stone bench, his posture rigid, his expression guarded. He stands when he sees you, bowing formally.

"Your Highness."

The title and distance hurt more than you expected. "Are we back to that now?"

His expression softens momentarily before the mask returns. "I've received a summons from my father. I'm to return to Astoria immediately."

Your stomach drops. "For how long?"

"That's what we need to discuss." He gestures to the bench, and you sit, carefully maintaining space between you. "My father has learned of... our connection."

"How?" You've been so careful.

"It seems Prince Nikolai mentioned to his father how taken you and I seemed with each other. The Danish king mentioned it to the Austrian ambassador, who informed my father's adviser."

"That's..."

"Royal gossip," Jay supplies with a grim smile. "It travels faster than light."

You process this information, anxiety building. "What does your father want?"

"He believes our association has progressed beyond diplomatic utility," Jay says carefully, clearly choosing each word. "He reminds me that Astoria's interests lie in stronger alliances with certain Eastern European powers, not with a... 'newly discovered princess of questionable legitimacy.'"

The words sting, though you know they're not his. "I see."

"No, you don't," he says firmly, his composed facade cracking. "Those are his words, not mine. Never mine."

"But you're still leaving."

He runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. "He's the king. I cannot simply ignore a direct summons."

"And when you return to Astoria?" you press. "What then?"

Jay's eyes meet yours, conflict evident in their depths. "He expects me to begin formal courtship proceedings with Princess Elena of Belgravia."

The name hits you like a physical blow. Princess Elena—beautiful, accomplished, born and raised royal, and the daughter of one of the wealthiest monarchs in Eastern Europe.

"I see," you say again, because what else is there to say?

"I've requested a private audience with my father before any announcements are made," Jay continues. "I intend to make my case for... an alternative arrangement."

Hope flickers faintly. "What kind of alternative?"

"My own choice," he says simply.

You both know what that means. Who that means.

"When do you leave?" you ask.

"Tomorrow morning."

So soon. Too soon.

"The council meets tomorrow afternoon," you tell him. "To discuss my... suitors. To begin formalizing the process."

"I know." His hand twitches as if to reach for yours, but he restrains himself. You're in plain view of the palace windows. "My timing could not be worse."

You laugh, though there's no humor in it. "When has timing ever been on our side?"

He smiles sadly. "Perhaps just once, when a certain princess couldn't sleep and wandered into a garden at midnight."

The memory warms you despite everything. "What should I do about the council?"

"Stall," he suggests. "Ask for more time to consider. The constitutional deadline is still three weeks away."

"And if you don't return by then? If your father refuses your 'alternative arrangement'?"

The question hangs between you, heavy with implication. Jay's jaw tightens.

"Then you must do what's best for Genovia," he says finally. "As I must do what's best for Astoria."

"Even if that means..."

"Even then," he confirms, though the words clearly pain him.

You sit in silence, the carefully tended roses blooming around you in vibrant contrast to your darkening mood.

"Tonight," Jay says suddenly. "Meet me in the library. Midnight."

Your heartbeat quickens at the memory of your last library encounter. "The guards—"

"Will be occupied with a minor disturbance in the north wing," he finishes. "I've arranged it."

You raise an eyebrow. "How very un-princely of you."

A hint of his real smile appears. "I thought you preferred me un-princely."

"I prefer you," you correct softly.

His eyes darken, and for a moment you think he might forget propriety entirely and kiss you right there in the sunlight. Instead, he stands, straightening his jacket with a deliberate motion that reestablishes distance.

"Until tonight, Your Highness," he says formally, loud enough for any listening ears.

The library is bathed in moonlight when you slip inside at midnight. Jay is already there, pacing between the tall shelves.

The moment the door closes behind you, he crosses the room in swift strides, gathering you into his arms. His mouth finds yours with desperate intensity, and you respond in kind, clutching at his shoulders, his back, anywhere you can reach.

"I can't bear the thought of leaving you," he murmurs against your lips.

"Then don't," you reply, knowing it's impossible even as you say it.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hands framing your face. "If there was any other way..."

"I know," you assure him. "I understand duty. Better than I did a month ago, anyway."

He smiles at that, though sadness lingers in his eyes. "You've become quite the princess."

"A reluctant one," you remind him.

"The best kind," he counters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "The kind who questions, who challenges, who sees beyond tradition to possibility."

His faith in you is staggering. "What if I can't do this without you?"

"You can," he says with certainty. "You already have been. I've just been fortunate enough to witness it."

He leads you to the chaise where you lost yourself in him just nights ago. This time, though, he simply sits, pulling you close against his side.

"I've been thinking," he begins, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. "About us. About what happens after I speak with my father."

"And?"

"There are several possibilities," he says, the diplomat in him emerging. "He may agree to consider an alliance with Genovia through... us. It's not without precedent or merit, despite his current reservations."

"But you don't think he will," you observe.

Jay sighs. "He is... traditional. Set in his views. Convinced of certain alliances' superiority."

"So what happens if he refuses?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "Then I have a decision to make. One I've been contemplating for some time."

Your heart quickens. "What decision?"

"Whether my duty to Astoria's future must follow the exact path my father envisions," he says carefully. "Or whether I might serve my country better by following my own judgment."

The implications of this statement hang between you.

"You would defy him?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"I would reason with him first," Jay clarifies. "With every diplomatic skill I possess. But if he remains unmoved..." He takes a deep breath. "Then yes, I would consider... alternatives."

"What kind of alternatives?"

He turns to face you fully. "I will be king one day, regardless of whom I marry. My father's insistence on certain alliances reflects old thinking—military might and territorial advantage. But Astoria's future lies in economic partnership, cultural exchange, technological advancement. Areas where Genovia has much to offer."

"That sounds very rational," you observe. "Very diplomatic."

A smile touches his lips. "I'm trying to frame my personal desires in terms my father might respect."

"And what are your personal desires?" you ask boldly.

His eyes darken. "I think I've made those quite clear." His hand comes up to cup your cheek. "But if you need me to be more explicit..."

His kiss leaves no doubt, deep and claiming and full of promise. When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily.

"I love you," he says simply. "I want a future with you. As Prince of Astoria, as future king, but most importantly, as Jay—the man I can only truly be when I'm with you."

Tears spring to your eyes at the raw honesty in his voice. "I love you too," you whisper, the words feel both terrifying and inevitable. "I don't want to lose this. Lose you."

"Then trust me," he urges. "Trust that I will find a way back to you. Trust that what we've found is worth fighting for."

"What should I tell the council tomorrow?"

"The truth," he says. "That you're still considering your options. That you need the full three weeks to make your decision."

"And if they press me?"

"Then you might mention that one option includes a harmonious union between Genovia and Astoria that would benefit both nations for generations to come." A hint of mischief enters his expression. "Be vague on the details."

You laugh despite the heaviness in your chest. "Very diplomatic."

"I've had excellent training," he reminds you.

You lean your head against his shoulder, savoring the solid warmth of him. "How long will you be gone?"

"A week. Perhaps two. I'll send word when I can, but communications may be... monitored."

The reminder of your precarious situation sobers you. "And if you don't return before the deadline?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Then you must do what you believe is right. For yourself and for Genovia."

"That's not the answer I wanted," you admit.

"It's the honest one," he replies. "I will do everything in my power to return to you with a path forward for us. But I would never ask you to risk Genovia's stability on my promise alone."

It's painful, but you understand. The weight of nations rests on both your shoulders. Your wants cannot be the only consideration.

"How did we get here?" you wonder aloud. "Two months ago I was worried about midterms and student loans."

"And I was dutifully attending diplomatic functions, playing the perfect prince," he adds. "Never imagining that a reluctant American princess would upend everything I thought I knew about duty and desire."

You smile at his characterization. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

"Indeed we are," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "And I intend to keep it that way, regardless of what my father or your council might prefer."

The conviction in his voice bolsters your courage. "So what now?"

"Now," he says, pulling you closer, "we have approximately five hours before dawn. I can think of several ways to spend them that don't involve diplomatic strategy."

"How scandalous, Your Highness," you tease, though heat pools in your core at his implication.

"You bring out my rebellious side," he murmurs, lips finding the sensitive spot below your ear that makes you shiver. "Among other things."

Words give way to touch as you lose yourselves in each other one last time before duty calls you back to separate worlds. Every kiss, every caress feels weighted with significance—a promise, a memory to sustain you through the uncertainty ahead.

Hours later, as dawn threatens the eastern sky, you lie tangled together on the chaise, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

"I should go," he whispers, though his arms tighten around you. "I'm expected at the airfield in three hours."

"Five more minutes," you plead, not ready to relinquish this moment.

He presses a kiss to your hair. "Five more minutes," he agrees.

-

The council chamber feels cavernous and oppressive as thirteen pairs of eyes study you with varying degrees of interest, skepticism, and calculation. Your grandmother sits at the head of the long table, her expression carefully neutral as the Prime Minister outlines the constitutional requirements yet again.

"The deadline approaches, Your Highness," he concludes, peering at you over his spectacles. "The council requires your decision regarding a suitable match so that proper arrangements can be made within the constitutional timeframe."

You take a deep breath, remembering Jay's advice and your grandmother's unexpected counsel.

"I understand the urgency," you begin, your voice steadier than you expected. "And I appreciate the council's diligence in presenting suitable candidates for consideration. However, I believe the constitution allows me the full three weeks to make my decision, and I intend to use that time."

Murmurs circulate around the table. The Minister of State leans forward, his bushy eyebrows drawing together.

"Your Highness, while technically correct, it would be prudent to announce your intentions sooner. Diplomatic arrangements require time, wedding preparations must be made, public announcements coordinated..."

"And all of that will happen," you assure him, "once my decision is final. But this is not merely a diplomatic arrangement—it is a marriage. One that will affect not only my life but the future of Genovia. I believe such a decision deserves careful consideration."

Your grandmother's lips twitch—almost a smile—before her expression returns to regal impassivity.

"Perhaps," offers Lady Rothschild, the only female council member besides your grandmother, "Her Highness might share which candidates she is most seriously considering? To allow for preliminary preparations?"

All eyes return to you, expectant. You think of Jay, likely in the air now, flying back to face his father and an uncertain future.

"I am considering several options," you say carefully. "Including the possibility of a union that would align Genovia's interests with Astoria, combining our complementary strengths in trade, technology, and cultural influence."

The Foreign Minister straightens in his chair. "Astoria? Has Prince Jongseong made an official overture?"

"Prince Jongseong and I have discussed the potential benefits of such an alliance," you reply, technically truthful while omitting the nature of those discussions. "While nothing is formalized, I believe the possibility warrants serious consideration."

This sets off another round of murmurs, more animated than before. You catch your grandmother watching you with something like approval in her eyes.

"Astoria has historically sought alliances eastward," the Defense Minister points out. "King Min-hyuk is known for his traditional leanings."

"Traditions evolve," you counter. "And wise rulers adapt to changing circumstances."

The Prime Minister clears his throat. "While an Astorian alliance would indeed offer significant advantages, we must be prepared for all outcomes. I suggest the council continue preparation for multiple possibilities while Her Highness completes her... deliberations."

It's a reasonable compromise, and you nod agreement. "I appreciate the council's patience and wisdom in this matter. I assure you that my decision will prioritize Genovia's interests while honoring the constitutional requirements."

The meeting concludes with formal pleasantries, though you feel the weight of speculation following you as you exit the chamber. Your grandmother falls into step beside you in the corridor.

"Well played," she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "Though I believe you've given Lord Pallimore indigestion with the suggestion of Astorian negotiations he knew nothing about."

You can't help but smile. "I merely stated facts. Prince Jongseong and I have indeed discussed the potential benefits of such an arrangement."

"I imagine you have," she replies dryly. "Quite thoroughly."

Heat rises to your cheeks. "Grandmother!"

"I may be old, my dear, but I'm not oblivious." She pats your arm. "Now we wait. And prepare for all possible outcomes, as the Prime Minister so diplomatically suggested."

"Do you think there's a chance?" you ask, unable to keep the vulnerability from your voice. "For Jay and me?"

Your grandmother considers this carefully. "I think Prince Jongseong is more resourceful than his father realizes. And I think King Min-hyuk, for all his traditional bluster, is a pragmatist at heart." She glances at you with unexpected gentleness. "But most importantly, I think you have discovered something genuine in each other. Such connections are rare in royal circles, and not easily broken—even by kings."

Her words offer comfort as the days stretch into a week, then ten days, with no word from Jay. You go through the motions of royal duties—charity visits, diplomatic receptions, cultural events—while your thoughts remain fixed on Astoria and the man fighting for your shared future.

On the eleventh day, when hope begins to falter, a small package arrives. No return address, no accompanying note, just a small box wrapped in simple brown paper.

Inside, nestled in velvet, lies an antique key on a delicate silver chain. You recognize it immediately—the library key Jay used on your last night together. Attached is a small card bearing only a date: three days hence, exactly one day before the constitutional deadline.

The message is clear: He's coming back. He's found a way.

For the first time in eleven days, you breathe fully.

-

The palace gardens are awash in golden late afternoon light as you pace the gravel path. You've changed outfits three times, settled on a simple blue dress that Jay once said brought out your eyes, then second-guessed that choice a dozen times since.

The sound of approaching footsteps has you turning, heart in your throat.

Jay stands at the garden entrance, still in traveling clothes, his hair slightly tousled from the journey. He looks exhausted but determined, his eyes finding yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the weight of eleven days' separation and uncertainty holding you in place. Then you're running, propriety forgotten, and he meets you halfway, catching you in an embrace that lifts you off your feet.

"You're here," you breathe against his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. "You came back."

"I promised I would," he reminds you, setting you down but keeping you close. "Nothing could have prevented it."

You pull back just far enough to see his face, searching for clues about his meeting with his father. "What happened? What did he say?"

Jay glances around—you're in plain view of several palace windows. "Not here. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?"

You think for a moment, then smile. "Follow me."

You lead him through the palace to a small sitting room in the southeast wing—the area your grandmother so casually mentioned has fewer night patrols. It's a cozy space with comfortable furnishings and, most importantly, a lock on the door.

Once inside, Jay pulls you into his arms again, his kiss desperate and relieved and full of eleven days' worth of longing. You respond with equal fervor, hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, reassuring yourself that he's really here.

When you finally separate, both breathing heavily, he presses his forehead to yours. "I missed you. Every minute of every day."

"I missed you too," you whisper. "The waiting was... unbearable."

He leads you to a small sofa, sitting close, your hands still intertwined. "I have much to tell you."

"Your father?" you prompt.

Jay takes a deep breath. "It was... complicated. Initially, he was immovable. He had already drafted an announcement of intentions between Astoria and Belgravia."

Your heart sinks. "Oh."

"However," he continues, "I convinced him to hear me out before making anything official. I presented a detailed analysis of Genovia's strategic value as an ally—our complementary economies, technological innovations, cultural significance."

"Very diplomatic," you observe with a small smile.

"I was extraordinarily diplomatic," he agrees, a hint of humor in his eyes. "For five days straight. I enlisted support from progressive council members, provided economic projections, cultural impact studies..."

"And he remained unmoved," Jay admits. "Until I played my final card."

"Which was?"

His eyes lock with yours, unwavering. "I informed him that I would pursue this alliance with or without his blessing. That while I respect his wisdom and experience, my future reign would be guided by my own judgment. And that judgment sees clearly that you—both as princess and as yourself—represent the future Astoria needs."

You absorb this, staggered by the implied defiance. "You threatened to go against his wishes?"

"I made clear that my commitment to Astoria's prosperity is unwavering, but my choice of partner is non-negotiable." His fingers tighten around yours. "I also reminded him that he married for love, against his own father's wishes, and that Astoria has thrived under his reign nonetheless."

"And?" you press, heart pounding.

A smile breaks across Jay's face, transforming his features. "And three days of hostile silence later, he conceded that perhaps Genovia deserves 'further consideration' as a potential ally."

"That's... good?"

"From my father, it's the equivalent of enthusiastic approval," Jay assures you. "Especially with this."

He reaches into his jacket, withdrawing a small velvet box. Your breath catches.

"My grandmother's ring," he explains, opening it to reveal an exquisite sapphire surrounded by diamonds. "Given to her by my grandfather when they formalized their engagement after months of diplomatic negotiation. My father presented it to me this morning before I left."

"Jay," you whisper, staring at the ring. "Does this mean...?"

"It means that I have my father's grudging consent to pursue an alliance with Genovia through marriage," he confirms. "Assuming, of course, that Genovia's princess finds such an arrangement acceptable."

Despite the formal wording, the vulnerability in his eyes is unmistakable. This is not merely a diplomatic proposition.

"The council meets tomorrow for my final decision," you tell him. "The constitutional deadline is the day after."

"Convenient timing," he observes with a small smile.

"Almost as if someone planned it that way," you agree, returning his smile.

He shifts from the sofa to one knee before you, the ring box open in his palm. All traces of the diplomatic prince fade away, leaving only Jay—your Jay—looking up at you with naked hope and love.

"Y/N," he begins, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "These past weeks have transformed my understanding of duty, of purpose, of love. You've challenged me, surprised me, and shown me a version of myself I never knew existed. I cannot imagine a future—royal or otherwise—without you in it."

Tears blur your vision as he continues.

"I know our beginning was unconventional. I know our path forward will have challenges. But I also know, with absolute certainty, that what we've found together is worth fighting for—worth building a life, a partnership, and two kingdoms around."

He takes your hand, his touch steadying your trembling fingers.

"Will you marry me? Not just as princes and princesses fulfilling constitutional requirements, but as Jay and Y/N, building something real within the framework of our royal duties?"

The question hangs in the air, though your heart already knows the answer. You think of your journey—from reluctant princess to woman standing in her power, from diplomatic arrangement to genuine love, from fear of losing yourself to finding a partner who sees and values all of you.

"Yes," you say simply, your voice thick with emotion. "Yes to all of it—the duty, the challenge, the love. Everything."

He rises, pulling you to your feet and into his arms. "I love you," he murmurs against your lips. "The princess, the diplomat, the woman who still occasionally trips over her formal gowns... all of you."

You laugh through your tears. "And I love you—the perfect prince, the midnight pianist, the man who sees me clearly when I'm still learning to see myself."

His kiss is a pledge, a promise of the future you'll build together—one that honors duty while making space for love.

Tomorrow will bring announcements and celebrations, diplomatic strategies and constitutional requirements fulfilled. But tonight belongs to the two people who found each other beneath the crowns and titles—a connection neither of you expected but both now recognize as the most precious of diplomatic achievements.

A love powerful enough to bridge kingdoms while remaining, at its heart, deeply, uniquely your own.

and they lived happily ever after 

the end.

fin.

-

TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltiloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @m3wkledreamy @inlovewithningning @vveebee @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @fancypeacepersona @yunjiiin @adoredbyjay @wheretheheckis-ssaki @flawlessapollo6 @stwrlightt @jaeyunsbimbo @fateismoonstruck @kiikiisblog @bbsantc @xeee334 @cherrybeomm @merwdusa @urmomdotcom5678

[heewhoresimp]

THE BEST.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ 02z x reader

genreᝰ.ᐟ smut

warningsᝰ.ᐟ oral (f), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight tit/nipple play, etc. (wc 5.366k)

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ request, mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

"y/n, who do you think would be better?"

jay's voice pulled you out of your distracted haze, making you glance up at him with a confused tilt of your head. his expression was casual, but the subtle smirk curling at the corner of his lips told you otherwise.

you blinked, processing his words, but truthfully, you hadn’t been paying attention to any of their conversation. for the past thirty minutes, the three of them had been bickering back and forth, their voices fading into background noise as you remained engrossed in your phone, too uninterested to care about whatever stupid argument they were having this time.

"about what?"

your voice came out flat, uninterested, as your gaze flickered between jay, sunghoon, and jake, who sat right beside him.

but the moment sunghoon opened his mouth, your breath hitched, your body going rigid at the sheer audacity of his words.

"who do you think is best at giving oral?"

your phone nearly slipped from your grasp, your heart stuttering in your chest as you stared at him, eyes wide, lips parting slightly in shock.

were they serious?

the air thickened immediately, tension settling heavily between the four of you, and you could do nothing but sit there, staring at them, trying to piece together how the hell this conversation even started.

"bro, i'm literally number one—the best pussy eater you’ll ever know."

jake’s voice dripped with confidence, his smirk cocky, self-assured, as he shoved jay back playfully, as if the argument was already settled. jay barely reacted, only rolling his eyes, his expression unreadable, before giving a slow, mocking nod.

"yeah, okay."

the way he said it was so dry, so unconvinced, that it only added fuel to the fire, jake’s lips parting slightly as if he was about to argue his case again, but then both of them turned back to you.

waiting.

expecting.

your mouth felt dry, your skin suddenly feeling too warm, as their intense gazes bored into you, waiting for you to weigh in—waiting for you to choose.

but how the hell were you supposed to answer that?

your brows furrowed deeply, your expression a mix of disbelief and confusion, as you finally found your voice.

"how the fuck would i know?"

your response came out half incredulous, half exasperated, because, seriously—what the hell kind of question was that?

yet, despite the absolute insanity of this conversation, the atmosphere in the room had shifted.

the tension had thickened, intensified, and as you met their eyes again—jake’s cocky smirk, jay’s dark amusement, and sunghoon’s unwavering gaze—you realized something.

they weren’t just joking around anymore.

they wanted to prove it.

"if you're thinking the same shit as me, consider it not happening."

your voice was firm, unwavering, but the slight waver in your breath didn’t go unnoticed by them. the tension in the room had become almost suffocating, their gazes too heavy, too intense, and you needed to put some distance between yourself and whatever the hell this was turning into.

you pushed yourself up from the couch, your movements sharp, deliberate, as you made your way toward the kitchen. but just as you expected, they were right behind you, their footsteps close, too close, and you could already hear the low chuckles, the occasional shoves, as they jostled each other for space, acting as if this was some kind of game.

"please, y/n."

jake’s voice came first, smooth, persuasive, and just as you reached the kitchen counter, you felt his presence at your back, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist, stopping you just short of putting any real space between yourself and them.

"these fuckers won’t stop until proven wrong…"

his words were half-exasperated, half-taunting, but the way his fingers tightened around your wrist, firm yet careful, sent a sharp shiver down your spine. you swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of their bodies closing in, sunghoon now leaning against the counter, his smirk lazy but his eyes dangerously sharp, while jay stood just a step behind jake, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze never once leaving yours.

they were serious.

and no matter how much you tried to ignore it, pretend like you weren’t affected, there was no denying the heat that was now thrumming in the air, curling around you, settling deep in your stomach.

jake barely had time to react before sunghoon shoved him aside, his movements quick, determined, completely unwavering as he made his way in front of you. his presence was overwhelming, the heat of his body so close, too close, as his hands found your waist with ease, thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver.

his gaze was dark, unreadable, but the sly smirk playing at his lips told you everything you needed to know.

"let me prove them wrong, baby..."

his voice was low, smooth, thick with undeniable promise, and before you could even think about protesting, he was lifting you effortlessly, placing you onto the cool surface of the countertop. the contrast between the chill of the marble and the burning heat of his hands sent a shudder through you, and you barely had time to react before you felt his fingers hooking onto your waistband, dragging your shorts down slowly, torturously, as if savoring the moment.

"you’ll see why i’m the best out of the three, baby..."

his lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm, teasing, sending a wave of anticipation curling low in your stomach.

"gonna make you feel so good, you’ll be begging for more..."

the words dripped from his tongue like honey, and your breath hitched as he tossed your shorts aside, the fabric landing in a heap right in front of jay and jake’s shoes.

but he wasn’t done.

his hands moved with practiced ease, slipping beneath the delicate fabric of your panties, fingers curving just enough to drag them down the same way, slow, deliberate—torturous.

the second he let them fall from his fingers, your breath stalled, because the moment your bare pussy was revealed to them, a low, collective groan filled the space around you.

"fuck."

jay’s voice was hoarse, jake sucked in a sharp breath, but sunghoon?

he simply spread your legs wider, his hands gripping onto your thighs as he dropped to his knees, his hungry gaze locked onto you like he was starving.

the warmth of his breath fanned over your core, and before you could say anything, a soft whimper escaped you, completely unbidden.

he leaned in slowly, deliberately, his breath ghosting over your inner thighs, sending a shiver rippling through your body. his lips pressed down softly, warm and teasing, leaving a trail of heat as he inched higher, higher, his grip on your thighs tightening just enough to keep you in place. the anticipation was torturous, every small movement setting your nerves on fire, your breath coming out in uneven exhales as your body tensed under his touch. the way his lips lingered, the way his breath fanned over your skin—it was all too much, yet not enough.

your gaze was locked on him, pupils blown wide with both desire and trepidation, but no matter how much you tried to focus on sunghoon, you couldn’t ignore the two other sets of eyes burning into you from across the room. when you flicked your gaze upward, jake and jay were watching you intently, their expressions unreadable, though the subtle smirks pulling at their lips told you everything. there was something predatory in their stares, something that made your breath hitch, something that told you they were just waiting for you to break.

jay moved first, stepping closer, invading your space without hesitation, his presence alone enough to make your skin prickle. his fingers came up to trace over your cheek, soft, featherlight, a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. the way he looked at you was intoxicating, possessive, like he was already staking his claim before anything had even happened.

"gonna let sunghoon please you, doll?"

his voice was low, velvety, dripping with amusement, but there was something darker laced within it—something that made your stomach coil in anticipation.

"though he wouldn’t be as good as me..."

his fingers ghosted over your bottom lip, his touch barely there, yet enough to send a wave of heat through you. his words hung between you, heavy with implication, but before you could even think of responding, before you could process anything beyond the heat pooling low in your stomach—

sunghoon’s mouth was on you.

your reaction was instant, visceral, uncontrollable.

your body jolted, your thighs twitching as his lips wrapped around your most sensitive spot, his tongue flicking out in a slow, deliberate motion that had you gasping sharply, your nails digging into his hair.

"uh—fuck..."

your hands moved on their own, fingers tangling into his soft strands, your grip tightening without thought, without control, whether it was to ground yourself or push him deeper, you didn’t even know. he worked you with steady, calculated precision, his tongue dragging through your folds, lapping up your arousal with a hunger that made your head spin. his lips sealed over your clit once more, the suction intense, perfectly timed, before his tongue flicked over the sensitive nub, slow at first, then faster, sharper, sending pleasure rocketing through your body.

the heat in the room became suffocating, your skin damp, flushed, your breathing coming out in short, uneven gasps as sunghoon devoured you like a man starved. the contrast between his firm grip on your thighs—keeping you spread open, exposed, vulnerable—and the way his tongue worked against you, wet and warm and so precise, had your head falling back slightly, your body already on the verge of unraveling.

you could hear their breathing, could feel their presence surrounding you, the weight of their gazes pressing into your skin like a physical force. every time you moaned, every time your hips twitched involuntarily against sunghoon’s mouth, you knew they were watching, knew they were reveling in the way you slowly fell apart beneath their touch.

and god, you were so close to breaking completely.

"are you gonna cum, baby?"

sunghoon’s voice was low, muffled, his lips brushing against your drenched core as he peered up at you, his dark eyes burning with intensity. the sight alone nearly undid you completely—his mouth was slick with your arousal, his chin glistening as his tongue worked you over with expert precision, never once faltering in its relentless pace.

your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your chest rising and falling erratically as you locked eyes with him, your vision hazy with pleasure. your lips were parted in a silent moan, your mouth forming a perfect "o" shape, unable to articulate anything but breathy, desperate whimpers. the way he was eating you out—starving, greedy, determined—had you on the edge, your thighs trembling violently as you struggled to keep yourself upright on the counter.

but then—he changed the rhythm, and your body convulsed at the sheer intensity of it.

his tongue, once flicking and swirling over your clit in calculated, teasing strokes, now plunged deep inside you, the wet muscle thrusting in and out rapidly, fucking you with a pace so relentless, so overwhelming, that your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling desperately as you pulled harder, unsure if you were pushing him away or pulling him closer.

"oh—fuck!"

your voice rang through the room, shameless and nearly desperate, the pleasure coursing through your veins making you feel boneless, weightless, completely undone.

"cum for me, baby," he murmured against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core, your walls clenching around his tongue as he pushed deeper, his grip on your thighs tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"show these fuckers I’m the best..."

his words were cocky, possessive, demanding, and he only doubled down, his tongue working even faster, his lips suckling harshly on your clit before diving back in, drinking you down like he couldn’t get enough.

the coil in your stomach tightened to the point of snapping, and you could do nothing—nothing but give in.

your head tilted back violently, your back arching off the counter, your thighs squeezing around his head as pure, white-hot pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave.

"m’gonna cum—fuck, hoonie!"

your shattered moans filled the air as your orgasm ripped through you, your entire body trembling from the intensity, your nails digging into his scalp as you came completely undone against his mouth.

sunghoon groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every last drop, his tongue lazily flicking over your sensitive clit, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

jake didn't hesitate for even a second, shoving sunghoon aside with ease, his hands immediately cupping your face, his palms warm and firm against your flushed skin. before you could even register what was happening, his lips crashed against yours, hungry, demanding—claiming. his kiss was rough, unrelenting, his teeth catching your bottom lip, sucking harshly before letting it snap back into place, the motion sending a shudder down your spine.

your head was spinning, still reeling from your orgasm, but jake didn’t give you a moment to recover. without a word, he dropped to his knees, his broad shoulders spreading your thighs even further apart as he settled between them, his heated gaze locked onto your swollen, glistening core.

"fuck, princess…"

his voice came out in a low, sultry purr, his breath hot against your skin, sending goosebumps trailing up your arms. his hands smoothed down your inner thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles—teasing.

"you look so fucking good like this..."

he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another, his tongue flicking out to lick at your sensitive skin, the contrast between the cool air and the heat of his tongue making you tremble involuntarily.

but he didn’t linger there for long.

within seconds, he had your legs spread impossibly wide, his grip tightening as he dived in without warning, his mouth latching onto your clit immediately, sucking with an intensity that had you arching off the counter with a sharp gasp.

"oh—fuck, jake, wa—!"

your words dissolved into a choked moan, your body shuddering violently as the overstimulation hit you like a freight train, the pleasure almost too much, too soon.

but jake? he wasn’t letting up.

his tongue moved in sync with his lips, alternating between harsh, deliberate sucks and slow, teasing licks, as if he was determined to break you down completely.

"c’mon, baby," he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice sending sparks straight to your core, his hands keeping you firmly in place as he continued to devour you with no mercy.

"you can take it. i know you can."

jake didn’t wait for a response—he never did.

without hesitation, his tongue plunged into you, the wet muscle curling and flicking with an unforgiving pace, leaving no room for teasing, no time to adjust. his movements were relentless, messy, his lips and tongue working in tandem, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure through your already overstimulated body.

the sounds that filled the room were obscene—the lewd slick of his tongue against your soaked folds, the wet, desperate moans that spilled from your lips, and the deep groans vibrating through jake’s chest, sending shocks of pleasure through your core. your arousal was everywhere, spreading over his lips, his chin, dripping down his jaw, though if anything, it only seemed to spur him on.

"fuck, jake—oh my god—!"

your voice trembled, your breath hitching between ragged gasps, your thighs beginning to shake uncontrollably as the pleasure mounted too fast, too intense. your hands gripped at the counter, nails scraping uselessly against the cool surface as your head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming sensations.

but jake wasn’t letting up.

"fuck—this pussy’s so fucking good…"

his words were muffled against you, but the husky, wrecked tone of his voice sent another pulse of heat straight to your core. before you could even think, before you could brace yourself for the inevitable, he dove back in, his tongue thrusting deeper, curling against the soft, sensitive spots inside you, his lips latching back onto your clit with a devastating finality.

it was too much.

your body tensed violently, back arching as the orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave, white-hot pleasure consuming every inch of you, your vision going blank, your mind fogging over completely.

your eyes rolled back, mouth parted in a silent scream before a shattered moan ripped through you, your legs trembling furiously as the release crashed over you, leaving you utterly, completely undone.

jake groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every drop, his grip firm as he kept you pinned down, refusing to let you escape the pleasure—not until he had taken everything from you.

"j-jake, I can’t—!"

your voice broke, strangled and trembling as your body shuddered violently, the overstimulation burning through you like fire. you could barely breathe, your chest heaving as your hands gripped uselessly at the counter, trying to ground yourself, trying to escape the relentless pleasure that refused to fade.

but jake? he wasn’t done.

his lips were still latched onto your clit, his tongue still flicking, slow and precise, dragging out every last aftershock, refusing to give you even a second of respite. his hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you spread wide, holding you firmly in place as your body twitched and convulsed beneath his mouth.

"p-please—fuck, I can’t—" you sobbed, tugging weakly at his hair, trying to push him away, your mind dizzy, overloaded, completely undone. but jake only groaned against you, the vibration making you jolt, sending another shockwave straight through your exhausted body.

but then—

suddenly, his warmth was ripped away.

a sharp growl filled the air as jay yanked jake back, his grip tight and unforgiving, the air between them thick with tension. jake wiped the slickness off his chin with the back of his hand, his lips shiny and swollen, his eyes glazed with hunger as he glared up at jay, clearly displeased at being interrupted.

"bitch, you already had your turn."

jay’s voice was low, rough, dripping with possessiveness, his gaze locked onto you, hungry, dark, dangerous. he stepped forward, closing the space between you in an instant, his fingers trailing up your trembling thighs, his touch searing against your oversensitive skin.

"now it’s mine."

your breath hitched, your body still shaking from the aftermath, but jay wasn’t about to give you a break.

his hands moved gently, fingers trailing along your damp cheek, smearing the stray tears that had spilled so effortlessly. his touch was soft, almost tender, but the way his eyes burned into you—filled with the utmost, raw hunger—told an entirely different story.

jay didn’t speak right away, just watched you, admiring the way your breath hitched, the way your lips parted slightly, still swollen from the way you had been biting down on them, desperate to contain your moans. he leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, teasing you, tempting you. but just as you pushed forward, chasing the kiss, he pulled back, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

"so needy for me, doll?"

his voice was low, teasing, the deep timbre sending chills down your spine. he let his lips trail along your cheek, barely pressing against your skin before drifting lower, down to your jaw, where he lingered just a second too long, his lips barely brushing against you before he finally let his kisses deepen.

his once sweet, featherlight pecks turned into open-mouthed kisses, hot and wet, his tongue darting out to soothe each spot before his teeth grazed against your skin, sucking down just enough to make sure his mark would be there tomorrow.

"jay, please…"

your moan was nearly breathless, a mixture of desperation and impatience, your fingers gripping onto him, nails digging into his shoulders, but jay was in no hurry. he wanted to take his time—to watch you come undone beneath him, to savor every sound, every shiver he could pull from you.

his lips continued their torturous descent, drifting lower, his kisses growing wetter, sloppier, his hands curving under your shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists as he dragged it up. he took his time, his lips leaving a heated path down your stomach, pressing kisses along the dips and curves, his breath fanning over your sensitive skin, making you shudder.

but it wasn’t until he finally reached the apex of your thighs, his face mere inches from your aching core, that you truly felt the heat of his gaze, the weight of his hunger.

jay exhaled deeply, his hands gripping your thighs firmly, spreading you open as he took in the sight before him.

"fuck… look at you, doll."

his voice was thick with need, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your entire body burn.

jay’s fingers barely grazed your aching clit, the lightest touch sending a jolt through your overstimulated body, but before he could go any further, a sharp voice sliced through the thick tension in the kitchen, making you flinch.

"that's cheating."

the words dripped with amusement, edged with challenge, and when jay’s fingers stilled against you, his jaw clenched in mild annoyance, you knew exactly who had spoken.

sunghoon.

leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze was trained directly on you, his tongue clicking disapprovingly as he shook his head. jake, lounging lazily beside him, let out a low chuckle, his smirk only widening as he tilted his head at jay.

"fucking cheater."

"oh, shut up…" jay’s voice was barely above a murmur, a quiet growl of irritation mixed with amusement as his hand glided lower, fingers trailing teasingly along your inner thigh, making your breath catch in anticipation. he leaned in, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your aching core, sending a shiver through your already sensitive body.

his lips brushed against your skin, and he let out a low, knowing chuckle, one laced with pure mischief, pure possession.

"just wanted to touch my precious doll…" he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet, but there was an edge to it, something darker, more possessive curling at the ends of his words. "guess if I can’t do that, then…"

he let the sentence trail off, leaving the thought unfinished, leaving you hanging in that space of need before—a sharp gasp tore from your lips.

jay wasted no time, his tongue dragging slow and deliberate, a single, flat lick up your soaked folds, the heat of it sending a shockwave straight through you. your thighs twitched, body jerking slightly, and a whine spilled from your throat, drawn out and helpless as he lingered just a second too long, letting you feel every bit of him, letting the wet heat of his tongue press against you fully.

your hands fisted his hair, toes curling, but nothing could prepare you for the way he finally reached your clit, his tongue flicking the swollen bud, a sharp contrast to the slow, languid strokes before.

"fuuuck, jay—!"

your voice broke, the pleasure hitting you too fast, too strong, your thighs trying to snap shut, but his hands kept you spread wide, his nails digging into your skin as if to say—you’re not going anywhere.

jay’s movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke of his tongue against your clit sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. his mouth was hot, wet, merciless, his lips wrapping around your swollen bud before sucking lightly, the sensation making your thighs tremble in his grasp.

a deep groan rumbled through his chest, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, making your body jolt as his tongue delved deeper, pushing into your entrance at an agonizingly slow pace. the stretch was new, the feeling intimate, filthy, and it had your walls fluttering, gripping his tongue tightly, pulling him in further.

"oh—s-shit…!"

your breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping as your hands scrambled for something to hold onto, your body on fire from the overwhelming sensation. your eyes flickered open, and what you saw only made the heat pool even deeper in your stomach.

they were watching you.

sunghoon, jake—both standing there, their dark gazes locked onto you, silent, intense, their chests rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. but you didn’t miss the way their jeans strained painfully, their bulges prominent, unmistakable, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how much this was affecting them.

sunghoon was the first to move.

he pushed off the wall, his footsteps measured, predatory, and before you could even react, his large hands tangled in your hair, his grip firm, possessive as he tilted your head up, forcing your dazed gaze to meet his.

"look at you…" his voice was low, taunting, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips, his eyes dripping with dark amusement. "so fucking pretty like this."

then, without warning, he crashed his lips against yours, swallowing the desperate moans spilling from your mouth. the kiss was hungry, feverish, all clashing teeth and tangled tongues, as if he was devouring the remnants of your sanity. your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t care, gasping against him only to have him steal the breath from your lips again.

and then—another pair of hands.

jake moved next, stepping into place like it was second nature, his touch searing as he reached for your shirt, his fingers brushing over your flushed skin as he dragged it up, up, up. your bra followed suit, the straps slipping off your shoulders before he tugged the cups down, letting your breasts spill free, the cool air making your nipples pebble instantly.

"fuck," he breathed, his voice raspy, thick with want, his hands already pushing your thighs further apart.

his lips met your skin a second later, hot and wet, tongue swirling over one nipple before his teeth grazed it lightly, tugging just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure straight down your spine.

you whined into sunghoon’s mouth, your back arching instinctively, and that only spurred jake on, his hands palming your tits, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks before his mouth latched onto the other one.

and through all of it—jay never stopped.

his tongue still delved deep into you, his lips still wrapped around your clit, the sinful combination of their hands, their mouths, their touches pulling you further and further into madness.

your thighs trembled violently, the overstimulation coursing through you in waves as jay’s slow, deliberate licks kept you teetering on the edge, his lips never once losing their rhythm. the contrast between his agonizingly slow pace and the sharp, sudden flicks of his tongue against your swollen clit had you completely breathless, your moans dissolving into whimpers against sunghoon’s mouth.

but just when you tried to push yourself further into the kiss, just when you needed the distraction from the unbearable pleasure building in your core, sunghoon suddenly pulled away, his lips leaving yours with a slick pop.

jake followed suit, detaching himself from your chest, his wet lips grazing your sensitive nipple one last time before he leaned back, both of them now watching you, taking in the state you were in—eyes hazy with lust, lips swollen and parted, chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady breaths.

"fuck, jay—please don’t stop…"

your voice wavered, laced with desperation, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rocked your hips against his mouth, seeking more, needing more. but just as you thought he’d give in, a sharp sting spread through your inner thigh, a loud slap echoing in the heated kitchen.

a loud, broken whine ripped from your throat as your body jerked, your leg twitching from the impact.

"take what i fucking give you, doll," jay growled, his voice low, rough, sending a chill down your spine. his fingers gripped your thighs, spreading them even wider as he dived back in, his tongue moving faster, deeper, more relentless than before, his lips latching onto your clit as he sucked so hard your entire body shuddered violently.

your head tilted back, falling against jake’s shoulder, your body feeling weightless, on the verge of crumbling apart. his hands immediately wrapped around your waist, securing you against him, his lips pressing soft, almost mocking kisses along the side of your neck.

"gonna cum, baby?" jake murmured, his voice taunting, teasing, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers traced up your trembling stomach. "gonna make a mess again, aren’t you?"

all you could do was whimper, nodding furiously, your hips rolling desperately against jay’s face, chasing the release that felt so impossibly close yet so painfully out of reach.

your entire body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing down on you with an intensity that left you trembling. your thighs clamped around jay’s head, but he didn’t budge—instead, he moaned against you, the vibrations pushing you further into bliss, his tongue languidly stroking through your folds, savoring every drop of your release.

"fuck—fuck, jay!"

your voice broke into a scream, your back arching sharply, fingers gripping onto whatever you could find—jake’s arms, the edge of the countertop—anything to ground you as your orgasm ripped through you with overwhelming force. your breath came in sharp, gasping pants, your chest heaving, mind completely blank from the aftershocks.

but jay? he wasn’t done.

he kept going, his tongue lazily dragging through your slit, collecting everything you gave him, groaning deeply like he was addicted to the taste of you. it was too much, the overstimulation bordering on unbearable, and you whimpered, your hips weakly shifting away, but jay held you in place, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he licked you clean, whole, ruined.

with one last slow swipe of his tongue, he finally pulled away, standing up, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips, chin, and jaw glistening under the dim kitchen light.

when your hazy vision cleared, you were met with three pairs of eyes, all trained on you, all filled with dark amusement and heated satisfaction.

"baby, tell us now…"

sunghoon’s voice was low, coaxing, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair away from your face, tucking them behind your ear so gently it sent shivers down your spine. his gaze searched yours, expectant, confident—like he already knew the answer.

but you couldn’t speak.

your lips parted, but nothing came out, your throat too dry, your mind too foggy, either from the intensity of your orgasm or the impossible choice laid before you.

"come on, princess," jake murmured next, his lips ghosting along your cheek, his voice dripping with cocky certainty. "it’s me. i know it is."

his hands skated over your sides, his fingers sinking into your waist possessively, and for a moment, you thought maybe he was right—maybe it was him—maybe—but all you could do was whimper softly, a weak shake of your head following soon after.

"i… i c-can’t…"

your voice was small, breathless, barely audible, but they all heard it.

jay, still catching his breath, raised a brow, his gaze tracking over your shaking body, your parted lips, your chest still desperately seeking air.

"what do you mean?"

his voice was gentler this time, but there was something demanding behind it, something that said tell me now.

you swallowed thickly, eyes flickering between them—sunghoon’s intense gaze, jake’s lazily confident smirk, jay’s piercing eyes that never wavered from yours.

"i… i can't c-choose…"

the words left you in a whisper, your lashes fluttering as you dropped your gaze, feeling the heat of their stares consume you whole.

"you three are the best."

silence.

"fuck."

three voices, three reactions—jake’s grin widening, sunghoon clicking his tongue, jay exhaling sharply, shaking his head slightly before running a hand through his hair.

you barely had time to register their expressions before jake grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes once more.

"guess we’ll just have to take turns ruining you, then, princess."

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped you liked it !!

[heewhoresimp]

i don't wanna be the owner of your fantasy (i just wanna be a part of your family)

synopsis: Jungwon’s birthday should have been a celebration, but instead, it turns into a night of painful truths and breaking points. When an argument spirals into the possibility of letting go, Jungwon refuses to accept that love isn’t enough. But can love alone fix what’s been breaking between you? Or will this night be the one that decides the fate of your marriage?

Husband!Jungwon x Wife!Reader

Angst, Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

⚠ Warnings: angst, marital conflict, emotional distress, arguments, mentions of loneliness and neglect, crying, implied past doubts about divorce, reconciliation, soft but intense smut, explicit sexual content (MDNI), fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, deep emotional intimacy, praise kink, desperate love-making, aftercare, soft dom Jungwon, swearing, minor possessiveness, making up after a fight, happy ending.

AN: hi guys!!! this is jungwons bday post, didn't wanna take the usual fluff route so let me know what you guys think please!!!!

Masterlist

The fight started over something small—or at least, it should have been. A comment made in passing, a sigh too deep, a look that lingered too long. But tonight, words are sharp, slicing deep and leaving wounds neither of you know how to bandage.

"Jungwon, you don’t even have time for yourself anymore. How am I supposed to believe you have time for me?" The frustration spills out before you can stop it, weeks—months—of built-up loneliness clawing its way to the surface.

Jungwon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "That’s not fair. You know I try—"

"Do you?" Your voice cracks, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "Because it doesn’t feel like it. I wake up to an empty bed, I eat dinner alone, I fall asleep wondering if I’m just supposed to get used to this. And today of all days—I thought maybe today would be different."

His jaw tightens, his shoulders stiff. "I didn’t mean for it to be like this. You think I want to be gone all the time? That I don’t miss you?"

"Then what are we doing?" The question hangs between you, heavier than either of you is prepared for. "Jungwon, we’re married. We said forever, but this—this doesn’t feel like forever. It feels like we’re just two people sharing a house, waiting for something to change."

Silence stretches, thick and suffocating. His lips part, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. And that hurts more than any argument ever could.

You let out a trembling breath, your heart pounding. "I’m starting to wonder if this is sustainable. If we are sustainable."

Jungwon’s breath hitches, his complexion paling. "You’re not saying what I think you are."

"Aren’t I?" The bitterness in your voice surprises even you. "Because I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about what this marriage even means anymore, what we’re holding onto when everything feels so distant. And I don’t know, Jungwon. I don’t know if we’re fighting for a future or just trying to keep from falling apart."

Jungwon shakes his head, his hands balling into fists. "You don’t mean that. You can’t—"

"Don’t tell me what I mean!" You take a step back, your heart hammering. "I don’t want to keep fighting for something when I’m the only one showing up."

"That’s not true!" His voice rises, sharp and desperate. "I do show up! I work to give you everything, to make sure we have the future we dreamed of! Don’t act like I don’t care—"

"It’s not just about caring, Jungwon! It’s about being here. It’s about showing me that I still matter. That we still matter. And right now, it doesn’t feel like we do."

The air between you crackles, something dangerous brewing between the words left unsaid. Jungwon’s fists unclench, his expression shifting, something breaking in him.

"Do you want me to quit?" His voice is low, raw. "Is that what you want? Because I will. If it means keeping you—if it means fixing this—I will."

Your throat tightens. "That’s not what I want. I just,” You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, “Jungwon… are we really okay?”

His breath hitches. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Because it doesn’t feel like we are.”

He stands up then, hands pressing against the table as he leans forward. “You think I don’t love you?” His voice is hoarse, raw. “You think I would’ve married you if I wasn’t all in?”

“I think,” you say, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “that love alone isn’t enough to keep us together. If we really love each other, then maybe we should let each other go.”

His face falls. You see something break in his expression—the realization that this isn’t just another petty fight. This is bigger. This is real.

Jungwon’s body tenses, his eyes darkening with something raw, something unfiltered. "That has always sounded like utter bullshit to me." His voice is sharp, unwavering. "If we love each other, then that’s more than enough to fight for this."

Your heart clenches. “I don’t know anymore.”

The air between you grows heavy, the walls of your home suddenly suffocating.

He steps closer, his voice softer this time. “You want to leave?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you don’t want to. You want him to fight, to prove that this marriage is worth saving. But you are so tired of being the only one fighting.

“I want us to stop hurting each other,” you finally say. “And right now, I don’t know if we can.”

Jungwon’s lips part, but no words come out. And that silence—that awful, painful silence—is the worst part of all.

The weight of your words settles, and for the first time in a long time, Jungwon really sees you. He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your hands tremble slightly, the way your shoulders hunch as if carrying too much.

And maybe, for the first time, he realizes how much he’s been asking of you.

Jungwon doesn’t let you sleep alone that night.

He finds you on the couch, curled up in a blanket, eyes red from unshed tears. He kneels beside you, hesitant, his hands reaching but not quite touching. “Come to bed,” he says softly. “Please.”

You shake your head, exhaustion pulling at you. “I can’t.”

He exhales shakily, then makes a decision. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he settles behind you on the couch, wrapping his arms around you, pressing his face into your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’ve made you feel like this.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, but you don’t respond. Not yet.

He presses his lips to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “Let me make it up to you,” he whispers, his fingers tracing slow circles over your arm. “Let me love you the way you deserve.”

His touch is tentative at first, unsure if you’ll push him away. But you don’t.

Instead, you turn in his arms, finally facing him, searching his eyes for something—for truth.

"I don’t want to lose you," he breathes. "I never want to lose you."

You hesitate. Letting go would be easy—too easy. But so is holding onto him. And the truth is, despite everything, you still want him. You want to believe him.

You sigh shakily. "This won’t be fixed in one night."

"I know," he says, pressing his lips to your knuckles. "But I have forever to make it up to you."

And when he pulls you close, you let him.

“Show me,” you whisper.

His lips capture yours, slow at first, like he’s relearning the taste of you. His hands explore your body like it’s new again, as if he’s memorizing every dip and curve, every shiver and sigh.

He takes his time.

Jungwon’s fingers trail lightly over your collarbone, his touch slow, deliberate, reverent. There’s no urgency, no rush—only the undeniable weight of his devotion, of his need to make things right.

His hands move lower, teasing the knot of your robe as he watches your face for any sign of hesitation. But you give him none, only the soft parting of your lips and the way your body leans into his touch. The silk parts easily, pooling at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

A sharp breath escapes him as he drinks you in, his eyes darkening with desire. He reaches out, tracing your curves, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe and want.

Your breath hitches as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your jawline before trailing down the column of your neck. He lingers there, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin just below your ear. The sensation sends a shudder through you, your hands finding their way to his hair, threading through the strands as you pull him closer.

“I want to take my time with you,” he whispers against your skin, his fingers splaying over your waist, mapping you, memorizing you. “I want to make you feel just how much I love you.”

You let out a soft moan as his lips continue their descent, kissing, teasing, stopping only to bite gently at your shoulder before soothing the mark with his tongue. He moves lower, his mouth finding your breasts, his hands coming up to cup them—to worship them.

His tongue flicks over one taut nipple, drawing a sharp gasp from you. He hums against your skin, pleased, before sucking the peak into his mouth, slow and deep, his other hand rolling your neglected breast between his fingers. Heat coils in your belly, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

Jungwon notices. He always notices.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he releases your breast with a soft pop, his hands sliding down your sides, over your hips, settling between your thighs. “Already so wet for me,” he murmurs, running a teasing finger along your slick folds, barely applying pressure. “You need me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, desperate, your body arching toward him. “Please, Jungwon.”

He groans at your plea, at the way you fall apart under his touch. He lowers himself onto his knees before you, his hands firm on your hips as he presses a lingering kiss to your stomach. Then lower. Lower.

Your breath catches as his tongue swipes through your folds, a deep moan vibrating against your heat as he tastes you. “So sweet,” he mumbles, his voice almost reverent.

He devours you, his tongue flicking against your clit, alternating between slow, languid strokes and deep, sucking pulls that make your legs shake. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he pulls you closer, burying himself in you.

Your hands tangle in his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp as you grind against his mouth, your body desperate for more. “Jungwon—”

He groans at the sound of his name, one hand sliding lower to slip a finger inside you, curling it just right, hitting the spot that makes you cry out.

“That’s it,” he breathes, adding another finger, stretching you, preparing you. “Let go for me.”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering, unraveling, your cries muffled as Jungwon continues to lick you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you’re a trembling mess in his arms.

When you finally open your eyes, he’s already standing again, watching you with pure adoration, his lips slick with you, his eyes burning with hunger.

“Come here,” you whisper, pulling him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips as your hands push his shirt off his shoulders, eager to feel his skin against yours. You reach for the waistband of his pants, fingers brushing over his length, making him groan into your mouth.

“I need you,” you murmur against his lips. “Now.”

Jungwon wastes no time, stepping out of his pants, positioning himself between your legs as he presses you against the bed, his body flush against yours. He grinds against you, his length teasing your entrance, coaxing moans from both of you.

Slowly, he pushes inside, stretching you inch by inch until he’s fully seated within you, a groan slipping from his lips at the feeling of finally being connected again.

“God,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “You feel so perfect.”

He moves slowly at first, rolling his hips in deep, sensual strokes, his hands holding you tightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more.

“Jungwon,” you gasp, nails digging into his back. “Faster.”

He obeys, his pace quickening, his thrusts turning urgent, needy, as his hands roam your body, desperate to feel all of you.

“Look at me,” he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. “Let me see you—let me feel you.”

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, everything else fades away. The doubt, the fear, the loneliness—all replaced by him. By the way he loves you, the way he worships you.

Your orgasm builds again, coiling tightly, your body trembling as he moves harder, deeper, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

“Let go,” he whispers, his thumb finding your clit, circling it just right. “Come with me.”

The tension snaps, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your body clenching around him, drawing his own release as he moans your name, spilling into you as his hips jerk against yours.

For a moment, neither of you move—panting, gasping, clinging.

Jungwon collapses beside you, pulling you close, his lips pressing against your forehead, your cheeks, your lips—anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

You smile, exhausted, fulfilled, tracing circles on his chest. “I know.”And as you drift off in his arms, tangled together, you know that this love—this forever—is still worth fighting for. Always.

[heewhoresimp]

Loved sunghoon onee

HARD HOURS - enha reaction when you wont let them sleep because you're too needy.

cw (MDNI): breeding, explicit activity, super filthy, face sitting, spitting, mean language, swearing, squirting, oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, harmless choking let me know if theres anyth i missed! AN: i had a stroke brought back to life and produced this. wc: 10K

@naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @brianashiftz @niki-tty @jakeyismine

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Heeseung is dead to the world—or so it seems. He’s sprawled on his stomach, head half-buried in the pillow, blankets barely hanging onto his hips. You can tell by the slow, heavy breaths that he’s on the edge of deep sleep. In other words, the perfect target for your mischief.

You start small: a soft kiss against his ear, teeth gently dragging along the shell. Nothing. Heeseung barely stirs, only letting out a faint groan. You smirk, inching closer until your body is pressed flush to his back.

Then, you whisper your first sinful line:

“God, Hee, I can’t stop thinking about you filling me up… Wanna feel your cum dripping out.”

A slight twitch of his shoulders. Still not enough. You drag your lips lower, biting softly at his earlobe, letting your breath fan over the sensitive skin. This time, you feel his entire body tense, a quiet grunt rumbling in his chest.

“Mm… baby,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the pillow, “why are you so… fucking horny?”

You grin into his ear, hooking your leg over his calf to keep him from rolling away. “Because you’re so goddamn hotwhen you’re half-asleep,” you purr. “And because I know you love the idea of breeding me.”

Heeseung freezes. Then, a soft exhale that sounds suspiciously like a groan. “Shit… not this again,” he complains, though his tone betrays a hint of intrigue.

You trail your hand beneath the blanket, grazing the waistband of his boxers. “Yes, this again. Don’t pretend you don’t get off on the thought of knocking me up.” You can’t help the wicked smile curling at your lips. “Think about it, Hee… I’d be so full with your baby—everyone would know you fucked me so good that—”

“Stop,” he grumbles, face still squished into the pillow, but you hear his breathing pick up. “Don’t talk like that when I’m… trying… to sleep…” His words are disjointed, lazy from exhaustion, but there’s no mistaking the twitch in his boxers.

You press closer, cupping him through the fabric. He’s already half-hard—despite how desperate he is to stay asleep. “Feels like you don’t really want me to stop,” you tease, giving him a firm squeeze. “C’mon, Hee, you can breed me in your sleep if you want. I’ll do all the work. Just fill me up ‘til I’m pregnant with your baby.”

Heeseung lets out a muffled curse, finally rolling onto his side to face you, though his eyes are still lidded with exhaustion. “You’re… so fucking… relentless,” he mutters. “I was literally about to pass out.”

You just tilt your head, giving him your sweetest, most innocent smile. “Well, if you can’t handle it, guess I’ll just—” You start to pull your hand away, as if giving up.

But the second you try, Heeseung catches your wrist, pressing your palm fully against his length. “Shut up,” he mutters, brows furrowed. “You started this. Now you’d better take responsibility.”

You arch a brow. “Responsibility?” The corner of your mouth twitches. “As in… riding you ‘til you pump me full?”

He swallows hard, cock throbbing beneath your hand. “If that’s what it takes to get you to let me sleep afterwards,” he growls, though the sleepy rasp in his voice makes him sound more needy than threatening.

You can’t help the rush of arousal pooling between your thighs. You slip your hand under his waistband, fingers closing around the hot, stiff length of him. He gasps—quietly, but it’s enough to confirm you’ve got him.

“Fuck…” Heeseung’s eyes flutter, half-lidded, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Fine. But don’t… don’t expect me to do all the work. I’m literally about to pass out.”

You laugh softly, sliding your leg over his hip until you’re straddling him. “I told you,” you purr, leaning in to nibble at his ear again, “I’ll do everything. You just gotta lie there and let me use that gorgeous cock. Let me fuck your baby into me.”

A trembling exhale leaves him, and for a second, you think he might actually fall asleep mid-conversation. But then, he ruts upward, desperate, jaw clenched. “Don’t… say that if you’re not serious,” he warns, voice cracking from both arousal and exhaustion. “You know how I get when you mention… that.”

You smirk, shimmying your sweats off, aligning yourself with him. “Who says I’m not serious?” Another deliberate roll of your hips, letting the tip of his cock slide between your folds. “Wanna see you get all possessive, Hee. Wanna watch your face when you realize you can’t help but fill me up ‘til I’m stuffed with your cum.”

He hisses, fists gripping the sheets as you sink down on him. His eyes squeeze shut, a low groan vibrating in his throat. “You’re… so fucking wet,” he mutters. “God, babe, you’re insane.”

You start a slow grind, rolling your hips to coax him deeper. “Mm, blame yourself,” you tease, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear again. “You’re the one who made me this wet by… existing. By being so fucking adorable even when you’re grumpy.”

He exhales a laugh—somewhere between a scoff and genuine amusement—then clutches your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to thrust up. But you quickly pin him, reminding him of your promise that you’ll do the work. He shudders, letting his head fall back into the pillow, letting out a string of curses when your pace increases.

“Fuck… you’re—” he starts, but the words catch in his throat as you slam down harder. His hands slide up under your shirt, caressing your waist as he tries to hold on to some sense of control. But you can tell he’s close to just letting go.

“You gonna cum already, Hee?” you taunt sweetly, nails scratching lightly along his torso. “Gonna fill me up with your baby while you’re half-asleep?”

He practically growls, eyes fluttering open to glare at you in a haze of lust. “Shut up,” he groans, “you’re the one who started—fuck—this.”

The slide of his cock is delicious, each wet smack of your bodies echoing in the quiet. His face contorts with pleasure, and you can tell from the shaky moans that he’s right on the edge. Suddenly, he grips your thighs, forcing you down until you’re fully impaled, burying himself to the hilt.

A ragged cry leaves him. “Shit, babe—I’m… oh, fuck—” His eyes roll back as he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core. His entire body trembles, half-lidded gaze locked on the sight of you perched on his lap.

Panting, you watch him struggle to stay awake, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “God, you’re so—fucking—difficult,” he gasps out, voice raspy with exhaustion. “But… so good.”

You gently stroke his hair, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Told you you’d like it.”

Heeseung groans again, arms wrapping around your waist. “Yeah, yeah. Now let me sleep,” he mumbles, eyes already fluttering shut. “Unless you want me to… pass out mid-round two.”

You laugh, settling over his chest, feeling the sticky warmth of his release still dripping between your thighs. “Mm, maybe I’ll let you get some rest, big boy.”

He half-smiles, nuzzling into your neck. “Why… are you so… horny… all the time…?”

You just chuckle, letting your fingers trace random patterns along his spine. “Maybe it’s because you’re so fucking irresistible, Hee.”

He makes a small, pleased sound—somewhere between a hum and a sigh—and finally drifts off, still inside you, arms locked around your waist like you might vanish if he loosened his grip.

You won this round—but at least he gets to sleep now… right?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay was out cold. Face half-buried in the pillow, arms stretched above his head, lounge pants slung low around his hips. He’d come home dead tired—only to doze off in that weird position where his eyes stayed half-open, like he was on autopilot even in sleep.

Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, freshening up… and slipping into a brand-new black lace lingerie set. The bra was sheer enough to flaunt your nipples behind intricate lace, a garter belt hugged your hips, and the star of the show? Crotchless panties that revealed you in all the right places. The plan was to wake him gently—or, well, not so gently.

When you crept back into the bedroom, Jay let out a sleepy grunt, barely stirring. You flicked on the bedside lamp to a dim glow, stepping into his line of sight. He blinked once, confusion painting his features. Then he actually registered the lace.

His half-lidded gaze roamed you from head to toe, lingering on the straps across your thighs and the mouthwatering curve of your hips. “Mmph,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep. “Is that… new?”

You grinned, coming closer. “Wanna see the best part?” Without waiting for an answer, you lifted the edge of the delicate garter belt, letting him notice the open gap between your thighs.

His eyes snapped all the way open. “Fuck, are those… crotchless?”

“Mhm.” You tilted your hips, showing him exactly how very little was covered. The lace was basically framing your folds, leaving you entirely accessible. “Thought you’d like it, babe.”

A soft exhale left him as he tried to push himself upright. Sleep still clung to his movements, but the desire in his eyes was quickly burning away any drowsiness. “You’re so… fucking… I can’t even think.”

You slid onto the bed, hooking a leg over his hip. “So don’t think,” you teased, brushing your lips against his ear. “Just do what you do best… service top, right?”

He let out a quiet laugh, pressing a hand to his eyes. “God, you’re gonna kill me. I’m supposed to be passed out right now.”

Your answer was a playful nibble at his jaw. “But you won’t pass out. Because look at what I’m wearing—for you.”

He parted his fingers, peeking at you through them. “Yeah, well, you know I can’t resist that.” His hand dropped, sliding around to cup your ass, fingertips brushing the lace. “I mean, shit, you’re basically exposed but still so fucking sexy.” He swallowed hard, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. “Okay, okay, I’m awake now.”

Leaning back, you very purposefully let him see the parted crotch of your panties. “Let’s put them to use,” you murmured, your voice low.

Jay bit his lip, half a smirk forming. “You really want me to devour you right now, yeah?”

“You say that like it’s a question.” A single tug at his lounge pants exposed the growing outline of his cock, straining for attention. You pressed a palm over it, feeling him twitch. “I want to feel that mouth of yours first, though.”

He groaned, “Fuck… I can’t say no to you, can I?” Carefully, he pushed himself up, fluffing a pillow behind his head. The faint shadow of a grin on his lips. “Come here, let me see those crotchless panties up close.”

Your stomach fluttered as you crawled forward, positioning yourself above him—straddling his chest. You hovered for a moment, letting him admire the black lace hugging your thighs, the sheen of your arousal already evident.

His gaze flicked from your eyes to that sinful opening. “Christ,” he whispered, “they're so fucking—” He shook his head like he couldn’t find the words.

Taking it as a cue, you moved up, planting your knees on either side of his head. His hands automatically flew to your hips, steadying you. The closeness, the warmth—it was intense. One of his hands slid beneath the lace, and his breath caught when he felt how soaked you were.

“Damn,” he murmured, voice rasping with lust, “already this wet?”

You smirked, “I’ve been thinking about this all night.” Lowering yourself an inch more, you whispered, “You ready for me to ride your face, husband?”

A flash of pure hunger lit his eyes. “Fuck yes.” Then, half-lidded gaze locked on yours, he tugged you down the final distance, pressing his mouth directly to your exposed folds. The first caress of his tongue had you shivering, your entire body drawn tight.

“Jay…” you moaned softly, threading your fingers into his hair. The angle was perfect: he didn’t even have to remove the panties, just push the delicate lace aside with his nose, leaving you completely accessible to that talented mouth.

He started slowly—soft, deliberate licks that explored your folds. Each pass of his tongue was accompanied by a low hum of approval, a subtle roll of your hips. Then, gathering more confidence, he parted you further, letting his tongue delve deeper, swirling around your clit in lazy circles. You inhaled sharply, nails scraping his scalp, which earned a muffled groan from him.

Husband material, indeed.

“Shit…” you gasped, thighs trembling around his face. “God, you’re so— so good at this—“

His only response was a low chuckle, the vibrations making your toes curl. He pressed his tongue flat against your bundle of nerves, flicking it with just enough pressure to make your head spin. Each ragged breath, each swirl of his tongue, coaxed you closer to the edge.

Desperate to balance yourself, you gripped the headboard, half-riding his mouth in a rhythm that matched your ragged moans. The black lace framed his cheeks, reminding you again how easy it was for him to devour you in these crotchless panties. You bit your lip, panting harder.

He seemed to sense you edging near your climax, because he slid one hand up your thigh, hooking around the garter strap. With the other, he reached up to dig into your hips, urging you to bear more weight. And you obliged, pressing down, letting him bury his face fully against your heated core.

Your breath caught. “Jay… I’m gonna— oh fuck—“

He took that as permission, latching onto your clit with suction and a flick of his tongue that ripped a choked sob from your throat. The orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of trembling pleasure, your thighs clamping around his head. He rode it out with you, licking and kissing through each aftershock.

When you finally released him, he gasped for air, lips slick with your arousal. But the grin on his face? Absolutely triumphant.

“Feel better?” he teased, voice still rough with lust. Before you could answer, he reached out, tugging you down for a messy kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a heady mixture of heat and satisfaction.

You pulled away, chest heaving, eyes glazed. “Fuck, Jay… that was—“ “Yeah?” he murmured, half-smiling. “Think you can still handle me inside you, or did I wear you out?”

You let out a breathless laugh, “Oh, I can handle you. Don’t forget who started this.” Sliding off him, you kicked aside the sheets. “Now hurry up, big boy… you’re not going back to sleep until I’ve made you come at least twice.”

A crooked smirk tugged at his lips as he positioned himself over you, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his sweats to shuffle them off. “You’re trying to kill me, huh?” Then, leaning in to nibble your ear, he whispered, “Glad you woke me up for this, wifey.”

Your only response was a blissed-out hum as he lined himself up, the crotchless panties conveniently parting to give him full access. Husband material? Absolutely. Service top? One thousand percent.

And you were about to enjoy every second of it.

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake lay on his stomach, hair damp from a rushed shower, half-naked in a pair of boxers that barely clung to his hips. The clock on the nightstand blinked an unholy hour—he had football practice at sunrise, and he’d been moaning for the last hour about how he needed rest. Yet the moment you snuck onto the bed behind him, hooking your fingers under his waistband, his body betrayed all that whining.

“Stop,” he mumbled into the pillow, voice muffled and trembling with fatigue. “I—swear, I’m dying, I can’t do this.” Even as he spoke, you felt him twitch under your touch, a half-muffled groan escaping his lips. His half-lidded eyes flicked open, shooting you a watery glare. “You... you’re so damn pushy.”

With a soft smile, you trailed your nails along his back. “But you’re already half-hard, Jake,” you murmured, pressing a kiss just below his shoulder blade. “Look at you, complaining about sleep when your body obviously wants more.”

He huffed a pitiful laugh, letting his head turn on the pillow so you caught a glimpse of his flushed cheeks. “I—I can’t help it,” he stammered, eyes fluttering shut again. “If you keep going, I’ll... I’ll do something insane. I can’t even stand.”

A surge of excitement twisted in your belly. “Then eat me out from behind,” you suggested, your voice carrying a teasing, sultry note. “It won’t take much movement.”

Jake froze, letting out a ragged exhale. “God, you’re unstoppable. Fine. But if I pass out mid-lick, it’s on you.” He rolled slowly onto his side, hooking his arm around your waist to nudge you into position. His half-dead eyes scanned your body as you shoved your shorts down, arching your back, cheeks aflame. “Jesus,” he muttered, voice shaky, “you’re... so wet already. Are you really that needy?”

A tremor ran through you at his drowsy, borderline mocking tone. “Mhmm,” you breathed. “All yours, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, pushing your thighs apart as he knelt behind you. “I’m too tired for sweet talk.” He tugged your underwear free, letting it drop onto the sheets. The next second, his warm breath ghosted across your folds. “If I say something messed up, it’s your fault for pushing me this far.”

And with that, he latched on, tongue dragging a wet stripe through your slick. The shock tore a sharp moan from your throat. “Oh—Jake,” you gasped, fingers clenching in the sheets. “That’s— oh god—”

“Shut up,” he slurred, half-laugh, half-growl. “You asked for it.” He pressed his mouth tighter, swirling his tongue around your clit in sloppy, uncoordinated but devastating motions. Every time you jerked or whimpered, he let out a whiny grunt, eyes barely open, jaw slack with exhaustion. “Fuck, you taste so good. Hate you for making me do this when I’m half-dead. You— you little whore, waking me up... oh, shit.”

Your cheeks flamed at the nasty name, a sob-laced moan slipping out. “Jake, oh my god—”

He let out a broken giggle, hooking an arm around your hips to pin you in place. “I told you,” he muttered. “No filter. You’re basically my cocksleeve, right? Couldn’t even let me rest.” Another swirl of his tongue, and you felt him bitelightly at the undercurve of your ass.

A startled cry left your lips. “Jake, that hurts—”

“Shit, sorry,” he said, sounding half-dazed. “I— can’t help it.” Then, in a swift, delirious move, he latched onto the same spot, sucking until you knew it’d bruise. “Marking you up. My messy little bitch.”

Tears burned at your eyes from the mix of pleasure and stinging pain. Your nails dug into the mattress, breath coming in short, ragged pants. “N-never heard you talk like that,” you managed, voice trembling with arousal.

Jake half-laughed, half-whined. “Yeah, well, I never let myself go this far. Tired as fuck—makes me nasty.” He sealed his lips around your clit, sending a white-hot spark through your core. The sloppy suction and swirl of his tongue drove you to the brink in record time.

He let out a pitiful moan, half-lidded eyes threatening to shut completely. “Hurry up,” he mumbled, mouth dragging along your folds. “Come on my tongue so I can pass out. You’re so fucking tasty— shit, I love this, but I might die. So hurry.”

That final taunt threw you over the edge. You let out a wail, thighs trembling violently as a wave of ecstasy slammed through you. He groaned, lapping you through every aftershock until you collapsed forward, sweat beading along your spine, tears stinging your eyes from the intensity.

Jake pulled away, panting, chest rising and falling. “God,” he grumbled, pressing his forehead to your lower back, “that was insane. I can’t believe the shit I just said. My brain is mush.”

You gave a shaky little laugh, trying to catch your breath. “I... loved it,” you admitted, cheeks aflame. But a surge of leftover arousal still hummed in your veins. Turning your head, you shot him a pleading look. “Jake... I still want more.”

He stiffened, letting out a half-yell of frustration. “You want more?” he nearly shrieked, voice cracking. “I’m half-dead, woman. What else do you want from me?”

Biting your lip, you shifted around until you were kneeling to face him. “Let me ride you,” you whispered. “Just once. We can finish quick. Please?”

He glared at you with watery eyes, fury warring with raw lust, cheeks flaming. “Ugh, fine,” he snapped, hooking an arm around your waist. “Come on, then.”

He flopped onto his back, yanking down his boxers enough to free his cock. You saw how stiff he was, the tip gleaming with his own arousal. “Do it,” he mumbled, voice slurring. “Ride me. But if I fucking black out, that’s on you.”

Heart racing, you straddled him, letting your knees frame his hips. Leaning down, you murmured a soft “Thank you,” but he just grunted.

“Don’t thank me,” he mumbled, hooking his hands under your thighs. “Use me, you goddamn succubus.” Another delirious laugh, then in a shocking move, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face down. “Open,” he commanded, half-lidded gaze glinting.

You parted your lips in confusion, and he spat lightly into your mouth, the humiliating shock making your entire body jolt. “There,” he slurred, cheeks aflame. “You want filthy? I’m fucking filthy. Now move.”

A stunned moan escaped you. You swallowed reflexively, your mind spinning at the primal gesture. Then, carefully, you aligned yourself and sank onto his length, a gasping cry tearing from your throat as you fully impaled yourself.

He whined, eyes rolling back. “Fuck, that’s— so tight,” he whimpered, nails biting into your hips. “Can’t believe I’m letting you do this. You better ride me well, you slutty— oh god, you see? I can’t shut up.”

You started moving, thighs burning, the angle hitting deeper than you anticipated. He hissed, moaning loudly, half-laughing at how overwhelmed he felt. “Shit, you’re so wet,” he rasped, voice cracking into a higher pitch. “Keep going, keep grinding. I can’t do anything or I’ll collapse.”

Tears clung to your lashes from overstimulation, your earlier orgasm making you extra sensitive. His filthy words poured out in a half-slurred stream: “That’s it, fuck, you ride me so good. My pathetic whore, always wanting more, can’t get enough of my cock, can you? Gonna make me come so fast, oh god—”

Your own breath stuttered, hips rolling faster, each bounce driving you closer to a mind-shattering peak. “Jake,” you sobbed, nails scraping his chest. “I’m gonna— oh fuck— I can’t believe how filthy you are.”

He let out a pitiful yelp, hooking an arm behind your back to pull you down, letting his teeth graze your shoulder. “I’m filthy because of you,” he hissed, voice fracturing. “I— I want you screaming, baby. Scream for me.”

It all came crashing down: your body locked up, a desperate scream tore from your lips, tears streaming as your orgasm blindsided you. Jake moaned brokenly, hips jerking up even in his half-conscious state. He spilled inside you with a ragged cry, arms trembling to keep you close.

For a moment, you both stayed locked together, hearts racing, sweat glistening. Then Jake let out a raw, shuddering breath, hooking his hand around your neck in a softer hold, pressing quick, frantic kisses along your jaw and collarbone.

“Shit,” he whispered, voice still high and whimpery but now laced with guilt. “Oh god, I’m so fucking sorry, my baby,” he stammered, the tears in his eyes no longer just from exhaustion but from sudden remorse. “Did I hurt you? Did I say something awful? Fuck, I bit you, I— spat in your mouth, called you a whore. I’m so sorry, my beautiful wife, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Your heart flipped at the sudden shift. “Jake,” you breathed, wiping his sweaty bangs aside. His cheeks were glowing, tears threatening to spill. “No, it’s okay,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I liked it, I promise. You didn’t hurt me in a bad way. It was perfect for me.”

He let out a shaky sigh, hooking an arm around your waist to bury his face against your chest. “I can’t believe I said all that. M’ just so tired, I can’t filter. I’m so sorry, my baby, my sweet girl— please forgive me,” he mumbled between kisses to your collarbone, each one almost frantic with guilt. “I love you, I love you— I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You cradled his head, tears pricking your eyes for a different reason now. “I love you too,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his damp forehead. “It was so intense and raw, but I’m okay, truly.”

He let out another half-sob, half-laugh, relief flooding his features. “Thank god,” he murmured, letting his eyes finally drift shut as he clung to you. “You’re my baby, and I called you all those names— I just— oh my god.”

“Shh,” you soothed, brushing his cheek. “We’ll rest now, okay?”

He gave a small nod, exhaling the last of his tension. “Rest,” he echoed, voice spent. “I can actually sleep.” Another watery chuckle, then he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he repeated in a near whisper, arms wrapping around you in a lazy embrace.

You settled against his chest, letting him roll onto his side so you both could fit under the covers. Despite the sticky heat and bruises you’d surely find in the morning, a drowsy peace enveloped you both. He drifted off, still half-mumbling apologies, and you held him close, heart full—knowing that no matter how filthy the night had been, the love that followed was unwavering and sweet.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon was drifting in that half-awake, half-asleep realm—eyes heavy-lidded, cheek pressed into the pillow, hair messy from tossing around. He had one arm slung across his stomach, the other dangling off the bed, looking like he might doze off at any second.

You, on the other hand, had far too much energy. And far too many thoughts about your craving for roughness—particularly choking. But rather than just blurt it out, you wanted to theorize, to talk about the deeper psychology behind it… with him, while he was half-asleep.

So you scooted closer, your knee brushing his thigh. He grunted, eyes flickering open to a sliver.

“Sunghoon,” you started, voice low, “can we talk about something? Like, a deep… philosophical something?”

He exhaled, shifting onto his back and letting out a low groan. “Oh my God,” he muttered, obviously not thrilled. “You… want me to have a deep philosophical conversation right now?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “It’s about choking.”

He squinted, brow furrowed. “Choking. As in… me choking you.” His gaze darted to your throat, then back to your eyes.

“Mhm,” you confirmed, pushing a stray hair from his face. “I’ve been thinking about why I want it. Is it about trust? About letting go of control? Or, like, the raw primal side of us—”

He let out a weary groan, rolling his head toward the ceiling. “You’re a psycho,” he mumbled, not even bothering to keep his voice down. “Who the hell sits here and tries to dissect choking kink like it’s some academic thesis when I’m literally about to pass out?”

You tried not to laugh, pressing your palm to his chest. “I just think it’s interesting. I mean, it’s not just ‘I want you to choke me’—it’s why do I want you to choke me? Don’t you ever wonder about the deeper—”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon cut in, eyes pinching shut as if he could block you out. “Seriously. I’m too tired for your ‘fascinating deep dive’ on kinks.”

You arched a brow, half-smiling. “You can’t just bury your head in the sand.”

He let out a sharp exhale, turning onto his side so his back was partially to you. “Yes, I can,” he grumbled. “I can bury my head in this pillow. Then maybe I won’t have to listen to you psychoanalyze choking.”

Undeterred, you scooted closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “But Hoonie, imagine how hot it’d be if you pinned me against the wall, your hand around my throat, talking about how you’ll—”

He jerked away, letting out a soft snarl. “You’re seriously insane. Why the hell are you wanting a full lecture on me choking you? Just—shut up or I’ll… I’ll shut you up.”

You blinked, pulse skipping at the edge in his tone. “That sounds promising,” you teased, eyes glinting with excitement.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, half-laughing despite himself. “You want me to choke you so bad?”

You nodded earnestly. “Yeah. And maybe call me your little slut or something—”

He shot you a scandalized look, half-lidded eyes burning with a mixture of exhaustion and sudden arousal. “Jesus,” he breathed, raking a hand through his messy hair. “You seriously don’t know when to quit.”

You grinned. “Nope.”

For a moment, he just stared, seemingly debating whether to actually indulge you or roll over and pass out. Then, with a low grunt, he shifted, turning all the way to face you. His hand came up, fingers wrapping lightly around your throat—not applying pressure yet, just resting there.

“This what you wanted?” he mumbled, gaze flicking over your face.

Your heart thumped as you nodded, pressing your neck into his palm. “Yes. I like it rough, and I trust you to not actually kill me,” you said, half-laughing.

He let out a short, exasperated snort, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a menace.” Then, without warning, he tightened his grip—not painfully, but enough to send a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips. “Hoon—”

“Shut up,” he repeated, voice suddenly dripping with that dark amusement you’d been craving. “You talk too damn much.”

Your cheeks flamed, the mixture of slight pressure on your windpipe and his rough tone making your skin prickle. “So you are interested in the ‘philosophy’,” you tried to joke, but he tightened his hold just enough to cut you off.

“I said shut up or I’ll do it for you,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded with sleep but blazing with intent. “Guess the best way to keep you from yapping is by fucking you speechless.”

Your pulse skyrocketed. “Then do it,” you challenged, letting your hand curl around his wrist lightly in a silent sign of both caution and consent. “Show me how you’d shut me up.”

Sunghoon let out a soft grunt, hooking his free arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. You could feel the hardness beneath his boxers pressing into your thigh—so apparently, he wasn’t too tired to get turned on.

“God, you’re so—” he started, but cut himself off, leaning in to capture your mouth in a rough, hungry kiss. The hand at your throat stayed in place, a persistent reminder of his quiet dominance. Every time you tried to speak, he muffled it with his lips, swallowing your protests or giggles.

A muffled moan left you, your body arching into his. He parted from the kiss only to growl, “Turn over,” voice heavy with drowsy impatience. “I can’t choke you properly like this.”

You complied in a heartbeat, flipping to your back. He followed, pinning you underneath him, knee nudging your legs apart. The weight of his hand on your throat never wavering, though it wasn’t enough to cut off your air—just a firm, possessive hold.

“How’s this?” he muttered, half-lidded eyes scanning your face. “Better for your psycho talk?”

You swallowed, breath shaky. “Mmm, yes. Love it,” you whispered, letting your hand cup his cheek. “Now maybe—”

He tightened his grip slightly, a cocky smirk curving his lips. “What part of shut up don’t you understand?”

Heat pooled between your legs, your lips parting in a silent moan. “H-hoon,” you stammered, cut off by a slight squeeze that halted your voice.

“Still talking,” he teased, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. Then, he thrust his hips forward, letting you feel his erection straining through the thin fabric of his boxers. “You want me to fuck you so badly, you can’t stop hammering on about it, huh?”

A strangled whimper escaped you, nodding fervently. The pressure on your neck, the sleepy yet intense glint in his eye—all of it was turning you on beyond belief.

Sunghoon snorted softly, sliding his hand from your throat to grab your jaw instead. “I’ll do it,” he murmured, hooking a thumb under your chin to tilt your head up, “but next time, pick a better moment for your philosophical kink talk. Deal?”

Before you could respond, he lowered his head, kissing along the line of your jaw while his free hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts. The chill of his fingers against your heated skin made you gasp, and he smirked at your reaction.

“God, you’re soaked,” he mumbled, eyebrows arching in mild surprise. “You really do get off on this, huh?”

You exhaled shakily, “Mm. Yeah. Hard choking… your rough side… everything.”

Sunghoon let out a quiet chuckle that bordered on an exasperated sigh. “You’re fucking insane,” he repeated, though he pressed a sweet, fleeting kiss to your lips that took the sting out of his words. “But I guess that makes two of us, because I’m into it.”

He parted your thighs, tugging your shorts down enough to expose you. Sliding himself free, he lined up, and in one swift push, sank into you with a low moan that made your toes curl.

He pinned you by the throat again—not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you from speaking easily. The sensation danced on the edge of adrenaline and euphoria, exactly what you’d craved.

“You want me to… slam you so hard you can’t think?” he panted, voice shaky from both fatigue and lust. “‘Cause I can do that.”

Your eyes fluttered, a wave of arousal washing over you. “Yes, please,” you gasped, reaching up to grab his wrist lightly, ensuring you could tap out if it got too intense.

He started thrusting, each roll of his hips pushing you deeper into the mattress. Your breathing stuttered around his hand, and it was glorious. Each stroke fed the craving you’d asked for: that borderline savage, primal taking, balanced by the knowledge he’d never actually harm you.

“Oh God, Hoon,” you moaned, nails raking down his bicep. “This is—”

He cut you off with a tighter squeeze, delivering a sharper thrust that stole any chance of finishing your sentence. “I said shut up,” he teased, though you could see the corners of his mouth tugging in a faint smirk. “Don’t you get it?”

Your retort died in your throat, replaced by a series of moans as he slammed into you harder, faster. The bed creaked with the force, and every breath you managed was ragged, tinted with the exhilarating rush of being pinned at the neck.

It didn’t take long before your body tensed, that coil in your lower belly about to snap. Sunghoon must’ve felt it, too, because he groaned, eyelids drooping with pleasure. “Fuck,” he muttered, “you’re so tight—gonna come too soon.”

You tried to reply, but all you got out was a choked moan as the orgasm washed over you, limbs trembling. He followed in short order, a broken cry escaping his lips as he spilled into you, hips stuttering with each wave of ecstasy. His grip on your throat eased, letting you gulp down air.

Panting and spent, he collapsed half on top of you, one arm bracing him so he didn’t crush you entirely. “You… are a fucking… menace,” he breathed, voice rough. “But God… that was so good.”

You gave him a languid smile, sliding your hand up to brush his damp hair from his forehead. “Thanks for indulging me,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

He closed his eyes, letting out a tired laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “Next time, remind me not to call you a psycho or you might bring up a million more kinks.”

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Admit it, you love that I’m psycho.”

A half-snort. “Maybe,” he teased, snuggling closer. “But if you ever start another deep philosophical conversation about choking when I’m half-asleep, I might just choke you out of spite.”

“Promise?” you teased, eyes shining with amusement.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, letting his head flop onto your shoulder. “Shut up and go to sleep,” he murmured, voice drowsy again.

You both drifted off in that warm afterglow, your throat bearing the faintest trace of his grip—and your heart absolutely brimming with satisfaction. Because for all his complaints, Sunghoon had given you exactly the intense, borderline savage scene you’d been craving… with all the trust and love behind it.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo lay on his back, eyes half-shut, body sinking comfortably into the mattress. He wasn’t completely knocked out, but he was definitely hovering on the edge of slumber—breathing slow, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. From the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you could see his hair falling softly across his forehead, lips parted in a faint sigh. He looked adorable, all relaxed and unguarded.

A spark of arousal buzzed through you as you took in the sight of him, that subtle line of bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. You really wanted him, but not in the usual way—this time, you wanted your mouth on him. Swallowing the slight nerves, you slipped onto the bed, edging closer until you hovered just above his side.

“Sunoo,” you whispered, running your hand over his chest in gentle circles. “You awake?”

He breathed out a quiet exhale, lids fluttering open a fraction. “Mmh,” he responded, voice thick with sleep. “A little. Why?”

“Well,” you said, letting your palm drift lower toward his stomach, “I was thinking… I really want to take care of you tonight. With my mouth.”

His eyes opened a bit more, revealing that soft, drowsy confusion. “You… want to do that right now?” he murmured, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I’m kinda… half-asleep.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “I know. But just let me do the work, okay? You can lie there and relax.”

Sunoo let out a soft grunt, shifting onto his back more fully. “Alright,” he conceded, the corners of his mouth curving in a faint smirk. “Though I can’t promise I’ll be, like, super talkative or anything.”

You chuckled, leaning in to press a light kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t worry about talking. Just let me make you feel good.”

With that, you lifted the blanket, revealing his waist. He was wearing a loose pair of boxers, and from the slight shape beneath the fabric, you could tell his body was already responding, if only a little. Your hand slipped under the elastic, wrapping around the warm length of him. He inhaled sharply, eyelids falling shut again.

“Oh,” he breathed, biting his lower lip in a subtle show of anticipation. “You’re serious about this, huh?”

“Completely serious,” you teased, stroking him with a gentle motion to coax him fully hard. “Does it feel nice?”

He let out a low hum. “Yeah. Feels… good.” He wasn’t whiny—but the light rasp in his voice suggested a battle between comfort and arousal. “I was, like, thirty seconds away from dozing off, but now… you’re making me want more.”

“Mm, that’s exactly what I’m aiming for,” you murmured. “Lift your hips a bit?”

He complied, letting you slip the boxers down enough to free him. You settled between his legs, the blanket sliding down to pool around your knees, and watched as he dragged in a steadying breath. You couldn’t help but smile at how relaxedhe still seemed, even with the flush creeping into his cheeks.

Slowly, you lowered your head, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Sunoo’s breathing hitched, and you heard him mutter something too low to catch—possibly your name. Then, you licked a gentle stripe across the head, tasting the faint salt of his skin. His stomach tensed under your palm.

“S-still tired?” you asked, voice quiet, lips ghosting over him.

He opened one eye halfway. “Tired, yeah,” he admitted, “but I’m definitely not complaining.” A lazy grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he let out a calmer breath. “Keep going.”

You did, taking him in deeper, inch by inch, letting your tongue swirl around him. Sunoo parted his lips in a soft moan, not loud, but filled with enough warmth to make your blood race. His hand drifted to your hair, a gentle touch that neither pushed nor pulled—just a sweet sign of appreciation.

“Feels… amazing,” he murmured, breathing more heavily now. “Like I could drift off, but also… can’t, because you feel too good.”

Your heart fluttered at that. You began a slow, steady rhythm—bobbing your head, stroking the base with your hand, letting each motion draw out another quiet moan or short, content sigh from him. He didn’t whimper or whine—he just exhaled in these controlled, hushed groans, the edges of sleep still clinging to his voice.

“God,” he whispered, eyelids flickering shut again. “You’re so good at that.”

Encouraged, you took him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel more of your warmth. His spine arched slightly, and you heard the sheets rustle as he bunched them in one fist.

“Mm,” he hummed, letting out a shaky breath. “You’re… making it hard to stay calm.” Even half-asleep, there was a sweet chuckle layered with arousal in his tone.

You smiled around him, pumping the rest of his length with your hand in time with each bob of your head. The slick sound of your mouth on him filled the quiet bedroom, and he exhaled in something that approached a groan, head lolling to the side.

When you glanced up, you saw that his eyes were still mostly closed, though his mouth formed a small ‘o’ with each ragged breath. “You good?” you asked softly, lifting your head just enough to speak.

He nodded, letting out an unsteady sigh. “Y-yeah, keep going. Please.” Another short laugh. “I can’t… believe how chill this feels”

You took that as your cue to slip him back inside your mouth, swirling your tongue against the underside. This time, he gave a longer, deeper moan, hips pressing up involuntarily—though not forcefully enough to choke you. You found a perfect synergy in that moment: him too sleepy to control everything, and you fully in the driver’s seat.

Eventually, his breath grew more labored, each inhale trembling with need. The subtle push of his thighs told you he was close to the edge. You hollowed your cheeks, moving quicker, coaxing him toward that release.

“Ah— oh, fuck,” he muttered, voice taut, a slight tremor in his thighs. “I’m— I think— yeah, ‘m gonna… oh God—”

His back arched off the bed, a sudden wave of pleasure making him jerk. He came with a few short thrusts, and you stayed with him, swallowing everything he gave you, feeling his entire body shudder beneath your hands. A breathy, almost disbelieving moan escaped him, half-lost in the pillow he’d turned his face into.

The aftershocks lingered, and you eased off him slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He blinked up at you, eyes drowsy but deeply satisfied.

“That was…” he breathed, a serene smile curving his lips. “God, you’re… incredible. I can’t even form words properly.”

You crawled back up to his side, pressing a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “You don’t have to form words. Just rest. I got what I wanted,” you teased softly.

A soft chuckle left him, and he slipped an arm around your waist. “You’re so smug,” he murmured, letting his eyes drift shut again. “But I’m not complaining.” Another quiet breath, and he nuzzled into your hair. “Loved it, truly. Thank you.”

You snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “Anytime, Sunoo. Sleep well.”

He let out one last contented exhale, drifting back toward that drowsy serenity. Because even if he was exhausted, he’d let you do anything to keep you satisfied—and you both wouldn’t have it any other way.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon sprawled on the bed, face half-buried in the pillow, shirt ridden up around his ribcage, one foot sockless. He looked so done with the world—like all he needed was unconsciousness to recharge his soul. The moment you crawled on the mattress, he let out a theatrical groan.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice thick with fatigue, “just…don’t. I’m literally about to pass out.”

You snickered, resting a palm on his exposed waist. “You always say that, but then two minutes later, you’re losing your mind.”

He nudged your hand away, letting his head roll to the side so he could half-glare at you. “Because you never give me peace,” he grumbled. “You’re always whispering disgusting things until I can’t think straight. I’m exhausted, and you’re about to—”

You silenced him by lifting two fingers to his lips. He blinked, eyebrows arching in confusion, but parted his mouth anyway, letting you slip them in. The instant his tongue met your skin, a tremor of lust sparked in your belly. He sucked lazily, half-lidded eyes drifting shut like he might as well indulge before dozing off.

He popped them out with a soft, wet sound, cheeks noticeably pink. “I can’t believe you,” he groaned, flicking a glance downward. “You see this?” He gestured at his shorts, where a distinct bulge now strained. “I was about to sleep. Now I have a boner. This is your fault.”

A smug grin curled your lips. “Your body can’t resist me,” you teased, trailing your hand to the waistband of his shorts.

He grunted. “No, my body can’t resist your filthy mouth. Big difference.” Then, with a dramatic sigh, he pushed your hand away. “I’m so done. Done.”

You let your palm slip lower, purposely brushing his stiffening cock beneath the fabric. He sucked in a breath, eyes widening. “Stop,” he hissed, half-laughing in exasperation. “God, you’re unbearable. Just say your nasty line about wanting me to ‘fuck you ‘til you cry.’”

You leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I want you to fuck me ‘til I cry, Jungwon. That’s exactly it. And I know you want that too, even if you’re too tired to admit it.”

He twisted, half trying to turn away, half pressing closer. “I swear to God, you’re an actual menace,” he spat. But you felt the twitch under your fingers, proving he couldn’t resist. “Fine,” he mumbled. “If I ruin you, don’t come whining tomorrow.”

In a flash of frustration-laced lust, he flipped you onto your back, pulling down your shorts in one yank. You barely had time to blink before he thrust inside you—harsh, sudden. Your eyes watered from the abrupt stretch. A startled cry tore from your lips.

“Fuck,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “Jungwon—holy—”

He exhaled shakily, setting a pace that felt half-punishment, half-lust. “You asked for rough,” he grumbled, each thrust knocking a breathy sob from your throat. “I was about to conk out, and now I’m pounding you. Don’t whine about it.”

Tears already pricked at your eyes from the intensity, stinging and exquisite all at once. “D-don’t worry,” you whimpered, voice hitching. “I love it—God, you’re so—”

“Shut it,” he murmured, an edge to his tone, though his cheeks flamed red at the sight of tears spilling down your cheeks. “You want to cry? Fine, cry for me.”

The tension built alarmingly fast, each collision of his hips pushing you higher. Tears blurred your vision, your nails biting into his arms. Suddenly, that coil in your belly snapped, a hot rush of fluid spattering out. You let out a raw scream, mortified yet overwhelmed by pleasure.

Jungwon froze mid-thrust, eyes wide. “What the—?” He felt the warmth drenching his thighs, and a flicker of disbelief crossed his face. “You just…did you squirt?”

Fresh tears streamed as you half-sobbed, half-laughed. “I—I think so. Oh my god, I’ve never—”

“Holy shit,” he breathed, blinking down at the slick coating your inner thighs and his stomach. “That’s…” A shaky laugh escaped him. “That’s fucking hot.”

Without warning, he pulled out, ignoring your tremors, and shoved your thighs apart to inspect the wetness. You burned with embarrassment and leftover pleasure, tears still dripping. “Jungwon,” you started, but he was already leaning down, pressing a slow, messy lick to your oversensitive folds.

A gasp wrenched from your chest, oversensitivity slamming into you. “Wait—no—I can’t—”

He groaned against your skin, lapping up the fluid with a low, humming satisfaction. “God,” he muttered, “I was so done with you, but I need to taste this.” His tongue slid in broad, lazy strokes, ignoring your sobs of overstimulation.

You could barely see through the tears, your body twitching. “I—I’m so sensitive, oh my god—”

“Too bad,” he mumbled, pulling back at last, chest heaving. He looked at you with a crazed mix of exhaustion and pure, unhinged lust. “I can’t believe how unbelievably fucking hot that was. I didn’t even know you could do that. Didn’t think I could get so turned on by it.”

Your cheeks flamed, tears still welling. “I—I didn’t know either,” you whispered. “I thought you were tired…”

He snorted, wiping the back of his hand across his chin. “I am tired. But guess what?” He nudged his still half-erect length, letting you see how it bobbed for attention. “You just woke me up. And now, I want more.”

A watery laugh escaped you. “You’re unstoppable,” you teased.

“Apparently,” he said dryly, hooking a hand under your knee. “Now, come here, baby. Sit on my face. Squirt on my face this time.”

Your heart stumbled, adrenaline spiking. “You can’t be serious— I might actually die if I come again.”

He flashed you a half-deranged grin. “Then die. Don’t think you can just do that once and get away scot-free.”

Before you could form a coherent protest, he manhandled you upward, guiding your trembling thighs until you hovered above his mouth. Tears still clung to your lashes, the entire bottom half of your body throbbing. “Careful,” you choked, bracing your arms on the headboard.

Jungwon gripped your hips, ignoring your oversensitivity. “No complaining,” he muttered, eyes gleaming with challenge. “If you squirt again, it better be on my face. Understand?”

You gave a weak nod, tears slipping anew. The moment you lowered yourself, he latched on, mouth devouring your slickness in messy, hungry motions. You let out a wail, overstimulation rocking your core. “Jung— oh God—”

He hummed a response against you, the vibrations almost too much. Your thighs shook, tears dripping off your chin. You felt his tongue swirl around your clit, each motion a jolt of borderline painful pleasure.

Sobs caught in your throat. “It’s— too strong, oh god, please—”

He just pulled you down more firmly, his grip relentless, his own breath ragged. Even from above, you could see him half-rolling his eyes like, This is what you get. “Wanted me so bad, wanted to cry,” he murmured between licks. “Deal with it.”

Surprisingly, you didn’t squirt again this time, but you came dangerously close, tears pouring as you trembled on the edge of blacking out. Finally, he released you, chest heaving, face shining with your fluids. He managed a tired smirk, eyes glazed with leftover adrenaline.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low. “You’re crying, you��re half-dead, and I’m still fucking hard. This is your fault.”

You collapsed to his side, breath stuttering, tears still on your cheeks. “I—I know,” you croaked, adrenaline crashing into exhaustion. “Sorry, guess that means no sleep for either of us.”

He snorted, half-laughing at the absurdity. “Guess so.”

Then, ignoring every complaint he’d had about being done, he buried his face in your neck. “You might’ve awakened something in me,” he muttered, eyes drifting shut with a lazy grin. “So next time, watch your filthy mouth… or maybe don’t.”

Despite everything, warmth spilled through you at his words. “I won’t,” you whispered, resting a shaky hand on his cheek. “I like turning you into this insane version of yourself.”

Jungwon just let out a short laugh, hooking an arm around your waist. “Then don’t blame me when you cry and squirt all over the place again,” he quipped, pressing a small, affectionate kiss to your temple.

Your entire body still hummed with leftover pleasure and oversensitivity, tears drying against your skin. But there, wrapped up in his arms, both of you wide awake and sticky, you couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. Sleep? That could wait.

Because with Jungwon complaining and you pushing every button, the night had only just begun.

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

Riki was sprawled face-down on his bed, still wearing his loose training shorts, hair damp from a quick shower. He looked done for the day—exhausted posture, half-buried face in the pillow, letting out random grunts that signaled just how close he was to passing out. The bedside clock read 10:47, and he had to be up at 4 AM for football practice. Yet here you were, creeping onto his bed, brimming with a plan that definitely wasn’t “sleep.”

He let out a muffled groan the second he felt the mattress dip under your weight. “Don’t,” he mumbled, not even lifting his head. “I’m a dead man walking in six hours if I don’t sleep. Whatever insane idea you have, can it wait?”

You grinned, moving to sit beside him. “But,” you cooed, laying a gentle hand on his back, “I want to try your favorite position.”

He froze for a second, letting out a short laugh that sounded half in disbelief. “My—my favorite position? That’s what this is about?” A resigned sigh left him, and he half-turned his head so one eye peeked out from the pillow. “You pick now, of all times, to bring that up?”

You shrugged, rubbing soft circles over the dip of his lower back. “I can’t help it. You talked it up so much, said it was the best feeling in the world. If it’s your favorite, I’m curious.”

He groaned dramatically, rolling onto his side, blinking up at you like he was the sole survivor of a disaster. “I do love it. But it’s, like, really…involved. And I have to be up at four. If we do this, I’ll get, what, five hours of sleep max?”

“And you’ll be unstoppable on the field,” you teased, sliding your hand up to his waist. “Trust me, you’ll feel amazing.”

He parted his lips to argue—only to draw a sharp breath when your hand brushed dangerously close to the obvious bulge forming beneath his shorts. “You see?” he complained, half-laugh, half-whine. “I was literally about to pass out, but you had to show up with that filthy grin and mention my favorite position. Now I’m awake in the worst possible way.”

Your grin spread wider. “Worst for your sleep schedule, maybe. Best for me.”

He snorted, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Fine,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face in exasperation. “Fine. But I swear if you make me come so hard I can’t function in the morning, it’s on you.” He pressed his lips together, cheeks pink. “And if we do this, you better not bail halfway. My favorite position’s kinda—intense.”

“Deal,” you said sweetly, hooking a finger into the waistband of his shorts. “Show me. Or are you too chicken?”

That got him. “Oh my god, you’re the worst,” he muttered, cheeks burning as he scooted onto his knees, motioning for you to get into place. “You remember how I told you to—yeah, yeah, just turn around.” He gestured for you to face away from him, then pulled at your clothes, yanking them free of your hips. “I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I should be unconscious.”

You bit your lip, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you positioned yourself the way he’d once described—one leg bent, the other extended a bit, letting him fit behind you. “Then don’t think,” you teased softly. “Just do.”

He exhaled a half-laugh, half-groan, hooking one arm around your waist. “Don’t blame me,” he warned, “when you can’t handle how good this is.” Then, in a quick motion, he pushed his shorts down enough to free himself, pressing his cock against you. You shivered at the heat, bracing for the rush.

When he thrust in, it was sudden, deeper than expected, and you let out a shocked moan. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder, letting out a shaky exhale. “See?” he mumbled, voice vibrating with frustrated lust. “This is why it’s my favorite. Angles, control…so good.” A half-smile twitched on his lips, despite his annoyed tone.

You whimpered a bit, arching into him. “Okay, I get it,” you breathed, heart pounding. “It’s—really intense from this angle.”

He let out a breathless laugh. “Told you. You said you wanted to try it.” Carefully, he adjusted his stance, starting a slow, deliberate rhythm that made the muscles in his arms flex as he guided your hips to match him. Each motion was potent, a targeted friction that drew gasps from your throat. His tiredness seemed to fuse into this almost savage focus on the pleasure. “God,” he whispered, voice cracking, “you feel so…holy crap.”

You couldn’t form coherent words, overwhelmed by how every thrust hit that perfect spot. Your nails bit into the sheets, a half-laugh falling from your lips. “You’re sure you’re about to pass out?” you teased, breath hitching.

He grumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Shut up,” he whispered, laughter stirring in his chest. “I’m so tired, but my body’s going insane.” He rolled his hips, hitting even deeper, and you let out a strangled moan that made him smirk. “Mmm, yeah, that’s it,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering. “This is it. Best position for a reason.”

Your body trembled, overwhelmed by the relentless strokes that seemed to find every nerve. It was filthy and comedic all at once—Riki complaining about his schedule yet pounding into you like he had all the time in the world. Overstimulation built quickly, pleasure surging, your cries getting louder.

“R-Riki,” you gasped, voice quivering on the edge. “I’m so close—”

“I can tell,” he muttered, breath ragged. “God, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can feel you clenching. That’s insane.” He upped the pace, a low moan slipping out when you squeezed tight, your walls fluttering around him. His own voice wobbled with nearing release. “We’re finishing this fast, okay? I can’t do a marathon tonight.”

You nodded frantically, each thrust a jolt to your system. Overstimulation soared, your body threatening to snap. “I’m close, I’m—”

“Me too,” he cut you off, letting out a soft whine of disbelief. “That’s what you get for messing with me right before bed. Gonna—gonna come—” He let out a guttural moan, hips snapping roughly as he lost himself in the final moments.

You fell headlong into orgasm with a cry, your nails scraping the sheets, body seizing around him. He followed you with a broken groan, spilling inside you as his thighs tensed. For a moment, you both froze, locked together, breathing ragged. Then he stumbled back, pulling out with a shaky laugh that wobbled in his chest.

“Damn,” he panted, half-laughing through the haze. “That was—like, the best worst idea. I’m definitely half-dead now, but I can’t even be mad.”

You let out a tired laugh, letting your arms and legs sprawl. “So…worth it,” you managed, face flushed, body still humming from the overstimulation. “Your favorite position is no joke.”

He dropped onto his back next to you, chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling. “I told you,” he murmured, a lazy grin on his lips, “I’m unstoppable in that position. Good thing we went quick, though, ‘cause I can literally feel my eyelids shutting as we speak.” He peeked over at you, cheeks still warm. “You satisfied, demon?”

“Very,” you replied, wiggling closer to press your lips to his damp shoulder. “Now you can sleep, unstoppable football star.”

He chuckled, letting his arm drape over your waist to tug you in. “If I show up tomorrow and pass out mid-drill, it’s on you,” he teased, burying his face in your hair. “But I guess it was worth it.”

As you both settled under the covers, hearts still pounding, you marveled at how he remained half-lidded with exhaustion yet so unbelievably satisfied. Tomorrow’s early morning might be brutal, but neither of you regretted diving into that comedic, filthy chaos for the sake of his favorite position. If anything, it just made the night that much sweeter—and the morning that much more hilariously challenging.

fin.

guys this was insane sorry abt that where did all thsi even come from

[heewhoresimp]

Domestic jay must readdd

the art & science of parenting 101 | jay park

✰ summary: the art & science of parenting 101 (PSY1009)— in this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child'. late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal.   what you didn't expect to be part of the deal? getting paired with jay park—the last person you'd trust to raise, well, anything. you’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade.  warning: sleep deprivation is guaranteed. and maybe, just maybe, some unexpected feelings for your disaster of a partner. good luck! 

✰ pairing: jay park x y/n [ft. enha members!]

✰ genre: fluff, comedy | e2l!au, college!au, (fake)parenting!au, he fell first, she fell harder type beat

✰ contains: mentions of parenting & parental neglect (sorta, only a smidge of like five words), crack! bc if you know me i self indulge in crack whoops, jay & y/n being opposites & school rivals, jay's annoying smirk like a million times, reader & jay are psych majors, jay's also a photographer, cheesy ass kisses, jay & reader are awkward! so awkward! there’s SO much tension . but in a cute awkward crush way

✰ wc: 20.5k [ONCE AGAIN -- this was not intentional..if you know me i just have too much fun writing sometimes & get too attached to the characters...]

✰ a/n: omg it’s finally done. tell me why it took me so long to finish, i promise i didn’t mean to but life’s been busier lately :’) aNyways! ugh i luv writing e2l!jay for some reason,,,he fits the trope so well in my eyes heh but i hope you all like him & the characters as much as i enjoyed writing them !!! as busy as i am i love indulging in my crack x enha writes :P hope u enjoy & tell me what you think <333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Welcome to PSY1009, The Art & Science of Parenting 101! Throughout the next 12 weeks, we’re going to dive deep into the wondrous world of parenting—dirty diapers and all. To kick off our course, we’re starting with our campus-famous project: raising your very own robot baby for the first half of the semester (with the help of your assigned partner, of course). Before our first class, we ask that you complete this pre-project questionnaire on your current views and opinions about parenting. No pressure—there are no right or wrong answers (maybe only judgements from your future robot offspring)!

Q1 – The Art & Science of Parenting 101 aims to apply different psychological approaches to parenting. What theories and methods do you believe are important to parenting? 

Y/N's Submission [8:25AM, September 18th]:

"I strongly believe that effective parenting revolves around a strict routine, which can be reinforced through the principles of operant conditioning, as developed by B.F. Skinner. Proper feeding schedules, consistent nap times, and regular development check-ins are essential—I think a structured timetable would ensure a baby's needs are met efficiently and consistently. With a set schedule and a focus on developmental milestones, I believe we can maximize a child's growth potential, even if it's just a robot baby.”

Q2 – What do you expect to learn and gain out of this co-parenting experience?  

Y/N's Submission [8:29AM, September 18th]:  

"I expect to confirm that a well-organized system is the key to successful parenting. I want to test my hypothesis that if you follow a set structure, yes, even with a robot baby, things will run smoothly. I am hoping that this experience runs smoothly with no unnecessary surprises.” 

✭・.・✫

Satisfied with your answers, you click 'submit' and close your laptop, feeling a wave of satisfaction as you settle into your seat—center of the second row—as you wait for the 9AM lecture to start.  

It's 8:30AM.  

You're the only one in the room.  

Yeah, you're a little early. So what? One can never be too prepared. You've waited for this course forever, and you're determined to not only ace it (like you do with every class) but to dominate. So yes, coming early is characteristic of you, as you want to ensure you get the best seat in the classroom: center of the second row—center to get the best view of the professor's podium, and second row to be close enough to show you're engaged, but not close enough that it screams, Look at me, I'm a tryhard!  

It's clear you've come prepared. Plus, this class isn't just any ordinary elective—it's the elective to take. Only the top students majoring in psychology get in, available only through direct invite by the professor. If you were invited to PSY1009, it meant you were the crème de la crème of psychology students. The best of the best. The elite. The— 

Your train of thought is derailed when an all-too-familiar figure strolls into the room with that signature smirk. Backpack slung lazily over one (1) shoulder (as if two straps are too much effort), hair clearly still bedhead status, wearing whatever clothes he fished off The Chair (you know, the one—where all questionable, semi-clean laundry lives). 

He strolls past you—of course—and plops down right in front of you. Front row.  

Try-hard. 

"Y/N, fancy seeing you here," Jay Park spins around, a knowing look plastered on his face, eyes gleaming. "I missed seeing that frown of yours all summer." 

"What are you doing here, Jay?" You roll your eyes and scoff at his comment. "Don't tell me you got into this class. It's for serious students."  

Jay's grin only widens to your despair. "Contrary to your deeply misinformed opinion, Professor Kim actually loves me. I'm a great student."  

“I don’t believe it,” you deadpan back. “You never turn your assignments in on time, and quite frankly, I'm surprised you were even able to find this classroom."  

Jay shrugs, unfazed. "What can I say? Professor Kim doesn't just look at deadlines, she looks at talent. Guess that says a lot about me, huh?"  

You mumble something under your breath about ‘talent for procrastination’ but before he can fire back, Professor Kim walks into the room, cuing the silence of all the students who've filled up the class.  

"Good morning, class! I'm so happy to see so many familiar faces."  

Jay turns his head back towards the front of the room, as you instantly straighten up, flashing your favorite professor a smile. This is officially the fifth course you've taken with Professor Kim. It's no secret you’re one of her biggest fans—the countless early mornings you've spent waiting at your computer, finger hovering over the ‘enroll’ button the second registration opens so you can be one of the first students to sign up for her classes have proven that. Challenging but rewarding, her classes are always worth the effort. And yet, for reasons beyond your comprehension, Jay Park—Jay Freaking Park—somehow always ends up in the same classes. Every. Single. Time. It’s like a curse.  

A loud, messy, procrastinating curse…

…that just so happens to have a side profile almost as annoyingly good that it only pisses you off more. 

You wonder if he’s actually here to learn or if he’s just here to spite you. Because, honestly, the amount of classes you’ve shared with him is no longer a coincidence. Five semesters in a row? Suspicious. 

But realistically, and unfortunately, Jay does study the same major as you, which means those last five semesters? Oh, those were five long semesters of endless debates on discussion boards, in-class duels over psychological theories, and the infamous showdown for the TA position in Professor Kim's Intro to Psychology course. And the worst part? Neither of you got the job because Professor Kim—in a diplomatic twist that made zero sense to you—deemed you both 'equally qualified.' So, the job went to the third best candidate instead. Tough luck.  

You open up your laptop again, opening a perfectly organized Google Doc, ready to take notes on whatever pearls of wisdom Professor Kim is currently bestowing about your upcoming project—which, in hindsight, you should really be paying attention to. You should be. But something so ridiculous, so blood-boiling, pulls your attention elsewhere.  

Jay's desk is completely...empty. 

No laptop. No notebook. Not even a measly little pencil. Did he bring an empty backpack? Or did he just walk in here like he's casually waiting for someone to present him his grade on a silver platter? He's just sitting there like this is a casual hangout—probably expecting his robot baby to parent itself while he simply supervises (oh, how you pity the poor soul who ends up as his partner).  

Before your self-induced inner monologue spirals into complete rage, you suddenly hear your professor's voice cut through the class, breaking you out of your mental rant.  

"Y/N and Jay." 

Wait. What?

Your head snaps up so fast it's a miracle it didn't pop off your neck and roll away.

You blink. You must have misheard.

"Y/N and Jay," Professor Kim repeats as if she could read your confused expression, voice too nonchalant for the life-wrecking news she's about to deliver: "You two are partners."  

The words hit you like a bus. No, not even. The words hit you like a bus driven by a T-Rex that flips over, crashes into a building, and explodes into a million ashy pieces. And there you are—standing right in the middle of the wreckage, somehow still alive to suffer through every second of it—while Jay, smug as ever, whips around in his seat to face you.  

And of course, there it is: that look of his that screams 'This is going to be so much fun for me, and so much pain for you.' 

"Guess we're parents now, Y/N!" Jay chimes, his voice dripping with so much sarcastic enthusiasm you swear he just got handed an Oscar for Most Annoying Human. If that tone were a substance, you'd bottle it up and use it as insect repellent. On him. Repeatedly.  

You blink at him, you're sure—you're praying—this has to be some elaborate prank. Maybe Jay bribed Professor Kim with his rare attempt at turning in an assignment on time just to mess with you. Or maybe the universe just hates you and this is your karma for stealing your roommate's last ramen packet that one time a year ago.  

But no, Professor Kim keeps rattling off other pairs like it's business as usual, as if your entire academic career and sanity isn't currently being flushed down a metaphorical toilet, while you sit there, paralyzed, your brain rapidly melting into a useless puddle from the sheer thought of being paired with him.  

"What's wrong, Y/N?" Jay teases as he leans over the back of his chair towards you, puppy dog eyes on display. "You don't want to play house with me?"  

You narrow your eyes at him, mentally wielding your imaginary bug spray like it's a holy weapon. 

"I don’t," you reply flatly. "In fact, I’d rather perform open-heart surgery on myself with a plastic spoon than co-parent with you." 

Jay’s eyes light up as his hand goes to his heart. "Aw, you really know how to make a guy feel special. This is why I like our little relationship, you know?" 

"Relationship?" You scoff loud enough to make the people sitting three rows behind you to glance in your direction. You bring your voice down to a whisper, leaning towards him. "The only thing we have in common is a shared oxygen supply." 

"See, that’s the spirit," he says, turning back to face the front like he didn't just ruin your life. And somehow, that pisses you off even more. Is it his voice? His stupidly perfect hair? The fact that he has the audacity to breathe in your general direction? At this point, he could literally sneeze, and it would still feel like a personal attack.

Is it too late to switch majors? Or schools? Maybe even countries? Surely, restarting your entire college career as a super senior would be better than spending the next six weeks parenting with Jay. Jay Park, who has probably never held anything more fragile than a Red Solo Cup.  

Jay Park, who is just sitting there, all calm and collected, clearly loving every second of your misery.  

While you're frozen in pure, unadulterated horror.  

Your grade? Plummeting as we speak.  Your robot baby? Probably going to need therapy by day two. And you?  

You're screwed.

Q1 – The Art & Science of Parenting 101 aims to apply different psychological approaches to parenting. What are your current theories and methods that you believe are important to parenting? 

Jay’s Submission [10:09AM, September 18th]: 

"I think babies need more freedom to explore and make their own choices, even if that just means grabbing random things. Bowlby's attachment theory leans towards a secure attachment, but I don't think that means hovering over them 24/7. It's about being there when they really need you, not scheduling every second of the day. I also believe letting babies learn through their own experiences is key. Strict behaviorism, such as Skinner's, sounds exhausting and I don't think a rigid system is what makes a good parent. Babies are messy, and that's okay." 

Q2 – What do you expect to learn and gain from this experience? 

Jay's Submission [10:12AM, September 18th]:  

"I'm hoping to learn how to be a responsive, yet flexible parent without overcomplicating it. The goal is to find balance between being hands-on without hovering. And, I think this whole robot baby thing will teach me how to handle unpredictable situations—because no matter how much you plan, life is going to surprise you. And also, being able to say I know how to change a diaper under 30 seconds sounds pretty cool :)" 

✭・.・✫

Jay's screwed.  

Like, completely, utterly, hopelessly screwed. 

He was already kinda skeptical he’d make it past his 40s if he kept living the way he does, but now? Now, he’s not even sure he’ll survive the next 24 hours. Why? Well, today’s the first official meeting with you—as co-parents—at the campus coffee shop at 12PM sharp. 

It's 12:17PM.  

He's late.  

Seventeen whole minutes late. To your meeting. And you're basically the human embodiment of an atomic clock. You’re probably sitting there, checking your watch every few seconds, calculating his absence down to the millisecond. Jay can practically feel the murderous vibes you’re radiating from halfway across campus.  

And while Jay sometimes finds your need for punctuality weirdly endearing (but don't tell anyone that), he also values not getting scolded on a Saturday morning (12PM is still morning to him, don't judge), especially when he could be sleeping in.   

As the café comes into view, Jay considers just throwing the towel in. Maybe he could fake a sudden illness, or better yet, skip town and maybe fake his own death or something. 

There's no point. Knowing you, you'd probably hunt him down for sport.  

With a sigh, Jay pushes open the door to the café, bracing himself for impact.  

And there you are. Exactly how he imagined.  

Seated at a small table by the window, papers perfectly aligned, laptop open, and two different colored highlighters placed meticulously side by side. Your foot taps in perfect sync with the café's background music, your eyebrows knitted together in focus, and your teeth chewing your bottom lip as if you're about to crack the Krabby Patty secret formula. The window next to you allows the afternoon sunlight to spill through and reflect off of you, making you look...dare he say it...almost pretty.

If Jay wasn't fearing for his life, he might have actually stopped to admire the view. Might have.  

When Jay finally reaches your table—17 minutes and 46 seconds late (but who's counting)—you look up, meeting his gaze with a look that's somewhere between not surprised but definitely not impressed. 

"Well, well," you say, quirking your mouth up ever so slightly that Jay thinks he might see you smile for the first time in, like, ever. "Look who finally decided to join us! Must be nice living on Jay Standard Time."  

Jay flashes his usual, unbothered smile as he pulls out the chair across from you. "Oh, c'mon, Y/N. Seventeen minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of life."  

"Yeah? Tell that to our future robot baby when you're seventeen minutes late to feed it and its batteries die."  

"Yikes. That got dark quick," Jay's mutters, grin wavering. "But hey, glad to see you're finally accepting the fact that it's our future baby!"  

"Future robot baby," you peer your eyes at him from above your laptop. "Anyways, did you read the guidelines?"  

Jay rubs the back of his neck as he leans back into his chair. "Uh, define 'read'."  

Without missing a beat, you slap a packet of papers down on the table. "Here's the breakdown. Feeding schedules, emotional development tracker, diaper changes, mood swings—the whole shebang. We're going to have to approach this strategically."  

"Woah, okay," Jay's eyebrows shoot up, his brain trying to catch up with the words you just spewed at him. "First, how the heck is a robot going to develop emotionally—that's a little scary if you ask me. Like, dystopian, Black Mirror, scary. And second, since when is parenting just following a spreadsheet? Isn't part of it, you know, winging it?"  

At the words winging it, your eye twitches so violently, Jay half-expects you to reach across the table and strangle him with his own hoodie strings. 

"Winging it?" You shut your laptop and lean forward. "Winging it is exactly how we end up with a malfunctioning robot baby that starts a fire and fails us. Parenting is all about structure, consistency—"  

"—and having a little fun," Jay cuts in, mouth quirked with mischief. "I mean, what's parenting without some chaos?"  

"Chaos," you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him, "is what you bring into my life on a daily basis."  

"Yeah, and yet you secretly love it," Jay shoots back, leaning in to meet you, as if daring you to disagree.  

You stare at him, unblinking. It's either you're plotting his slow and painful demise or seriously considering what he just said. No in-between.  

And yet, somehow, Jay almost finds it endearing how you can look like the world's most innocent golden retriever while also simultaneously sending him six feet under with just one agonizing glare. Almost.  

Finally, you sigh, "This isn't a joke, Jay. This is 40% of our grade."  

"And I'm 100% ready!" Jay shoots back with a wink, to which you respond with a full-body eye roll.  

"Oh yeah? Alright, Mr. Ready-for-Anything, what's your brilliant plan?"

"Hmm," Jay leans back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head as if he's got it all figured out (he doesn't). "Well, for one, I was thinking maybe...shifts. We split responsibilities based on our schedules. I'll take the baby on certain hours, you take it other hours, and we'll spend our free days together. And if we're not together and there's a baby crisis, we stay on call." 

In complete honesty, that came from out of nowhere. Jay didn't even know any ideas were subconsciously cooking up within him until the words tumbled out of his mouth before he realized it. But there's no way he was going to tell you that, not when you don't immediately tear his idea to shreds. In fact, you actually look...impressed? 

Or so he thinks. Jay definitely needs to get better at this whole 'reading your expressions' thing.  

"Huh," you murmur to yourself, fingers tapping against the table. "That's...not the worst idea you've ever had."  

Jay feels elated. Validation? From you? Phew, this means his life is spared. Thank god.  

Jay flashes you a satisfied smile and while you don't return it, he hopes you're secretly softening. Just a little. Behind that straight face, you're probably low-key impressed, but no way are you letting him see that.  

"Don't get too excited," you say, as if you've got some sixth sense for whenever Jay throws a mental victory parade. "This is only day one. Of, like, 42. We've got a long way to go."  

"Okay, okay," Jay raises his hands in surrender, though there's no hiding the smirk on his face as he still mentally takes the win. "Message received. Let's just figure out our schedules?"  

You nod, pushing your laptop aside to make space for a sheet of paper you've already prepared—because of course you're prepared. It's like you're about to whip up some elaborate high-stakes legal contract that probably involves blood signatures.

"Okay," you say, clicking your pen, picking a bright blue that basically stabs Jay's eyes by simply existing, but whatever makes you happy, I guess. You write 'Jay's Schedule' at the top, neatly highlighting it with a pink highlighter that somehow hurts even more. Jay wonders if this is a secret ploy to blind him into submission. He wouldn't put it past you.  

"What's your typical weekly schedule like?"  

Jay squints, clearly thinking hard, as he tries to remember what a 'typical' week looks like for him. Mostly it's a mix of spontaneous decisions, power naps, and gym sessions sprinkled between classes.  

"Uh...well," Jay rubs the back of his neck. "I usually sleep in until like 11...sometimes noon, depends on the vibe, you know? Classes after that, gym a couple times a week, maybe? And, um, naps are non-negotiable. Make sure you pencil those in too."  

Your pen freezes mid-air, hovering like you're considering whether to throw it at his face or not.  

"Naps? Non-negotiable? For someone who wakes up at 11AM? We're raising a child, Jay, this requires commitment!"  

Jay raises a calm eyebrow. "Hey, sleep is very important for brain function! You wouldn't want me underperforming as a parent, right?"  

Your eye twitches. "No, Jay. That's already my biggest fear."  

But instead of escalating the snark, you bite your lip, clearly restraining yourself from unleashing a full lecture on time management. Jay struggles to stifle his own laugh at your reaction. If looks could kill, you'd have him buried under six feet of color-coded charts and to-do lists by now.  

Finally, you sigh, accepting your fate and jotting down ‘Jay’s naps: apparently crucial for survival’ in your notes with a frown drawn next to it, while Jay gives you an approving nod from across the table. 

"Alright, my turn," you flip the page over with dramatic flair, carefully writing 'Y/N's Schedule' in the same stab-your-eyes-blue and pink highlight combo as Jay mentally braces himself for what's to come.  

"So," you continue, starting with that no-nonsense tone that's clearly meant to be serious—but to Jay, there's something almost charming about how strict you are. "I wake up at 6."  

Jay's brain immediately short-circuits. Forget charming. You’re downright crazy. 

"6? As in AM? On purpose?"  

You blink back at him, as if he's the one saying something ridiculous. "Yes, Jay. On purpose."  

His mind reels, purely amazed, yet utterly horrified at the thought. 6AM? Who does that? He's seen 6AM before, sure, but only when he's stayed up all night, probably cramming for an exam. His mornings start at 10AM at best, and that's very, very rarely. There are birds chirping at 6AM. Who wants to live in a world where birds chirp you awake?  

When he doesn't respond—still in pure shock—you keep going, undeterred by his obvious existential crisis. "I usually have class at 8AM until 1PM, then I try to pick up a shift here," you gesture around the very café you two are in, "and then—"  

"Wait, wait," Jay holds up a hand, needing a mental pause button. "You work here?"  

"Yeah," you nod, like it's the most casual thing ever. "Why, is that surprising?"  

Jay squints at you. He's never considered the idea of you pulling espresso shots and dealing with caffeine-deprived college students—he's always pegged you more as a 'quiet math tutor for third-graders' type. Or maybe someone who sells cute stationery at the campus bookstore, organizing pens in rainbow order or something. But now that he's picturing it, yeah, it kind of makes sense. Maybe that's why you're so uptight all the time—too much exposure to coffee fumes. Or, more likely (and evidently), you're just an insanely busy person.  

He likes the coffee fumes theory better.  

"I guess not," he admits, then surprises even himself by adding, "that's kind of impressive, though."  

He gives you a genuine smile, and you blink back, as if searching for the hidden jab that's usually lurking beneath his words. But it's not there this time...oddly. Slowly, your expression softens, and you give him the tiniest of smiles. "Thanks? It's alright, I guess."  

It's nothing big—no, not at all—but Jay feels a weird sense of accomplishment at your reaction. Better than nothing. 

He leans in over the table, all faux-innocence—eyebrows raises, large puppy eyes and all. "Does this mean you can get me a free coffee?"  

You lean in too, mirroring him, and he's not sure why his heart skips a beat at the close proximity. 

"Yeah...no. Nice try."  

Jay groans, throwing himself back in his chair dramatically. Worth a shot.  

"Anyway," you continue, totally unfazed, "I usually work here until 5, then Mondays I have a study group for Econ 301, and club meetings scattered throughout the week."  

Jay's head spins for maybe the nth time since he's sat down. Honestly, you lost him way back at 'class until 1PM.' Your schedule is like some kind of twisted Sudoku puzzle, except much more intimidating.  

"So...you're, like, busy...all the time?" he asks, the words tumbling out of his mouth as his brain tries to process how anyone can function like this.  

You give him a look that almost convinces Jay himself that he's the crazy one here. "Yes, Jay. I am."  

"Wow, okay. So why did you even take this class? What happened to being committed? You don't even have time to breathe."  

You narrow your eyes, and he swears you're about to launch into some motivational TedTalk. "It's called efficiency, Jay. Also, I like to challenge myself. That's what parenthood is about, after all."

Jay stares at you like you've just self-declared yourself a cyborg.

"Oookayyy," he drawls, dragging out the word because, honestly, he's 99% sure you've completely lost it. The remaining 1%?  

It's slightly impressed by your sheer, terrifying level of commitment. He's over here winging life, including this conversation, while you've practically mapped out the rest of your entire existence. 

"Do you even, like, sleep? Or is that optional for you?"  

You shoot him an amused glance, half-joking, half-serious. "Sleep is for the weak."  

Jay raises an eyebrow. "Good to know I'm weak, then."  

You stifle a laugh, but Jay catches the brief twitch of your lips before you quickly compose yourself. He’s known you for so long, and yet, this might be the first time he’s seen even a hint of your guard slipping. It’s subtle, barely there, but he notices. And for some reason, it makes him smile. You’re always so put together, so serious—but this small crack in your armor? Jay can’t help but appreciate it.  

Maybe, just maybe, he could get you to soften up more if he tried hard enough. And yeah, he’s definitely going to try. 

But before he can try to tease you more, you snap back into business mode, instantly scribbling down more notes. "Alright, so let’s just split the baby's care based on my work schedule and your...nap schedule, apparently."  

Jay leans back in his chair, catching that flicker of amusement in your voice—despite the serious look on your face—and he fights the urge to push a little more. There's something about that side of you—not the one behind the cold wall you've built of color-coded schedules and deadlines—that he wants to see more of. Somehow.  

"Works for me,” he shrugs and grins at you, “but if the baby's anything like me, it'll nap a lot. You might have it easy."

"And if it’s anything like me,” you mutter, barely pausing, “then it’ll easily get annoyed by you.”

Jay catches the ghost of a smile on your face, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it—which he definitely is. It’s enough to keep him intrigued. He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand like he’s watching some fascinating show. 

You don’t notice him staring—or maybe you do, but you’re too busy pretending you don’t. Either way, there’s a small, almost imperceptible shift in your body language that Jay senses. Your shoulders aren’t as tense, and you don’t look like you’re mentally calculating how many minutes you have left before you can escape this meeting.

Jay decides to take advantage of the moment. “So…do you think our robot baby is also going to be a superhuman genius? Like in a you way?” 

You finally let out a laugh, to his surprise, and he feels so satisfied he has to bite his lip to hold back a smile. “Definitely, but also part crazy. Like in a you way.” 

Jay chuckles, mentally declaring this conversation a victory. Your laugh fades but for a split second, he catches you studying his face like you’re trying to figure out what his deal is. And he doesn’t mind it at all—because, for once, you’re not giving him the usual death glare that sometimes seems permanently reserved for him.

Then, just as he starts to settle into this very rare, almost… pleasant vibe between you two, you suddenly snap back to reality, capping your pen and standing up. 

Jay frowns as he watches as you turn towards the coffee bar, not ready for this conversation to end just yet.  

"Wait, where are you going?" he blurts out, sounding more tragic than intended. 

You pause, turning back with a knowing look that sends his pulse tripping.

"Do you want a free coffee or not?"  

The following Monday, at exactly 9:55AM, you and Jay are handed your robot baby—Jisoo, as Jay somehow convinces you to name it after his favorite celebrity—at the end of your class.  

You didn't even try to put up a fight. The moment Jay's eyes lit up at the idea, you knew you'd already lost. After three whole minutes of bickering and one PowerPoint titled 'Why Our Baby Deserves to be Named After Star Quality,' you realized there was no saving it. He had arguments. He had fan chants memorized. For a robot baby. Your robot baby. 

"Admit it, Jisoo has star quality," Jay beams, proudly looking down at the robotic baby in the baby carrier that came with her.  

You look from Jisoo to Jay, then back to Jisoo, unimpressed. "It's a robot, Jay. Not your bias."  

Jay just shrugs, unbothered. "Bias or not, she deserves only the best."  

He glances down at the robot, which blinks its eyes open and closed with a soft whirring noise, its chubby plastic arms flopping lifelessly by its sides.  

There's a beat of silence as you both stare down at it, unsure of what to do next.  

"It's kind of creepy, right?" you finally mutter, breaking the knowing silence between you two.  

Jay snorts. "Not even 'kind of.' A lot." He leans in to inspect it, his brows furrowed, "So, does it just…sit there?”  

You huff, already pulling out the meticulously detailed notes you took during class. "No, it's on schedule. It says here it won't eat for another three hours and it has a clean diaper, so everything should be fine. Babies are predictable once you understand their needs, Jay."  

Jay lifts an eyebrow as he turns to face you, "Right...because in real life, babies are totally like robots and are totally predictable. Got it."  

You open your mouth to respond, probably with something unnecessarily snarky (you don't know what yet though, you haven't gotten to that part yet), when a loud, high-pitched wail shatters the air, cutting through the now-empty classroom you two are in. The robot baby's face contorts into an exaggerated crying expression, its mechanical arms flailing (which you didn't even know was possible) like it's preparing for takeoff. 

"What the—" Jay instinctively jumps back like Jisoo is a grenade on her last few seconds. "Why's it doing that? What did you do?"  

"I didn’t do anything!" You snap, panic slowly rising as you flip through your notes quickly. "It's not supposed to be crying! It shouldn't be hungry, and it's definitely not tired yet!"  

The wailing intensifies, vibrating through the room as the cries echo louder and louder, Jisoo clearly not caring about your carefully crafted timeline. You glance down at your schedule. Why is it crying?  

You groan and snatch Jisoo out of the carrier, awkwardly holding her in a way that's probably not safe for any life form, real or otherwise. The wailing doesn't stop. In fact, it gets louder, as if Jisoo's personally offended by your existence.  

"Hold her!" You quickly thrust her into Jay's arms, a horrified expression written all over his face. "You deal with it."  

"Deal with what? It's a robot!" Jay stares at the baby in his arms like it's going to explode. "Oh god, are we even sure this is safe?"  

"Yes, Jay! It's a baby!" You're sure you're borderline going insane from the combination of the screeching baby and Jay's apparent lack of brain cells.  

Jay's eyes widen as Jisoo practically vibrates with the force of its cries. He tries to mimic the way you were holding her, cradling her against his chest like she's made of glass. It doesn't help. Jisoo keeps wailing, and now Jay looks genuinely distressed. 

"Uh, shh, little buddy, it's okay...Should I, like, burp it? Sing to it?"  

“Sing?” You give him a look like he’s completely lost it, but Jay’s already humming off-key under his breath. 

The baby, predictably, continues screeching. 

You both just stand there, staring at the baby, then at each other, the panic palpable in the room. Jay continues bouncing it lightly, as if this will magically solve everything. “Does it have an off switch?” he asks, glancing at you like you've parented a robot baby before. 

You continue to frantically flip through your notes, pages rustling in a blur. “No, Jay! We can’t just turn off our baby!” 

“Well, I don’t know, Y/N, but I’m pretty sure babies aren’t supposed to sound like they’re summoning a demon,” Jay retorts, his tone climbing the ladder of panic. "Maybe she's hungry or something."  

You’re still too busy scanning your notes as you shake your head in disagreement. “It can’t be hungry, it's not supposed to be!"  

Jay just shakes his head, gently cradling the baby even though he's sure it's about to lift off into space from how much it was shaking right now. 

“Sometimes you can’t schedule everything, Y/N. Maybe it just needs a bottle, like, right now.” 

The idea frustrates you. “But it’s not time yet. If we feed it off-schedule, it’ll mess everything up for the day.” 

The baby’s cries reach a shrill pitch, like it’s protesting your protest. Jay looks at you, then back at the crying baby, then back at you again. 

“I think it’s already messed up, so maybe we just... feed it?” he says, half-grinning, half-exasperated. 

You hesitate. It feels wrong. Babies are supposed to follow patterns, stick to a routine...or so you thought. You let out a frustrated sigh, your brain bleeding from the sheer sound of the glass-breaking screams.  

“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing the bottle from the supply bag. “But if this throws off the whole schedule, it’s your fault.” 

Jay grins, but there’s something softer in his expression behind it as he watches you struggle with the bottle...and your need for control. “Deal.” 

You hand the bottle to him, and he places the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The wailing stops almost instantly. The sudden silence is deafening, and both of you are stunned for a moment, looking down at the baby who’s now peacefully drinking. 

You let out a small gasp of relief and turn your head up to look at Jay, who's widened eyes meet yours.  

Jay lets out a held breath. “Well. That was traumatic.” 

You roll your eyes, though there’s a slight twitch at the corner of your lips as you mutter, “I think I just lost three years of my life."  

Jay watches as you carefully take Jisoo from his arms and place her back into the carrier, making sure everything is in order. He’s still catching his breath, but he glances at you—relaxed, for once, after the panic—and it makes him feel something weird. He almost laughs. 

“I dunno,” he says, a little teasingly. “I think we handled that pretty well.” 

“Great, now just five weeks and six days of this left." You give him a look, but there’s a tiny, fleeting smile this time. "I just don't understand why it was crying. It's not supposed to need food until—"  

Jay cuts you off with a chuckle. “Y/N, it’s a baby. Real ones don’t run on algorithms. They just... cry when they need something. Like this little gal. I mean, you can't exactly schedule crying, right?” 

The silence stretches for a moment as you watch him, realization dawning a little slower than you’d like to admit. “I guess,” you mutter reluctantly, earning yourself a content-looking Jay.  

"Look at us—team effort," Jay says, as he beams a smile to you before glancing at Jisoo. "We're naturals at this whole parenting thing."  

"Yeah, okay," you roll your eyes, but the smile on your face says differently as you reach out to unnecessarily fuss with the small blanket in Jisoo's carrier.  

Jay's eyes light up at your response. "A smile? The Y/N gave me a smile? Admit it, we make a great team, huh?"  

You scoff, but the smile on your face proves there's no bite to it—Jay knows there's no bite to it.  

Maybe, just maybe, he has a point.  

You'd never admit it to him, though. 

Not yet.  

To your pleasant surprise, the past two weeks have been...weirdly smooth. Like, suspiciously smooth. You and Jay have somehow managed to fall into an actual routine—dropping off and picking up Jisoo like two semi-functional adults who almost know what they’re doing. You still wouldn’t call it 'seamless', as Jay himself struggled with having a consistent schedule for once in his life, but at least you’ve gotten through the weeks without major incidents or spontaneous combustion. 

That doesn't mean you'll admit to anyone—least of all yourself—that you and Jay might actually make a decent team. His parenting methods are still objectively abysmal...to you, at least. I mean, just the other day, he almost put Jisoo's diaper on upside down. Upside down. You didn't even know that was possible, but leave it to Jay to surprise you more and more.  

Despite his questionable approach to baby care, Jisoo's still alive (you think), and somehow you've managed not to explode at him yet (key word: yet). So, that's...something, I guess.  

Today, though. Today is a different beast entirely.  

It's Sunday, and miraculously, you've managed to give yourself the evening off. No café shift, no emergency club meetings. The stars have aligned, and for once, you have free time. And what did you decide to do with this rare gift from the universe?  

Spent it with Jay. Parenting. Together. In his apartment.  

You blame Professor Kim for this cruel twist of fate. Something about submitting photographic evidence of co-parenting. After all, this is a partner project.  

Teamwork, she called it.  

You like to call it pure suffering.  

Which brings you here, standing outside Jay's apartment with a tote bag of baby supplies on one shoulder, Jisoo's carrier on the other, and a silent prayer on your lips. If this apartment is even half the disaster you're imagining—frat house, landfill, or some unholy combination of both—you're fully prepared to turn around and run for the hills.  

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever horrors await behind the door, and knock three times.  

Precisely five seconds later, the door swings open, and...yep, there's Jay. His hair is a mess, his clothes are rumpled, and you can't tell if he's been a) napping, b) playing video games, or c) all of the above.  

"Hey," he greets you with a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded like he's still half-asleep.  

It's 6PM.  

You stare at him, deadpan. "You look like you've been hit by a truck."  

Jay snorts as he raises an eyebrow. "You should see the truck."  

Before you can fire back with something equally sarcastic, you catch a glimpse of his apartment over his shoulder, and—you blink, confused. Wait. Wait.  

Well this can't be right.  

You were expecting a disaster. Maybe a few pizza boxes, a stray sock on the floor, some suspicious stains on the couch. But no. Instead...it's clean. Like, really clean.  

The floors are spotless, there's a shelf with neatly stacked books, and are those...framed photos on the walls? Like, actual art? Your own apartment doesn't even have actual art, just print outs from Walgreens of photos you thought were cute on Pinterest and your Justin Bieber posters you got from a magazine back in high-school. Damn, now you're starting to feel ashamed.  

You do a double-take, your brain struggling to process what's happening, as Jay still stands in front of you, confused at your gawking. "Y/N? You good?"  

You snap your mouth shut, as you spot a vacuum neatly tucked in the corner of the living room. "I...I'm just surprised you even know what a vacuum is." 

"You'll learn I'm full of surprises, Miss Y/N," he says, casually leaning against the doorframe as he looks down at you, his gaze making you shift in your stance in front of him. "Come on in."  

You step inside cautiously, like you're waiting for something to jump out at you—maybe a camera with someone saying 'You've been pranked, this isn't Jay's actual apartment!'  

But nope. His apartment is just...nice. It smells like eucalyptus and citrus, for crying out loud.  

You set Jisoo's carrier down on the couch, the robot itself still fast asleep, as your eyes scan the room, still half-expecting to find a hidden mess somewhere. But instead, something else catches your attention.  

On the wall, next to his kitchen, there's a collection of professional-looking photographs, all framed neatly. This is what caught your eye earlier. You find yourself slowly walking closer to get a closer look: landscapes, city stresses, a few candid shots of people—all in the same style, same camera quality, same angles. You tilt your head, intrigued.

Jay comes up behind you to see what you're looking at and you turn to him, "Are these...yours?" 

"Oh," he scratches the back of his neck, looking almost shy. "Yeah. I do some photography sometimes. Just a hobby."  

You blink up at him. Jay Park? A photographer? This was not on your Jay Park Bingo card. 

"Huh," you say, before realizing how dumb you sound. "I didn't know you were into that."  

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, Y/N. Full of surprises, remember?" Jay replies, his head tilting to match yours with a cocky smile, which—ugh, okay fine—makes you feel just the tiniest bit flustered. Not that you'll admit it.  

"Oh, really?" You raise an eyebrow. "And here I thought your only hobbies were napping and showing up late." 

"That's just the surface level," he says with a wink, walking over to his coffee table and grabbing his laptop. "I was actually editing photos before you showed up." 

Intrigued, you follow him to the couch and sit beside him as he flips open the laptop. You squint at the editing software on the screen—full of layers, sliders, and all sorts of professional-looking tools that immediately make your head hurt. Jay scrolls through the images, and honestly?

They’re good. Really good. Like, if you didn’t know better, you’d think some of them could be in a magazine. And not the kind of magazine you got your Bieber Fever posters in.  

"Wow," you say, nodding, genuinely impressed. "That’s… actually really cool." 

Jay freezes, his head snapping toward you with a look of disbelief. He stares at you, eyes narrowing like you’ve just broken some unspoken rule. "It's been ten seconds...you just gave me an actual compliment without a sarcastic follow-up."  

You let out a small giggle. "Geez, you always make me sound like some soulless witch or something."  

Jay grins, leaning back in mock thought. "I mean… soulless witch might be a bit much. But, like… emotionally unavailable overlord? Maybe." 

You burst out laughing before you can stop yourself, the sound catching Jay off guard. He looks at you, wide-eyed, like he’s just witnessed a rare phenomenon. And maybe he has—because even you can’t remember the last time you laughed this freely.  

"Wow. I should annoy you more often," Jay smirks, clearly way too satisfied with himself. You’re not entirely sure if he meant it to sound that smooth, but your brain certainly processed it that way. Heat rises to your cheeks before you can stop it, and you quickly clear your throat, a small, flustered smile playing at your lips. 

You try to gather yourself, praying your voice doesn’t betray you. "Don’t push your luck, Park," you manage, but the teasing edge in your voice is softer than usual—way softer. And, of course, Jay knows it. You know it. You’re still smiling, and���unfortunately for you—so is he. 

Jay suddenly clears his throat as he shifts in his seat, "So...should we order like a pizza or something? Are you hungry?"  

And because the universe apparently has a personal vendetta against you, your stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a sound—one that resembles between a whale’s mating call and a frog being strangled. 

Jay stifles a laugh, trying to act casual but failing miserably. "Okay… pizza it is." 

“Shut up,” you mutter, giving him a playful shove that’s just enough to make him fall back into the couch cushions. 

"No, you tell your stomach to shut up," Jay snickers, grabbing his phone to place the order. 

You’re about to fire back with something—anything—but a soft wail interrupts you from the baby carrier. 

"Someone needs attention," you say, scooping Jisoo up and cradling her in your arms. “It’s about time for her to eat anyway.” 

As you juggle Jisoo with one hand and dig through the baby bag for her fake bottle of milk with the other, Jay watches you from his spot on the couch, a curious look in his eyes. “While you feed her, I’ll take care of the pizza. I’m guessing you’re more of a plain cheese type, huh?” 

You freeze for a second, then whip your head around to give him a mock-offended look. “First, you think I’m a soulless witch, and now boring? I at least add pepperoni and sausage. Give me some credit.” 

"Okay, okay, noted," Jay lifts his hands up in surrender, "So adventurous. I'll remember that next time you call me irresponsible."  

You roll your eyes at him as you adjust Jisoo in your arms, holding the bottle steady at her mouth. It’s quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being the soft hum of your fake baby and Jay tapping on his phone. 

Suddenly Jay puts his phone down, turning to you with an unreadable expression. “You’re really serious about this whole parenting thing, huh?” 

You blink, still rocking Jisoo in your arms.  You're thrown off by the sudden shift and sincerity in his tone.  

“Well… yeah. I think it’s important, you know? Responsibility, structure… that’s what makes people feel safe. Especially kids. They need to know they’re taken care of.” 

Jay’s expression shifts as he listens, a more thoughtful look settling on his face. “You're a strong believer of that, aren't you? Structure and schedules and all that?"  

His voice is a lot quieter now, lower, and you realize you've never really had a serious conversation (that wasn't a class debate) with him before—at least not long enough to hear this version of Jay. The serious Jay. And if you're being honest, it's making you a bit flustered. You hesitate, hoping your voice doesn't crack or something equally embarrassing.  

“I mean… I guess so. I was raised that way. My parents always had everything planned out. It was like...nothing ever went wrong because there was always a system, a backup plan.” 

Jay raises an eyebrow, leaning forward a little in his seat. “But didn’t that feel, I don’t know... suffocating? Like, what if things don’t go according to plan? You can’t control everything.” 

Your first instinct is to scoff, but something stops you. It's a valid question, and for some reason, you don’t feel the need to throw up your usual defenses for once. That's new.  

“Maybe sometimes,” you admit. “But I don’t know any other way. It just feels like if you’re not prepared, things fall apart. And that’s the worst feeling—like watching everything crumble because you weren’t ready for it.” 

Jay is quiet, studying you with an intensity that feels new. His teasing smirk is gone, replaced with something more serious. “Yeah, I get that. I didn’t have a lot of structure growing up. Parents were kinda… there, but not really. I think that’s why I don’t plan much. Life happens whether you’re ready or not.” 

You blink as you sit back in your seat, absorbing his words. It’s the first time you’ve really thought about Jay outside of his 'laid-back' image of him you've had in your head, and honestly, you’re surprised by how heavy his words feel. 

“But…you’re actually good with Jisoo,” you say, almost cautiously, unsure if you’re diving into uncharted territory. “You’ve been handling this project better than I thought you would.” 

Jay laughs softly, shaking his head as he looks at Jisoo in your arms. “It’s just a robot baby, Y/N. No big deal if I mess up.” 

"It’s not just about the robot baby,” you counter, realizing you're saying more than you intended. “You actually care. You’re not graded on how well you change diapers or keep her entertained, but you’re still putting in effort. You’re trying. And that matters.” 

There's a beat of silence as you see Jay pause. For once, he doesn't have a comeback. Instead, he's just looking at you—really looking at you—like he's trying to figure something out, and you feel the heat slowly creeping back onto your face. You're sure you're turning an unflattering shade of red under his gaze on you, and part of you, no, all of you, is begging for him to say something immediately before you combust.  

Then, with a suddenness that almost makes you jump, he leans over and nudges your arm lightly. “Okay, Dr. Phil. Don't go getting all soft on me now."  

You let out a playful scoff to mask your relief, thankful for the release of tension in the air. But something about the conversation lingers in the air, hanging like a question neither of you is ready to ask. And despite the teasing, your mind can’t help but circle back to how Jay had looked at you—serious, curious… something else. 

Before you can dwell on it too long, the doorbell rings. Saved by the pizza gods. Jay springs up from the couch to answer the door, and you gently place the now-snoozing Jisoo back in her carrier. The conversation still swirls in your head as you watch Jay grab the pizza, too caught up in your thoughts to not even question how suspiciously fast it arrived. 

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching Jay at the door from your spot on the couch, your thoughts too heavy for someone who is literally holding a pizza box. 

For someone who sure likes to plan everything out, you definitely weren’t prepared for Jay Park—and how he's quickly becoming the exception to every rule you've ever made. 

✭・.・✫

The first thing that jars you awake is a piercing scream—Jisoo's, of course. Your eyes shoot open as you squint into the dim light, your eyes adjusting and blinking your way out of the accidental nap you fell into. You're trying to make sense of your surroundings through your blurry vision when...it hits you.  

This isn't your room. You're still at Jay's apartment, wedged into the corner of his couch, and apparently, you fell asleep. Post-pizza-food-coma style. And also apparently, your mutual robot child has decided now was a perfect time for a meltdown.  

The second thing you notice is the faint background noise of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire still playing on Jay's TV in front of you. Your memory jogs back to when you two finally came to a consensus on which movie to watch over dinner, and naturally, the deciding factor ended up being 'young Robert Pattinson,' and no, it wasn't your deciding factor. You didn't expect Jay to even have an opinion on this, but apparently, his love for Cedric Diggory is a hill he's willing to die on.  

And then... that brings us to the third thing. A sound from the other end of the couch—Jay's soft snores. You two must have dozed off at some point during the movie somehow and of course, he's still passed out cold, totally oblivious to the screams of robotic despair coming from the baby carrier seated between you two. You glance over at him, out cold with his head tilted back, looking completely unbothered by Jisoo's increasingly offended screams.  

But even through all these realizations, what really slaps you awake, more than Jisoo or Jay or Cedric Diggory, is the smell. It hits you like a rogue sock to the face, and for a moment, you're convinced that Jay definitely has some biological-grade garbage decomposing somewhere in the apartment after all. The smell is like a powerful, radioactive wave, and all you can think is, What in the world is this guy hiding in here? And why is it now coming to life?  

You sit up from your spot, still half-asleep, and follow the foul scent in horror until you realize the source.  

Jisoo.  

Sure, you have changed Jisoo's diapers plenty of times over the last two weeks, but before? There was no smell. At most, you get these weird, vaguely sticky robotic poops in her diaper that barely registered. Now? Now it’s like Professor Kim somehow remotely gave Jisoo a software update and coded her to emit a scent so pungent that it feels borderline illegal. You're convinced this is Jisoo’s final boss form–peak realism unlocked–solely just to spite you and your nostrils.

While you’re here on one end of the couch, one button away from confirming an Amazon Prime order to ship over a bottle of bleach for you to dip your nose into, Jay is still in blissful dreamland, not even flinching. You stare at him in disbelief, hoping your sheer mental outage might magically wake him up. No such luck. 

You grab the throw pillow that's wedged under you and chuck in right at his face.  

"Jay!" You're still half-asleep, so your voice comes out like a strangled whisper, somewhere between pleading and passive-aggressive murder.  

Jay jolts, sitting up with a sleepy yelp, blinking in confusion. "Huh? What happened? Is Cedric okay?" His panicked gaze darts around the room wildly before they finally settle on you, across the couch. 

"What happened?" You raise a finger to the screaming, stinky, betrayal-machine between you two. "That happened, Jay. Jisoo happened."  

Jay blinks slowly, squinting at Jisoo, his brain clearly struggling to boot up, and then makes the fatal mistake of sniffing the air. The realization suddenly dawns slowly, and you can see the look of horror hit.

"Oh my god, how is she even capable of...of that?!" His voice breaks three octaves as his hand shoots up to pinch his nose.  

"I don't know!" You squawk, equally traumatized. "She's never done this before—I didn't even know she could!"  

Jay groans and rubs his eyes, hoping this is all a bad, bad dream. No such luck, yet again. He glances around helplessly. "So, uh, who's changing her?"  

You shoot him a glare as you get up from the couch and start looking for the baby bag. "We're changing her, Jay."  

"We?" Jay winces, inching towards Jisoo with all the enthusiasm one has when approaching a radioactive waste barrel. He slowly reaches down to take Jisoo out from the carrier and he starts muttering to himself. "Great. Fine, this is fine. Just another bonding moment with our adorable robo-daughter."  

He finally picks her up, reluctantly holding her at arm's length like she's a ticking time bomb. It's so ridiculous that, despite the war-crime-level smell permeating the room, you can't help the small laugh that you let out.  

"What?" Jay glares at you, though a look of amusement tugs at his lips. "You think this is funny?"  

"No," you say, barely stifling your giggles. "It's just—you're holding her like she's about to explode."  

Jay gives you a doubtful look. "Y/N, I'm not convinced she's not about to explode."  

You shake your head, still giggling as you shuffle the carrier off the couch and lay out a blanket, turning Jay's couch surface into a makeshift changing station. "Alright, c'mon. Lay her down and hold her legs up. I'll handle clean-up duty. And maybe...brace yourself."  

Jay exhales like a man about to face his greatest fear. He gently lays Jisoo down and lifts her legs up with the tips of his fingers, his face still contorted as if you're both dealing with a toxic hazard. At this point, it probably is.  

"Oh my god," he breathes. "This is it. This is how I die."  

You crouch down in position so you're at level with the couch and say a mental prayer before you pull open the tiny diaper. The moment you do, the both of you immediately recoil as a scent that should not even be allowed to exist wafts up and fills the room.  

“Oh god.” 

The scent is so ungodly it feels like it came from the depths of hell itself and punched you both right in the face. It doesn’t just waft up–it attacks. You’re pretty sure you lost at least another three years off your life from one breath alone. 

"That's not legal," Jay chokes as he flings himself back at the sight, dropping Jisoo’s little toes in the process, flailing around as if the air itself betrayed him. "There's no way that's legal." 

You freeze in sheer horror, staring at the scene before you: Jisoo’s somehow realistic poop smeared across every surface of her bottom it possibly could spread to, the stench intensifying with every passing second.

Jay starts pacing the room, spiraling into an existential crisis. “No, no, no, this isn’t normal. This is—this is a crime scene! This can’t be right.” 

“Jay,” your voice is muffled as a hand tries to cover both your nose and mouth from the contaminated air, “focus!” 

Jay looks at you from across the living room, wide-eyed and pale, like a deer caught in headlights. “You expect me to—in this economy—” 

“Grab. The. Wipes.”

Jay groans and he stumbles back towards you, hesitantly rifling through the baby bag. His hands finally find the pack of wipes and he peers over your shoulder from behind you, as if you’re his shield. 

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you going to help?”

“I am helping,” Jay protests weakly, waving the pack of wipes like they’re a magic wand that might save you both.

You roll your eyes and turn back to Jisoo, “Okay, grab her legs again. I’ll wipe.” 

His eyes watch in horror as he reaches over you to take hold of the robot’s feet. With a deep breath, you start furiously scrubbing Jisoo’s little body, trying your best to breathe as minimally as possible, sticking your hand out towards Jay whenever you need a new wipe. 

“I signed up for fake parenting, not surviving a biohazard. This isn’t bonding; this is trauma,” Jay incoherently mumbles, placing a wipe in your hand. 

"I think this trauma is exactly what we're supposed to be learning and 'bonding' from," you retort, carefully tossing a soiled wipe into the designated waste bag.  

"Oh, so Professor Kim is forcing us to bond over mutual suffering? Very sweet," Jay deadpans as he hands you another wipe. 

"Exactly. Parenting at its finest."  

Finally, after you definitely lost three years of your life, the horror show is over. Jisoo is cleaned, diapered, and—somehow—actually looks peaceful for once. Like she didn't just commit a crime against humanity. 

Jay exhales, looking at her with a newfound joy. "Well. She's definitely...less terrifying when she's not screaming and emitting toxic fumes."  

You plop yourself on the couch and cradle Jisoo like she's a tiny, innocent angel instead of the cause of your collective suffering. “I’m genuinely afraid to know what they put in her system for this to happen.” 

Jay collapses onto the couch beside you, visibly relieved. "Whatever it was, we did it. We survived. We did that." 

You can't help but laugh, still a bit punch-drunk from the adrenaline and exhaustion of it all. "We better get an A+ on this project."  

Jay chuckles, leaning his head back against the couch. The room falls into a brief silence, just the two of you sitting there, basking in the weird accomplishment of it all. Then, as if on cue, you both start laughing—a deep, exhausting kind of laugh that two people only share after a 'you had to be there' type moment. There's something about the whole ordeal—how ridiculous, how hilariously awful it was—that just makes it impossible to not laugh.  

Jay grins, nudging your shoulder with his. "Now do you think we make a pretty good team?"  

You roll your eyes at him. "I don't know...depends."  

Jay raises an eyebrow, "Depends on what?"  

"Depends on whether you can make it through the rest of the project without crying again," you quip, lips twitching into an amused grin.  

Jay gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. "Excuse you, I did not cry. My eyes were sweating from Jisoo's toxic fumes. A completely normal biological response, thank you very much."  

"Sure, Jay," you deadpan, shaking your head.  

"Besides," he continues, leaning back smugly, "I did all the heavy lifting. Literally. I held the live grenade."  

You snort, glancing down at Jisoo in your arms before handing her off to Jay. "You're unbelievable."  

"And you're stuck with me, partner," he grins back, rocking Jisoo in his arms. "You too, Jisoo." 

You lean back into the couch, watching Jay coo at the now-peaceful baby. Somewhere between his flair for over-the-top dramatics, his secret love for young Robert Pattinson, and (for some reason) endearing passion for photography, you realize…maybe Jay Park isn’t the complete disaster you thought he was. 

"Yeah," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I guess I really am stuck with you."  

And for the first time since this ridiculous project started, you don't mind that as much as you thought you would.  

Jay would like to make a few things clear. 

First of all, none of this is his fault. 

He hopes you understand that, as his thumbs fly over the keyboard of his phone like his life depends on it. Because in a way, it does. 

Jay [11:32 AM]: “i swear it’s not my fault, but my friend, jake, his entire load of laundry is now the color of strawberry milk. and apparently i’m the only one that can help him. can I drop jisoo off with you for like… an hour? tops?” 

He stares at his phone, waiting for your response like you hold the key to his survival. Because, in a way, you do. 

He hears Jisoo coo from her carrier, like even she knows how dire this situation is. Finally, his phone lights up with a buzz. 

Y/N [11:33 AM]: “i’m volunteering at a dog adoption event on campus, but sure, drop her off here :)” 

Jay blinks at his phone. A dog adoption event. Of course, you'd be saving puppies on a Saturday. Of course. Like some kind of unreasonably perfect human. And here he is, about to save a fully grown man from having to wear solely pink t-shirts for the next week. Fantastic.   

With a sigh, Jay turns to Jisoo, who blinks back a stare that can only be described as the (robot) baby equivalent of good luck, bro. 

By the time Jay reaches campus, he's bombarded with the sight and sound of...dogs. Dogs everywhere. It's as if he's entered the chaotic lovechild of a Disney movie and a petting zoo, complete with wags, barks, and the smell of kibble. And then he sees you. 

You're smack in the middle of a fenced playpen, laughing, surrounded by every breed of fluffy chaos imaginable and passerbys cooing 'aww' at the sight. And what a sight it is.  

You look ridiculously happy, and for some reason, that makes something in Jay's chest feel weirdly tight. He wonders what it must feel like to be able to make you smile that widely, that brightly. It's unnerving. He's not used to seeing you so relaxed, so content—or maybe he's just not used to noticing how good you look when you're not glaring at him.  

"Y/N!" a voice calls from the volunteer tent, snapping Jay out of his daydream. Jay watches from the distance as you haul a golden retriever pup into your arms and walk over to the tent, naturally falling into conversation with your friend and immediately organizing papers. Meanwhile, Jay stands there, dumbfounded at your unbothered, graceful rhythm that you seem to fall into like second nature. 

Jay thought he had you figured out, filed neatly in his mental drawer of uptight-control-freaks-that-happen-to-smell-like-roses-and-have-perfect-smiles, but now? Something about the way you look right now—so confident, so caring, so...natural—catches him off guard.

Now, you're like some serene multitasking goddess in the middle of pure chaos.  

That brings us to the second thing Jay would like to clarify (more so to himself): he definitely doesn't think you look good in, like, an attractive sense, or anything insane like that. Absolutely not. He just is simply impressed at how you seem to manage and carry yourself quite elegantly. This is pure admiration. Admiration, okay?  

But...while he's here, staring in 'admiration', it suddenly hits him—you're not just good at taking care of Jisoo. You're good at taking care of everything.  

And that makes his heart do a weird flip.  

The realization that he's been staring for way too long jolts him back to the present. Focus, Jay. There's a Jake somewhere out there, lost in a sea of pink underwear.  

Jisoo carrier in hand, Jay manages to push his way through the dog-packed crowds until he reaches you, but the second you turn around, flashing him that wide, carefree smile that he's still not used to, he's back to stumbling over himself.  

He’s 99% sure he audibly gulps. 

“Oh, Jay, you made it!” you say, shifting the puppy to one side of your arms to free a hand to grab Jisoo's carrier immediately. Your smile is disarmingly genuine. Jay thinks he may need to sit down.  

“Uh, yeah—um, thanks for taking Jisoo," he swallows, his voice barely steady as he's unsure what this feeling is that came over him. He doesn't know if it's the fact that he's seeing you in a completely different light right now, carrying both a live, adorable puppy, and a (not-so-live) baby, but something is different, and he's at a loss for words. "You look pretty—uh…busy.”  

He curses himself. Busy? Really? 

“Oh, no biggie,” you give him an easy, encouraging grin, one so casual that it really shouldn't make his knees feel like Jell-O. "Honestly, I'd be out here every weekend if I could. But you of all people know my schedule."  

Of course, you'd say something like that. Jay tries to think of a normal response, but his brain is spinning with all sorts of not-normal things about you—like how you look so aggressively pretty right now. 

And it’s a little infuriating. 

"Yeah, no, totally," Jay clears his throat, scratching the back of his head. "Because who doesn't want to be covered in dog hair and slobber for fun?"  

You roll your eyes, smiling. "Says the guy who's about to be knee-deep in a laundry crisis. Isn't that a little messy, too?"  

Jay huffs, feeling himself return just a little bit back to normal. “Listen, Jake’s a special case, okay? You can’t just leave him in that pink laundry disaster and expect him to survive.” 

"Right..," you laugh, rocking back and forth on your feet, your smile lingering as a comfortable silence falls between you.  

Maybe it's the way you're looking up at him, or the fact that a literal golden retriever is currently nuzzled into your neck, but Jay is doing everything in his power to keep his cool. You're looking at him in a way that isn't remotely judgmental (for once), and it's throwing him completely off-balance.  

Before Jay can pull it together and say something else, another voice calls your name, waving you over to a different table. You turn back to Jay, giving him an apologetic glance.  

"Do you mind watching Jisoo—and, um, this puppy—for a sec?"  

Before he can answer, or even process your words, he's standing there with an actual puppy in one arm, and Jisoo in her carrier in the other, and his life has become a circus he never auditioned for.  

"Sorry! They just need me real quick!" You say with a grateful smile as you hurry off.  

As you rush off with another apologetic smile, Jay's brain, for better or for worse, decides that grin of yours is now his mental screensaver. He watches you go, dumbly smiling before he catches himself. 

Not attraction, he reminds himself. Totally not attraction.  

He looks down at his arms—one occupied by a carrier with a robot baby, the other holding a wriggly puppy.  

"Bet no one's ever been in this situation before," he mutters, awkwardly standing there as he waits for your return. Honestly, Jay has never felt so awkward or nervous before. Right now, he feels like the epitome of the standing emoji, just simply existing and there, waiting for your next command and hoping he doesn't screw it up.  

Jay tries to hype himself up. You can do this, Park. It's just a dog. And a baby. And you.You've got this. You totally having everything und— 

Before he can finish his mental pep talk, the sound of your laughter rings from across the event, making Jay's head snap over in record time. He tries not to look—he really does—but the sound is too angelic to not. But right when he does look over, he immediately wishes he didn't. 

You're standing there between two of your friends, and you're giggling. With some guy he's never seen before. And this guy, is nudging your shoulder and making you laugh so hard you're practically doubling over. He feels a distinct twist in his chest. 

Jay’s definitely not jealous. Nope. Not even a little. It's just...curiosity. Pure, innocent curiosity about what that guy could possibly be saying to make you laugh so hard. Because Jay has never seen you laugh like that with him—ever.

And suddenly, the longer you continue laughing with that guy, Jay feels something hot and uncomfortable bubbling up inside.  

Fine, it’s jealousy.  

Definitely jealousy. He scowls at himself. Now he’s basically a bitter standing emoji, clinging to Jisoo and a puppy while glaring from afar. 

And there Jay stands, bitterness levels maxed, holding both a puppy and a robot baby, while across the way, your roommate Esther gives you a knowing smirk while you're recovering from your giggling fit. Your giggling fit which was caused by Heeseung making a comment about how he stepped in dog poop more times than the average human-being accidentally should.  

“You didn’t tell me that was Jay Park,” Esther says, trying not-so-subtly to sneak a glance at the bitter standing emoji himself, awkwardly shifting his feet in the distance, avoiding to look in your direction. “You said he was annoying, lazy, and a pain to be around. You didn’t mention he’s a total cutie.” 

“He was annoying, lazy, and a pain to be around,” you scoff, though you're clearly not thinking that right now as you catch a glance of him trying to balance both the puppy and Jisoo. "But...I don't think he's so bad anymore."  

You definitely don't add that he's a total cutie. Okay, maybe you think it, but saying it out loud is a whole other thing.  

“Oh, so you totally like him,” Heeseung snickers from your other side, nudging you again.  

You make a sound that's half out-of-tune trumpet, half hiccup, before breaking into a laugh to cover your sudden panic. "No, I don't!" You clear your throat, trying to stay cool.  

"We're just—look, we're just stuck together for this project. That's all. Even if I did like him, which I don't, he definitely doesn't like me back. We're probably just going to go back to bickering with each other to no end."  

“Right,” Heeseung chimes in, giving you a look that says he's clearly unconvinced. “Just saying, though—someone who doesn’t like you wouldn’t be staring at you like that, and looking at me like I just committed a third-degree crime just for breathing in your direction."  

You follow Heeseung’s gaze and, sure enough, you catch Jay trying to look casual while bouncing the puppy and acting like he totally didn’t just get caught. Your eyes meet, and he does a 180 so fast he nearly launches Jisoo into orbit. 

You quickly turn back to your friends, heat rising to your face as you catch Esther and Heeseung giving each other a knowing look before smirking at you. You roll your eyes and grab the both of them by the back of their shirts, turning them in the direction of the event, "Okay, okay, enough with the delusions. Shouldn't you guys be signing off some puppies or something?"  

"Don't say we didn't tell you so!" Esther calls after you as you turn on your heels towards Jay, furiously convincing yourself that they're so wrong.  

There's no universe in which Jay Park, the Jay Park, would ever be into you. The Jay Park, who can get any girl he wants, the Jay Park who's just too different from you, the Jay Park who you proclaimed your school rival (self-proclaimed). Absolutely not.  

When you get back to him, Jay’s desperately trying to look natural—so, naturally, he’s scratching the puppy’s belly while Jisoo clings to his chest like a tiny koala. Your heart gives a little traitorous squeeze, but you ignore it. Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.  

“Looks like he likes you,” you say, trying to sound casual as you nod to the puppy, who's squirming excitedly under Jay's attention. 

“He’s adorable,” Jay replies, blushing faintly as he shifts the puppy around. “So, uh, everything okay over there?” he asks, totally not imagining a deep, romantic conversation to explain your laughter. 

You’re caught off-guard, blinking, wondering if Jay somehow became psychic and caught onto your previous train of thoughts about him, until you realize what he meant. “Oh! Yeah, they just… needed help with paperwork.” 

Jay’s expression hardens ever so slightly as he tries to imagine a world where paperwork could possibly be that funny. “Cool, cool,” he nods stiffly, side-eyeing Heeseung in the distance who’s still chatting with Esther. 

"Well," Jay shifts awkwardly as clears his throat, "I should get going to Jake. He's probably in tears by now, honestly."  

You frown at that, and Jay instantly self-identifies himself as the worst person on the planet. He barely resists the urge to apologize for everything he's ever done, from breathing in your direction to any other crime against humanity he's committed in your eyes.  

"Aw, come on," you say, teasingly, though even you're not sure why. It's just...fun having him around. "Stay a little longer. For the puppies!"  

Jay opens his mouth, fully ready to decline when he catches sight of your expression—those big, pleading eyes that make it impossible to say no. 

And that's it. He's doomed. Right then and there, Jay knows he's doomed.  

Is Jay currently surrounded by more puppies than he ever thought could physically exist in one place? Yes. 

Does he think your puppy eyes are somehow cuter than all the puppies combined? Annoyingly, also yes.  

And so, Jay would like to make some new things clear, for the record:  

First, there is no way any of this is his fault. If Jake ends up crying over outfit choices and demands to know why Jay ditched him for puppies, Jay has a rock-solid explanation. He’ll explain the situation, which obviously couldn’t be helped. Hanging out with you? Totally justified. Perfectly valid.  

And second, well—Jay would like to clarify that it's official now. Whatever he was feeling before? Yeah, definitely attraction.  

Your fingers drum against your blanket. You stare blankly at your bedroom ceiling. You let out another deep sigh. You toss and turn, adjusting your position for maybe the hundredth time. It's no use. You're bored.  

And that, in itself, is a shocking revelation. You're never bored. Your schedule is usually packed to the brim—between assignments, club meetings, work shifts, and impromptu Save the Puppies campaigns, there's hardly room for boredom. But today?  

Today, life has gifted you a rare stretch of free time. No assignments to finish, no midterms to study for, no dog adoption events or café shifts. And apparently, you have no idea how to handle that.  

You turn to look at Jisoo, who's chilling in her spot on your bed next to you, not having a single ounce of consciousness for you to share your boredom with.  

With another sigh, you grab your phone and scroll aimlessly through your apps. You eventually land in your Photos app and swipe through mindlessly until a recent picture stops you in your tracks.  

It's a selfie Jay took of the two of you, Jisoo sandwiched between your faces. The infamous day of the pizza-night-turned-accidental-nap-turned-godforsaken-poop-incident. You'd submitted the photo to Professor Kim as proof of your co-parenting efforts, but now, looking at it again, you can't help but smile.  

It's strange. The memory should be traumatic—okay, it is traumatic—but in hindsight, it's also...kind of fun. The chaos, the banter, the way Jay somehow managed to make everything feel less overwhelming just by being there.  

Funny enough, that day was also the last time you remember having any sort of free time, and you remember complaining that you had to spend the day with Jay of all people. But now, looking back at it, you honestly did have fun. Being with Jay was...fun.  

Your thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before it unconsciously drifts towards the Phone app. You hesitate, realizing with a jolt that you're one tap away from calling Jay. It's like your brain suddenly shut off and something took over you. What's gotten into you?  

You blink at Jay's contact on your phone, your thumb still hovering over his name.  

No. Bad idea.  

You don't need Jay to entertain you just because you're bored. You're perfectly capable of having fun on your own...obviously. Obviously, even though the last hour of groaning and ceiling-staring suggests otherwise.  

Besides, Jay's probably busy doing...whatever it is Jay does at 4PM on a Saturday. Napping, probably.  

And what would you even say? Let's hang out? Like some middle schooler asking out their crush? Not to mention, you already have your 'Jisoo' plans in two days, so it's not like you have an excuse to see him.  

You sit up abruptly, shaking your head as if to clear the fog of ridiculous thoughts. Seriously, do you even hear yourself right now? Looking for an excuse to see him? Since when did you need excuses for anything, let alone something as absurd as spending more time than necessary with Jay Park?  

This has to be some kind of stress-induced meltdown. It's the only logical explanation. All those late-night study sessions, midterm panic attacks, Jisoo diaper changes, and endless extracurriculars must've finally fried your brain. And now, here you are, teetering on the edge of reason, actually wanting to see Jay Park.  

Great. Now you have a new problem.  

Because as much as you try to convince yourself otherwise, the truth is glaringly obvious: you want to see him. And that, more than any amount of free time or boredom, is the real problem. 

You've officially lost it.  

I've officially lost it, you chant in your head as your thumb hovers dangerously close to Jay's name on your screen again.  

I've officially lost it, the words grow louder, taunting you, as you hover over the call button. 

I've officially lost it, your thoughts scream as you give in, pressing down and watching in horror as your screen shifts to Calling Jay Park. 

And now, your heartbeat picks up with every ring. You can't decide what's worse—him answering or him ignoring the call. Maybe if he doesn't pick up, it'll be a sign from above that you're better off leaving his madness alone. Maybe—

"Hello?"  

Your train of thought screeches to a halt.  

"Y/N? Are you there?"  

"I'm here!" You blurt out, your voice jumping two octaves higher than usual. Real smooth, Y/N.  

"Hi...what's up? Are you okay? Is something wrong?" His voice is soft over the phone, a little concerned, like you're about to tell him Jisoo had another diaper emergency.  

You falter for a moment, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. "No! Nothing's wrong! I just—uh–" Quick, think of something normal!

"I was wondering what you're up to."  

"Me?" He sounds genuinely surprised, and you can practically hear the smile in this voice. At least, you think. Or, once again, you've officially lost it. "I'm at the campus gallery, setting up for my photography showcase. It's tonight."  

The campus gallery. His photography.  

You blink, this is news to you. You vaguely remember Jay asking if you could watch Jisoo tonight, and he hadn't given you a reason back then, but this is why he couldn't be on Jisoo duty today. Because of his showcase.  

"Wait, really?" You ask, hoping the interest in your voice doesn't show too much.  

"Yeah. I didn't mention it? Guess I forgot," he chuckles lightly. "It's not a big deal, just a student showcase. I'm just setting up now, making sure my pieces are hung straight and stuff."  

You swallow, a sudden wave of curiosity washing over you. You find yourself smiling to yourself, feeling a wave of endearment wash over you for some reason. The idea of Jay being completely focused and serious about a passion of his is...it's nice. It’s hard to reconcile the carefree, sarcastic guy you know with the thoughtful perspective he must have to capture the kinds of photos he does. 

"You should come by," he says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but you think you catch a small, hopeful note in it. "If you're free, I mean. No pressure."  

You hesitate, your mind racing. Go? Don't go? It's just a showcase. It's not like it means anything. Right?  

"I'll think about it," you manage, trying to sound nonchalant.  

"Cool." There's a smile in his voice again. "Let me know. I'll save you a front-row seat."  

"Front row seat? For a gallery?" You deadpan, rolling your eyes as if he can see if over the phone.  

"Hey, I'm just being a good host."  

"Hmmm," you smile to yourself again. "Maybe. We'll see."  

But your decision was made the second he suggested that you should come. 

It doesn't mean anything. Friends come support each other all the time, right? Wait—

Are you and Jay even friends? You shake your head, trying to dismiss the warmth starting to spread in your chest.  

It's just photography.

It's just Jay.

Nothing to overthink here.  

✭・.・✫

“Okay, Jisoo, in and out,” you whisper to the robot baby in the carrier that's perched in your arms as you stand frozen outside the campus gallery doors. "We're just stopping by to say hi. Two minutes max. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Nothing dramatic."  

Jisoo stares back at you, wide-eyed and unhelpfully silent, which you take as strong moral support. "Thanks, Jisoo," you mutter, like a lunatic seeking validation from a robot.  

Maybe you shouldn't even go in. It's basically the end of the event anyway—what are the odds he'd even notice you didn't show? Slim. Probably. Right?  

It's not like you didn't have a valid excuse for your lateness. You did have to change Jisoo’s diaper before you left, and that was a whole thing. But let's be real. 

The real delay? The real delay was you standing in front of your closet for a solid half hour like a contestant on America's Next Top Existential Crisis. What do you even wear to casually drop by someone's photography showcase? Something that says, Hey, I'm effortlessly supportive, but I totally don't care if you notice me (yes I do).  

Spoiler alert: that outfit does not exist.  

And then—because clearly, you love to torture yourself—you spent another thirty minutes pacing around your room trying to figure out why you cared so much in the first place.  

It's Jay. Jay. The guy who thought sticking googly eyes on Jisoo's bottle would make her drink faster. Why are you stressed? Why are your palms sweating?  

But despite all that, you somehow made it here, standing outside the gallery with your stomach doing flips like you're about to walk into your own trial. You made it all the way here, so might as well go in, right?  

You swallow hard, adjust your grip on your emotional support robot baby, and push the door open. 

And there he is.  

Center stage, right where he belongs—or at least where he seems to thrive. Standing in front of a massive wall of his framed photographs, the studio lights catch his profile just right. It's almost unfair, like he's been personally photoshopped by the gods themselves. He's surrounded by a small crowd, gesturing animatedly with his hands as he speaks, his smile so bright you're convinced it's starting to hurt your eyes.  

But his eyes? There's this sparkle in them. Not the usual playful glint you've grown used to, but something deeper, softer. You've never seen him look so alive, so utterly in his element, and it's doing weird things to your chest. 

You can't help but wonder—what does it feel like to make him look that happy? Not that it matters, obviously.

It's just a thought.

A completely useless, irrelevant, go-away-right-now kind of thought.  

If you weren't busy trying not to trip over your own feet and accidentally drop Jisoo, you might have stopped to take it all in. To admire the way he looks standing there, talking about something he clearly loves, like he's found this magical pocket of the universe where nothing else matters. Might have.  

But instead, your thoughts screech in a halt, jolting you out of your daydream.  

Abort mission. This was a terrible idea.  

Why did you come here? Why is your face hot? Can Jisoo smell fear?  

Before you can think of a single coherent reason to not turn around and bolt, Jay glances up. And he spots you.  

His eyes light up even more—if that's even physically possible. "Y/N?" He calls out, grinning widely.  

Great. Now you're here. He's happy to see you. You're standing in the middle of his gallery with a robot baby that can most definitely smell your fear.  

Fantastic. Just fantastic.  

Jay's voice cuts through your existential spiral, "Y/N!" He's waving you over as he calls out your name again, like you're a long-lost friend who's just returned from war. 

Well, to be fair, you are fighting a war—against your own dumb feelings.  

"Hey!" You croak, trying to sound casual but ending up somewhere between a dog's favorite squeaky toy and a rusty car horn. You internally flinch at your own voice.  

"Wow, you came," he says, his sweet smile still on display as you shuffle over to where he's standing. "And you brought Jisoo! My biggest fan."

He reaches out to cup Jisoo's cheeks, and you almost smack yourself in the head for feeling jealous over your own robot baby.  

"Yeah, well," you start, trying to sound nonchalant. "I figured, you know, project partners should support each other...teamwork and all that."  

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "Right. Teamwork. Totally."  

You shift your weight from one leg to another, awkwardly looking up, eventually landing your eyes on the wall behind him, scanning the photos on display. Each photo is so him—a little chaotic, a little bold, but somehow...strikingly beautiful. There's a photo of a rainy city street, the light catching every droplet; a close-up of a sunflower against a brilliant sky; a candid of a kid laughing, his face tilted up toward the sun.  

You suddenly feel a weird, warm pull in your chest. It’s one thing to see Jay cracking jokes and making sarcastic comments during late-night baby meltdowns. But this? This is a side of him you’ve never seen before—one that’s thoughtful, intentional, passionate. 

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until Jay speaks up, his voice softer now. “Do you like them?” 

You blink, startled, and then nod a little too quickly. You hope he doesn't notice (he does).  

"Yeah. I mean...these are really good, Jay. You're–" you cut yourself off, realizing you're about to say something embarrassing. ''–talented," you finish lamely.  

"Thanks," Jay tilts his head, looking almost shy. "That means a lot, actually."  

His voice is so genuine that it throws you off. You weren't prepared for this level of sincerity. It makes your stomach flip in a way that's both exciting and mildly terrifying.  

Jay gestures toward the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets like he's trying not to fidget. "I wasn't sure if this was your kind of thing, thought you'd be busy and stuff, but I'm glad you came. I, uh..," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, "I was kind of hoping you would."  

Oh.  

Oh?  

OH.  

Your brain immediately short-circuits. He hoped you'd come? Like...in a we're-in-this-together-as-project-partners way, or in a please-let-this-mean-something-more-than-project-partners way? Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? Should you call someone? Should you call him? No, wait, you're already talking to him—focus! 

You clear your throat and try to channel every ounce of chill you simply do not possess. "Well," you say, attempting to keep your voice steady and failing miserably, "I'm here."  

It comes out barely louder than a whisper, and you immediately regret every life decision that's led you to this moment. But then Jay smiles—soft, something smaller, more private—and it's like the world shifts slightly off its axis.  

"Yeah," he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that makes you forget how to breathe. "You are."  

And just like that, the noise of the environment dissolves, and the rest of the world shrinks to nothing but the space between you and him. The moment feels impossibly big like it might swallow you whole, and yet so small it could shatter with the slightest breath.  

You're pretty sure you're about to combust. Explode. Turn into a human firework fueled entirely by sheer tension and whatever it is that's happening right now. God, why does he have to look at you like that? Like you're not standing here internally unraveling?  

You break eye contact to glance down at Jisoo, and you're positive she's giving you a look that screams, Stop being weird, you two.  

"Anyway!" You blurt out, desperate to break the tension. "Which one's your favorite?" You gesture to the photos, your eyes darting anywhere but his own. 

He laughs, and the sound is warm and unguarded, "C'mon, I'll show you."  

He grabs your free hand without thinking, tugging you toward the far end of the wall. And just like that, you're helplessly following him, heart racing again, wondering how the hell you got here—and why you never want to leave.  

So much for in and out.  

Jay pulls you towards the far end of the gallery, his hand wrapped around yours like it's the most natural thing in the world.  

It's not.  

Your brain is in full-blown meltdown mode. Red alerts, sirens blaring, a voice screaming, "WE'RE HOLDING HANDS, PEOPLE!"  

But there's no way you're about to let him see how much this is affecting you, so you shove the chaos down, pretending like your hand isn't currently experiencing the touch equivalent of fireworks...and hoping that it isn't sweaty.  

"This one," Jay says, stopping in front of a photo that's somehow both ordinary and magical. It's a simple shot of your campus football field, taken from the bleacher stands. You've stood in those very bleachers too many times to count—for school events, games, the occasional half-hearted attempt to pretend you like sports. But somehow, in this shot, the field looks...different.  

The grass glows like it's soaked in liquid gold under a sky caught between dusk and twilight. The field is empty, yet it doesn't feel lonely. There's something about it that Jay managed to capture—like it holds a thousand stories and secrets, quietly hopeful in its stillness.  

"It's beautiful," you murmur, the words slipping out before you can catch them. 

"Yeah," Jay lets out a breath. "It's my favorite spot on campus. I go there a lot when I need to think or just...get away a bit."  

You glance at him, startled at the sudden vulnerability in his voice. Jay never strikes you as someone who gets lost in his head; he always seemed too confident, too effortlessly sure of himself. But right now, he's not looking at you—he's staring at the photo, like he's seeing something beyond it.  

"I took it on one of those days—I was just overthinking a lot about life. About who I am, I guess," he continues. "I didn't think it'd turn out good or anything, but...I don't know. It felt right."  

Your chest tightens. There's something so raw in the way he's speaking, like he's letting you see a side of him he usually keeps hidden. It makes you wonder how many other layers Jay Park has, and why it feels so important to uncover them all.  

The silence between you stretches as you watch Jay continue to study his own photograph. There's a softness in his gaze, a quiet vulnerability that makes you feel like you're seeing him a way few people ever do.  

But then he blinks, breaking the moment, and suddenly he's looking at you. You stiffen, panic bubbling up at the possibility that he might've noticed you staring at him.  

"Sorry," he says, his voice carrying a self-deprecating chuckle. "It's really cheesy and stupid."  

You find yourself shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence. "No! Not at all, really," you blurt out, the words stumbling over themselves in their rush to escape. You feel the heat creeping up your neck, mortified at your sudden intensity.  

Jay raises an eyebrow, amused, but doesn't say anything, so you clear your throat and try again, softer this time. "I mean it. You have a good eye, Jay." You mean it more than you've meant anything in a while, and you hope he knows that.  

For a second, he just looks at you, like he's taking note of something, his head tilted ever so slightly. And then, slowly, his lips curve into that small, genuine smile that makes your chest feel annoyingly warm. "Thanks, Y/N."  

Your heart does a little somersault. Oh great. There it goes again.  

And as if Jisoo can sense the moment might be getting too serious, she lets out a cry. You stumble back, jump scared enough by the loud and sudden sound, and Jay reacts instantly, steadying you with his hands on your shoulders.  

"You okay?" He asks, his face so close that you can now confirm there are literal, actual flecks of gold in his eyes. Of course there are.  

You blink. I've officially lost it. Completely, utterly, hopelessly, lost it.  

You nod, your voice stuck in your throat. Am I okay? No. No, you are not okay. You are decidedly not okay.  

Jay clears his throat, stepping back—though his hands linger a beat longer than they probably need to, but still a second too short than you should probably want to. 

You want to scream into the void.  

"Looks like it's time for Jisoo's dinner," he says lightly with a small chuckle. 

You fumble for words, your brain still offline. "Uh—yeah. I left her bottle at my place, and I should probably get going anyways," you manage, your voice a little too breathless for comfort.  

Jay glances at his watch, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, something hopeful flicking in his eyes.

"I'm pretty much done here," he says, tilting his head towards the door. "It's late. Let me walk you home."  

You hesitate, torn between insisting you're perfectly fine on your own (you're not) and letting him (you want to). But the way he's looking at you—like it's no big deal, like he simply wants to—makes the decision for you.  

"Okay," you say, quieter than you mean to, and before you can second-guess yourself, Jay's already taking Jisoo's carrier from your arms, effortlessly shifting it onto his own.  

"Let's go," he says, flashing you a small smile that feels like a punch to your stomach in the best way possible.  

And just like that, you're walking side by side into the cool night air, your breaths visible in the chill, easily falling into a comfortable rhythm as you walk through the quiet campus, the streetlights above casting long shadows ahead of you. 

There’s something easy about walking with him like this. It shouldn’t feel this natural—your heart’s doing somersaults and pirouettes like it’s auditioning for a circus—but it does. You steal a glance at him, and he’s focused on the path ahead, his profile calm and soft in the glow of the lights. 

"So," Jay breaks the quiet as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, "Can you believe the project's almost over?"  

You let out a small laugh, tilting your head. "Honestly, no. Feels like just yesterday I was praying you'd drop the class."  

Jay laughs, a sound that seems to echo in the quiet environment. "Wow, Y/N. I thought we were bonding."  

"We were," you tease, turning to him with a barely concealed smirk. "I just also thought you were going to be a disaster of a partner."  

He scoffs, giving you a mock-offended look. "I proved you wrong, right? I was amazing since day one."  

"You handed Jisoo to me like she was a bomb, Jay," you remind him, unable to stop yourself from laughing.  

"I was assessing the danger!" Jay protests, his grin widening. "And excuse me, I've stepped up. I've made bottles, I've cleaned her, I even know how to put on a diaper the right side up!"  

"Jay, the fact that you had to learn which way was right side up is concerning in itself," you manage to let out with a giggle. 

"Details, details," he waves a dismissive hand. "Point is, I'm practically father of the year."  

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. A sharp breeze suddenly hits the both of you, and you visibly shiver from the lack of warmth your outfit provides. All that time choosing an outfit, and you still couldn't pick a weather-appropriate one. Stellar, Y/N.  

And of course, Jay notices immediately. Before you can so much as form a protest, he's shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders, your body immediately stiffening as his hands brush against you lightly in the process.  

You open your mouth to say something—anything, even just a whispered thank you—but Jay beats you to it, sparing you the effort of finding actual, coherent words. 

“So,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just sent your brain spiraling, “what do you think you’ll do when it’s over?”

"Uh," you blink, still needing a second to reorient yourself. "Sleep, for once."  

Jay laughs again. "Fair. You deserve it. But you'll miss me, right?"  

"Not even for a second," you deadpan without hesitation.  

"Liar," he teases, bumping your shoulder lightly.  

You reach your building all too soon, the doors looming in front of you like an unwelcome reminder that this walk, this moment, is about to end. You stop just before the steps and turn to face him, rocking on your heels.  

"Okay, maybe a little," you admit, shrugging. "But only because you make me look like the competent one by comparison."  

"Wow," Jay shakes his head, but there it is again. The smile—the small, amused one that makes his eyes crinkle just enough to be unfairly attractive. 

You glance up at him, wishing the walk had been just a few blocks longer. Or a few miles.  

"Well," you say finally, forcing your gaze away from his own. "Thanks for walking me. And for carrying Jisoo." 

You reach for Jisoo's carrier, and Jay hands it over without hesitation, but not before shrugging like it's no big deal.

"No problem," he says. Then, as you're adjusting the carrier on your arm, he adds, "And thanks again, Y/N. For coming tonight. It really meant a lot."  

Your heart does that stupid fluttery thing again it's been doing all night, and you're starting to think you need a medical consultation.  

"Yeah, well," you clear your throat. "Partner support, you know?" You sound dumb, Y/N. Dumb.  

Jay smirks, but there's something gentler in his expression now, a flicker of something you can't quite name. 

"Goodnight, Y/N. And goodnight, Jisoo," he says, giving a small wave to the baby carrier, making you giggle slightly.  

He takes a few steps back, his hands slipping into his pockets, and gives you one last smile before turning to walk away. But before he gets too far, something bursts out of you, unwarned.  

"Jay!"  

He stops, turning on his heels, his brows lifting in surprise. "Yeah?"  

You step forward, closing a bit of the distance between you, suddenly hyper-aware of how your voice wavers. "Um, I was wrong. You're...not all that bad." Why am I doing this? "I'm sorry if I've been...you know, intense. These past few years."  

Jay blinks at you, his surprise turning into something softer. You take a deep breath, pushing through the self-inflicted awkwardness. 

"You've been a really good partner," you add, offering a small, genuinely smile. "And well...you're pretty cool."  

His studies your face for a moment, the look longing and careful, like he's piecing together something fragile. A faint smile tugs at his lips, and there's a warmth in his expression that sends heat rushing to your cheeks.   

For a moment, the two of you just stand here, caught in the glow of the streetlamp. The world around you feels distant, like someone's hit the mute button on everything but the sound of your heartbeat.  

Jay's smile widens ever so slightly, and he nods, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll see you around, Y/N."  

He takes a few steps backward, his gaze holding yours until he finally turns and starts walking away. You watch him disappear into the night, the outline of his figure fading with the streetlights, and only then do you realize you've been holding your breath.  

As you step into your building and climb the stairs to your apartment, the night replays in your head on a loop—his laugh, his smile, his everything.  

When you finally reach your door, you lean against it for a moment, his large jacket still wrapped around you. Your thoughts crash into you all at once, and two things become alarmingly clear:  

You are completely, utterly, hopelessly in like with Jay Park.  

You're in so much trouble.  

“Congratulations, everyone!” Professor Kim clasps her hands together at the front of the classroom, a wide smile on her face. “You’ve survived six weeks of parenting. Hopefully, you’ve learned something useful—and that it hasn’t scared you off from actual parenthood one day. Each baby had a monitor tracking its status, so I’ll be extracting that data, combining it with your progress reports, and factoring it into your grade.” 

Jay leans toward you from his seat next to you, his breath warm against your ear. “That’s a little creepy…she’s going to take Jisoo apart? The poor thing.” His smirk is half-guilty, half-amused, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from laughing out loud. 

This is new. Six weeks ago, he was Mr. Front-Row Enthusiast, and sometime between then and now, you’ve somehow managed to convert him into your next-row-back partner. He’d grumbled at first when you insisted about your theory that the front row screamed try-hard, but since then, he doesn’t even glance at the seats up front anymore. 

“Grades will be out soon! I’ll see you all next week,” Professor Kim announces. “And don’t forget to submit your reflection posts!” 

The shuffle of bags and jackets fills the room as students thank her on their way out. Slowly, the lecture hall empties, until it’s just you and Jay lingering at your seats. 

“Well,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you stand. “That’s it. No more parenting lessons for us.” 

Jay heaves a dramatic sigh, his lips pulling into a pout that’s far too endearing for your peace of mind. “I can’t believe it. I already miss Jisoo.” 

You chuckle lightly but feel an odd tug in your chest. “Right? I got so used to carrying her and her baby bag everywhere. It’s weird not having her around.” 

And it is weird. You never thought you’d feel this way about a glorified hunk of plastic and wires, but now, without Jisoo, something feels…off.  

Or maybe it’s not just Jisoo. Maybe it’s the fact that this project, unexpectedly enough, turned into an excuse—a reason to spend so much time with Jay. Now that it’s over, what happens next? 

The thought hangs between you as the two of you head out of the building. The campus is alive with the hum of students, the energy buzzing around you as everyone heads to their afternoon classes. You both stop outside, standing awkwardly side by side as the silence stretches. 

No more 'Jisoo days' to plan for. No more excuses to text. No more shared tasks or inside jokes. 

Will he go back to his front-row seat, forgetting these last few weeks? Or will he—will you—pretend none of this ever happened? 

Jay shifts beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flicker to yours, then away again, as if he’s waiting for you to say something first. 

“Well,” you finally say, breaking the quiet because it’s just too heavy to bear. “I have to head to my next class.” 

“Right. Yeah,” Jay says quickly, too quickly, his hands both fidgeting with the straps of his backpack. “Makes sense.” 

He hesitates, his mouth opening like he’s about to add something, but then he stops. You notice the way he’s looking at you, like there’s a thousand things he wants to say but can’t figure out how to start. You feel that familiar heat creep up your neck, the same one you tend to get whenever you’re around him nowadays.  

“Alright,” you finally say, shifting on your feet. “See you around, then?” 

Jay’s lips turn up in a small, almost longing, smile. “Yeah. See you.” 

He doesn’t move, though. Neither do you. It’s like both of you are waiting for the other to take a step away first, and the pause grows longer and longer until you can practically hear the universe screaming at you to just go already. It’s getting unbearably uncomfortable for all of us, Y/N.  

And when you finally start to turn, before you can even take three steps, his voice stops you. 

“Hey.” 

You glance back over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

Jay scratches the back of his neck, looking like he’s fighting some kind of internal battle. “Uh, you were also a really good partner. You know, with Jisoo. I mean, you were kinda terrifying at first with all your color-coded schedules and spreadsheets, but…” 

His smile softens, and his voice drops a little. “You were great. Really. I think I learned a thing or two from you.”  

Your stomach flips in a way that’s both infuriating and addictive. 

“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound casual even though your brain is short-circuiting. “Means a lot from someone who had to Google which way a diaper goes.”  

He laughs, the sound bright and warm in the cool air. “Okay, one time, Y/N. Let it go.” 

“Nope.” You grin, turning fully toward him now, your nerves settling under the familiarity of teasing. “You’ll never live it down. It’s my parting gift to you.” 

Jay presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “Wow. I pour my heart out, and this is what I get in return?” 

“Exactly.” 

He chuckles again, shaking his head before finally stepping back, breaking the invisible bubble that’s been holding you both in place. “Alright. I’ll see you, Y/N.” 

“Bye, Jay,” you say, forcing yourself to turn and start walking away.  

You make it a few steps before you hear his voice a second time, softer this time, almost hesitant. 

“Y/N.” 

You glance back, your heart skipping a beat. 

Jay looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his lips curve into a small, lopsided smile. “Text me when you get home later tonight, okay? After your day is done.”  

You blink, caught off guard. “What?” 

“Just…so I know you got there safe,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. But the way his voice dips at the end betrays him. 

Your chest tightens in a way that officially feels dangerous. But you know you never want to get enough of this feeling.   

“Okay,” you manage to say, the word quieter than you meant, but it was the most you could muster up with the bubble stuck in your throat.  

Jay nods, his smile widening just a little. “Good.” 

And this time, when you turn away, you can’t stop the smile that sneaks onto your face. 

✭・.・✫

By the time you get home, it’s late, and the apartment is quiet. Esther is nowhere to be found—probably out with Heeseung or at the library pretending to study. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, the routine feeling strangely empty without Jisoo’s carrier on your arm and her baby bag strapped to the other.  

With a sigh, you find your way to your room and collapse onto your bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Jay’s parting words have been echoing in your head all day, barely letting you focus during the rest of your classes—“Text me when you get home.” 

You hover over your messages for a second longer than necessary, typing and deleting a draft once, then twice, then a third time, before finally hitting send: 

Y/N [8:52PM]: home safe 👍 

You stare at the screen for exactly three seconds before flinging your phone across your bed. You roll over, face buried in your pillow, half hoping he doesn’t reply so you don’t have to overanalyze the significance of a thumbs-up emoji. 

But, of course, your phone buzzes almost instantly. 

Jay [8:53PM]: good 👍 sleep well. 

A small, ridiculous smile tugs at your lips. You really shouldn’t be this giddy over such a mundane exchange, over a thumbs up emoji, but somehow, here you are. 

And that’s when you start going insane. You shoot up from your spot in bed.  

Why did he tell you to text him? Does he say that to everyone? Or was it just…you? And why does he keep looking at you like that? You’ve never been the kind of person to spiral like this, but lately, everything about Jay has you unraveling in ways you don’t know how to handle.

Clearly.  

You groan, flailing your arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Get it together, Y/N,” you mutter to yourself, but it’s no use. Every little interaction from the past six weeks replays in your head on a loop—his laughter, his stupid jokes, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp buzz from your phone. You glance over, half expecting a random notification (the other half hoping Jay double texted you) but instead, it’s the one you’ve been waiting for without realizing it: 

Professor Kim: Final grades are posted! 

Your heart leaps. Practically fumbling with your phone, you open the grading portal, scanning the page with a held breath. And there it is, staring back at you in bold letters: 

Semester Project Grade: 100% 

“YES!” you exclaim, punching the air like a successful cartoon character. You’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt, practically bouncing in bed. It’s the kind of happiness that makes you feel like you’re going to burst if you don’t share it with someone. 

And there’s only one person you want to share it with. 

Before you know what you’re doing, your closet doors are wide open, your hands rifling through. Your hands land on his jacket—the one he lent you after the showcase—and something about it feels right. You shrug it on, ignoring the way it smells faintly like him (and comfort), and grab your keys without a second thought. 

By the time you realize what you’re doing, you’re already halfway to Jay’s apartment. It’s not like you had a plan—just this overwhelming need to see him.  

Because somehow, he’s become the first person you want to share everything with, want to experience every moment with, want to feel every feeling with, and that thought is both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.  

But you’ve never been so sure of anything else before.  

Your breath hitches as you reach his familiar door, hand raised to knock. You hesitate for a moment, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this is. Who shows up at someone’s place at this hour, unannounced, just to tell them about a grade? What if he already saw it and didn’t even think twice? You look insane, Y/N. Insane.  

But then you think about the way he looked at you earlier, the way he smiled when he said “good job.” 

And you knock.  

✭・.・✫

Jay doesn’t know what’s happening. One second, he’s on his couch editing photos, and the next, someone’s trying to break down his door. At least, that’s what it sounds like. The pounding is so aggressive it makes his mug of tea tremble slightly on the table. 

Heart racing, Jay tosses his laptop aside and scans the room for a weapon. Nothing. Great. In a flash of panic, he grabs the TV remote because, sure, it’s sleek, ergonomic, and maybe intimidating in the right light. 

Bracing himself for certain doom, he yanks the door open— 

“Oh.” 

It’s you. 

At his doorstep. 

Unannounced. 

In his jacket. 

Jay flatlines. All he can do is stare at you in the oversized jacket—his oversized jacket—looking like you walked straight out of one of his dream scenarios. The rational part of him is trying to keep it together, but the feral part of his brain is screaming She’s in my clothes. Marriage now. 

You tilt your head, studying his expression. “Jay? Are you…okay?” 

He blinks, realizing he’s been standing there for a good five seconds with his mouth slightly open.  

“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Uh—what’s up?” 

“Well first, why are you wielding a TV remote like it’s a sword?” 

Jay glances down at the remote in his hand, then back at you.

“…I thought you were a robber.” 

“A robber?” you repeat, struggling not to laugh. “What kind of robber knocks?” 

“I don’t know, maybe a polite one!” 

You let out a giggle and shrug. “Fair enough. But anyway, I’m here because—did you see?” 

“See what?” He frowns, confused, and still recovering from his adrenaline rush. 

“Professor Kim posted our grades! We got a 100%!” 

Jay stares at you for a second before the words sink in. “Wait—what? We got a hundred?” 

“Yes!” You’re practically bouncing, a bright smile lighting up your face. “A perfect score, Jay!” 

He laughs and steps forward, grabbing your shoulders in his hands. “No way. We actually did it?!” 

“We did it!” You beam back, jumping up and down. “We crushed it!” 

Jay’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt, but he doesn’t care. There’s something about seeing you this happy, standing in his doorway like a whirlwind of energy, that makes his chest feel way too full, too complete.  

And for a moment, the two of you are just standing there, caught up in the moment, smiling at each other like idiots. 

When the excitement dies down, Jay notices the way you’re still slightly breathless, like you’d run all the way here.  

“Wait,” he squints. “You could’ve just texted me, you know.” 

“Oh,” you shift your weight, suddenly looking a little shy. “Yeah. But I just…wanted to see you.” 

Jay blinks. His brain is once again malfunctioning.  

“Oh.”  

Oh? 

OH.  

“Yeah. So…here I am,” you add, failing miserably to conceal the wobble in your voice.  

“Here you are,” he repeats, his voice back to that soft tone that knows how to make your heart go into overdrive.  

His eyes flicker to yours and stay there as the air between you suddenly feels heavier. Charged. 

“Is that all?” Jay asks, his lips twitching into a teasing smile. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat, looking anywhere but at him. “I guess.” 

Jay leans against the doorframe, studying you with that stupidly charming smirk of his. “Well, then.” 

“Well, then,” you echo, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jacket like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever encountered (spoiler: it’s not. That would be Jay’s face. But we’re not admitting that just yet). 

Neither of you moves. Not even a millimeter. The silence stretches so long that you’re pretty sure somewhere in the world, a Netflix show just autoplayed its next episode. 

Then, suddenly, Jay watches as your face cycles through the emotional Olympics: panic, resolve, regret, and whatever it is that makes your eyebrows do that cute scrunch thing he secretly loves. 

“I should go,” you say, finally breaking the silence, your voice quieter now. “Sorry for barging in like this.” 

You look down at your feet, hands still mindlessly playing with the sleeve of his jacket. Jay’s stomach twists at the sight—at the quiet, unsure way you’re suddenly retreating.  

No. Absolutely not. He doesn’t know where his bravery is coming from (he suspects it’s sheer desperation), but he refuses to let you leave like this. 

Before you can fully turn away, Jay reaches out and gently grabs your sleeve, tugging you back like you’re his favorite person in the world—which, spoiler again, you totally are. 

“Wait,” he says, pulling you close enough that you bump into his chest. Both his hands find their way to your waist, steadying you with an ease that feels practiced. Like it’s where his hands were always meant to be. 

And that's when Jay knows for sure: he likes you. He likes you bad. Painful highlighters, confusing spreadsheets, and all. He likes the way you carry your stubbornness like a badge of honor. He likes the way you chew on your pen when you're deep in thought. The way you turn his every sarcastic comment into a competition he's somehow thrilled to lose.  

“You forgot something,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low as his eyes search yours, then your lips, then your entire face.  

Your heart stumbles, your brain short-circuits, and you’re pretty sure your face is now the color of a stop sign. 

“Oh, uh, the jacket?” you stammer, looking down at where he grabbed your sleeve, grasping for any logical explanation. “You’re right. Sorry, I almost—” 

But before you can finish, Jay does something both incredibly bold and incredibly reckless. He leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

For a moment, you freeze. This isn’t real. Is this an alternate universe where Jay kisses you instead of just driving you insane? 

But then, the realization sinks in—Jay is kissing you. Like, actually kissing you. And wow. 

The first touch of his lips sends a rush through your entire body, like every nerve has suddenly woken up all at once. He’s hesitant at first, almost like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, but when you don’t—when you finally let go of all the confusion, overthinking, and denial—you lean into him, your hands both instinctively reaching up, gripping the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself as you kiss him back, now realizing how much you desperately wanted this.  

And that’s all the encouragement Jay needs.  

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his fingers brushing the hem of the jacket you’re wearing—his jacket, you remember with a strange, fluttering thrill. The kiss deepens, gentle but insistent, a slow, breathtaking unraveling of all the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks. 

It’s like the air shifts around you, the space between you collapsing into nothing. You feel his breath, warm against your skin, and the faintest hitch in it when your hand moves up to lightly curl against the back of his neck. 

He’s so close, and everything about this moment feels right—his familiar scent, the steady warmth of his hands on your waist, the way he tilts his head slightly to meet yours like he’s memorizing the shape of you. 

Your heart pounds, the world spinning just a little too fast and too slow all at once. It’s electric, and dizzying, and somehow everything and nothing like you imagined (because, yes, you’ve imagined it—so what?). 

Jay pulls back just slightly, his forehead brushing yours as he grins, his voice a playful mumble against your lips, not wanting to break the kiss. “You can keep the jacket.” 

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as you clutch at his arms for balance.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” 

“I’m a multi-tasker,” he replies, deadpan, his lips turning into a teasing smirk as he leans in and steals another quick kiss. He starts to pull back again, but you don't let him—your hand catches his sleeve as you dart up and chase his lips for one more peck, light and fleeting, but enough to make him smile like a fool. You're completely, utterly, hopelessly obsessed with him.  

"Besides," he adds, the words smug as his arms tighten around you, "I've already sacrificed my jacket. Might as well give up my dignity too."  

You roll your eyes, “You’re still an idiot.” 

“And yet, I’m the idiot you kissed back,” Jay fires back, brushing a strand of hair from your face.  

You shake your head, your voice soft and teasing. “You’re so—” 

The words trail off as you meet his gaze again, and before you can even think about stopping yourself, you tilt your head up, close the remaining distance between you, and kiss him first this time.  

Jay freezes for a second, caught off guard, before he fully melts into the kiss again, one hand instinctively curling around your waist to keep you as close as possible. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no holding back—just the two of you in the quiet of his doorway, and the overwhelming certainty that neither of you wants to let this—this moment, this feeling—to end. 

When you finally pull back, Jay’s eyes are sparkling, his gaze holding an undeniable warmth. 

“You know,” he starts, voice light but tinged with something deeper, “if you keep doing that, I might start thinking you actually like me or something.” 

You raise an eyebrow, leaning in just close enough to make him squirm, your smirk playful. 

“And if you keep talking,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing, “I might change my mind.” 

Jay blinks, momentarily stunned, before letting out a breathless laugh, his arms instinctively circling your waist again, pulling you just a little closer. “Noted. Say less. I’ll shut up forever. You’re stuck with me now.” 

Stuck with Jay? As in a more-than-project-partners kind of way? 

Yeah, you think, meeting the smile he’s giving you. 

You don’t mind that idea one bit. 

✭・.・✫

Now that the six weeks of parenthood is over, we ask that you write a reflection post in response to your pre-questionnaire answers we asked you at the beginning of the project. Were your expectations met? Exceeded? Any surprises along the way?

Y/N’s Submission [11:15AM, October 30th]:

Parenting, even with a robot baby, turned out to be nothing like I expected. I’ve learned that no matter how much you plan, babies (and life) have a way of completely ignoring your carefully crafted schedules. It was frustrating at times, but it also made things…unexpectedly fun.

Speaking of unexpected—let’s just say my partnership for this project caught me completely off guard, in the best way possible. Turns out, some surprises are worth breaking the plan for :)

Jay’s Submission [11:30AM, October 30th]:

Honestly? I expected surprises, but I wasn’t ready to lose three years of my life over a diaper change—or nearly go deaf from tantrums. Safe to say, I learned the hard way that being a little prepared isn’t such a bad idea.

But here’s the thing: turns out, babies (and certain project partners) have a way of growing on you. Who knew spreadsheets and sleepless nights could actually be…kinda great? I guess what I’m saying is, sometimes the best things aren’t planned. And also, I know how to change a diaper in 30 seconds now. The right side up :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! let me know what you think °ʚ(*´꒳`*)ɞ°

m. list here!

tag list (tenk u for all the luv): @neozon3nha @duckling-niki @somuchdard @jkslvsnella @jjongstar111

@haechsworld @joieouioui @zl-world @getoxo @onlyjjong

@puma-riki @e-r-i-15 @st4rwon

@jayla240 [ wouldn't let me tag you,,,sorry! i also had to format the tags weirdly to get this to work :') ]

cue all tags now...

[heewhoresimp]

That guy from my late teen

this is the most beautiful man I have ever seen

[heewhoresimp]

Hoon 🎧

park sunghoon audio

sunghoon felt needy when he woke up, but you weren't there to help him, so he decided to do it himself...

I found the perfect audio for him

the voice is identical to his👀👀

[heewhoresimp]

Angst car crash hoon

❀﹐𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: in which married couple park sunghoon and park y/n are on their way to court to divorce when they suddenly get into a car crash, losing their memories entirely. over time, they start to fall inlove with each other all over again.

genre: angst, exes to lovers + strangers to lovers (ynhoon are soulmates your honor!!) fluff

“You are the most immature person I have ever met!” You shout, “I should’ve never married you in the first place!”

“Finally, something we can both agree on.” Sunghoon seethes, and you just know the taxi driver is uncomfortable by the way he’s awkwardly looking in the car mirror.

The both of you crossed your arms stubbornly, huffing like little children who just threw a tantrum.

The only reason why you and Sunghoon were getting a divorce in the first place was because he was so busy at his office, inheriting the CEO position from his father just months earlier.

You felt lonely, and it really didn’t help that Sunghoon didn’t give you any reassurance because he was too tired.

“Aish, why is this red light taking so long?” Sunghoon angrily mumbles underneath his breath.

“Well maybe it’s your negative energy.”

“Can you be mature once in your life?” Sunghoon snaps back.

The taxi driver, very annoyed with the both of you, continues driving when the light turns green.

Then all of a sudden, a car rams through the intersection, crashing directly into the taxi.

You scream, and Sunghoon instantly puts his arms around your frame, shielding you.

Then, all goes black.

For a second, you could see the day that you and Sunghoon got married.

It was a Sunday, at the beautiful church nearby Sunghoon’s parents house, and you were wearing what Sunghoon called the most beautiful dress he’d ever seen. It was plain white, but long and so beautifully designed that it didn’t need any other colors.

When you arrived at the altar, Sunghoon had bursted into tears. Some of his friends, Jake, who had traveled all the way from Australia to attend, patted the boy on back as comfort.

That day was nonetheless the happiest day of your life. You don’t know if Sunghoon feels the same, and looking back, it feels like such a shame that you’re throwing it all down the drain.

❀﹐

BLEEP. BLEEP.

Your body jolts awake, head practically killing you with the amount of ache it produced as you tried to sit up.

“Patient is up!” The nurse says before walking into your room with a tray. “Good morning, are you feeling okay?”

You raise your hands to touch your head, which was bandaged by some soft tissue material.

“Where am I?” You say, looking around the room. You spot a unknown man groggily getting up, and for a second, you can’t help but notice how handsome he was.

That was besides the point, though.

“You’re in the hospital.” The nurse says, smiling softly. “Do you remember the events leading up to this?”

“I.. I don’t remember anything, actually.”

The nurse still smiles at you reassuringly. “It’s alright lovebug, it seems as though you two have lost your memories.”

“Us two?” You question.

“Yes.” She points to the guy on the other bed right next to you who just looked like he woke up from death. He too looked badly injured like you, having a broken hand and bandage around his head. “Park Sunghoon-ssi was in the same car as you and got injured as well.”

Park Sunghoon. Why did that name sound so familiar?

“Well since you're both awake," she said, relief evident in her voice. "You've been in an accident. Do you remember anything Sunghoon-ssi?”

Sunghoon shook his head slowly. "No... I don't remember anything."

The nurse nodded, sympathy in her eyes. “It's not uncommon for victims to lose their memories after a traumatic accident. Memory loss can be temporary. Just focus on resting for now.”

The nurse leaves the room, leaving you and Sunghoon alone.

“She said we were in the same car together,” you say slowly. “But I really can’t remember what you are to me.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Me either. All I remember vividly is my parents. You must’ve been an acquaintance of mine, then.”

You nod, stretching your limbs. “You got more injured than me.”

He lets out an airy chuckle, lifting his broken arm which was in a cast into the air. “Yep, broken arm.”

You want to remember so badly what had happened leading up to all of this. What were you doing? Where were you going, and why were you with this Park Sunghoon guy in the first place?

“What did you get for breakfast?”

Sunghoon breaks the silence between the two of you, and you slowly look down at the tray in front of your bed.

“Uh, the nurse got me tiramisu and oatmeal.”

“Tiramisu?” Sunghoon’s mood automatically brightens up. “Can we please switch sweets? I really love tiramisu.”

You laugh at his childlike behavior, but nod anyway. “I’ll bring it to you Sunghoon, wait.”

You don’t know why, but it feels so right saying his name. Sunghoon must’ve felt the same way, because he swore his mouth went dry at you calling out his name.

You carefully make your way out your hospital bed, making sure not to accidentally detach any monitors that were attached to you. Grabbing the tiramisu cup, you make your way over to Sunghoon, who’s already shaking in excitement.

Then you make your way back, opening the lid of your oatmeal bowl.

“I may not know what happened in the accident,” Sunghoon says. “But I know this tiramisu is so fucking good.”

You shake your head, laughing at his words. “Yah Sunghoon, you think we were best friends before all of this?”

“Maybe.” He mutters, the mascarpone cheese of the tiramisu leaving a mark on the side of his lips.

“Well our humor is alike.” You say. “Would explain why we were in the same car together. Maybe we were going out to lunch.”

The rest of the day was spent with Sunghoon and you cracking jokes then and there, the awkwardness of the two of you being strangers quickly faded.

❀﹐

The next day, you were given tiramisu once again while Sunghoon was given cookies.

You descended from your bed, once again, and gave the tiramisu cup to Sunghoon while you grabbed his bag of cookies.

“You know what’s funny?” You say, biting into the warm chocolate chip cookie.

“What?” He says, although it’s muffled from the amount of tiramisu he’s stuffed into his mouth.

“Yah, you gotta stop doing that, it’s gross.”

Sunghoon sticks his tongue out at you, which makes you giggle.

“We’re both Parks, isn’t that funny?”

“Huh,” Sunghoon looks up at the ceiling, thinking for a brief second. “Park Sunghoon and Park Y/N. That is funny.”

Maybe both of your humors are broken because you hit your head too hard during the crash, but even though you were at the hospital, you’re glad you have someone like Sunghoon to keep you company.

“Do you want to watch the stars with me tonight at the balcony?” You ask the boy, who nods softly.

“I’d love to, actually.”

And that’s what the two of you did. By the time it hit 10pm, you two tiptoed out to the balcony, making sure to not let any of the night nurses see you.

“Whoaaa, it’s beautiful.” Sunghoon says, letting his broken arm lean against the railing. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

You smile, leaning your head on Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“Sunghoon.” You say, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure what we were before the accident,” you stop for a second. “But I’m glad we knew each other.”

Sunghoon turns his head to look down at your face, his expression morphed into a genuine smile. “I’m glad we knew each other too Y/N.”

That night, you slept the most compared to the other nights at the hospital. In your dreams, you see Sunghoon—only instead of being at the hospital bed right beside you, he’s in the kitchen, wearing a black suit.

“You look nice today.”

“Thank you baby.” Sunghoon leans down to give you a kiss on the lips. “Is that tiramisu?”

You nod, your eyes full of love. “Of course, you’ve been working so hard so I decided to make your favorite.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, letting the two of you swing back and forth slowly. “Thank you my love, I seriously don’t know what I would do without you.”

You woke up in a cold sweat, the dream feeling all too real.

“What’s wrong?” Sunghoon says, and you swore your heart almost leaped out of your chest, not expecting the brunette boy to be awake.

“It’s 2am, why are you even awake?” You say croakily, hands coming to rub your tired eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs. “Hey, I had a really weird dream just now.”

“Me too.” You say, “you were in it.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t further question it. “You were a lawyer in my dream, you just graduated from Seoul University. We bought a house, and you told me you wanted to continue with your career.”

At least his dream was somewhat normal, you think. I can’t just tell him I dreamt of us being together and being all lovey dovey. He’d be thrown into a coma!

“Ah, mine was similar.”

Nice save Y/N.

Sunghoon suddenly gets up from his bed, deciding to sit at the dining table the nurses had brought out for the two of you yesterday night.

“Come sit with me.”

You slowly creep out of your bed, sitting on the empty seat next to Sunghoon.

Suddenly, you’re hit with a sudden pounding headache.

“You’re the worst, Sunghoon!” You scream on the top of your lungs, “I hate you! I hate you!”

“Stop screaming!” He grabs your arms gently, eyes directly looking into yours. “Y/N-ah, stop it.”

“So I’m Y/N to you now?” Your voice breaks. “No more baby or love? Am I just another person to you Sunghoon?”

“Of course not, why would you say that?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep inhale. “Let’s just talk about this calmly, okay?”

“What’s there to talk about? You are never home, you’re always cooped up in your office! We might as well get a divorce!”

Sunghoon’s hold on your shoulder makes you snap out of your daze.

“Hey, you okay?” He says concernedly, “you were breathing heavily.”

“What?” You gasp. “Yeah—yeah, I’m okay. I just think I had a flashback.”

“Really? What was it?”

You don’t want to tell Sunghoon that it was the two of you fighting. Why did you even mention divorcing in the flashback? Were you and Sunghoon something more than just friends?

“Just the crash.” You say. You want to tell him the truth, you really do, but you’re not sure if these were hallucinations from how hard your head was hit during the trauma or if they were actual flashbacks.

“Well, I’m here.” Sunghoon whispers reassuringly. “I’ll always be here. We survived a car crash together anyway, we’re kinda bonded to each other.”

You laugh, smacking him on his shoulder softly. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

❀﹐

“Do you remember what your passion was before all of this?” Sunghoon asks, peeling his orange with his injured hand.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” you say, “l think I really would’ve liked becoming a mother. I love kids, the thought of them makes me happy.”

“I think you would be a great mother.” Sunghoon says quietly. “Even though we don’t know each other much, I can tell you’re loving.”

You look down at your lap, trying to suppress the bright smile forming at the corner of your lips.

“Thanks Hoonie.”

“Hoonie?”

Your eyes widened. “I’m sorry! Did I make you uncomfortable? I should’ve not—”

“It’s okay Y/N,” he chuckles. “It’s fine. I like it.”

You can’t help but laugh along with him. “Okay.”

The next few days go by quickly, with you and Sunghoon already warming up to each other.

You were both comfortable enough to speak your thoughts freely around one another, no matter how silly or ridiculous some of them seemed.

When the nurses brought you two breakfast, Sunghoon almost dropped his fork in shock.

“They gave me tiramisu.” He says, eyes glistening with joy. “They finally gave me tiramisu.”

“I don’t know why you’re so excited.” You snicker jokingly. “You’ve been eating my tiramisu this entire week.”

He turns around to look at your tray, which had a bag of snickerdoodle cookies on it.

With shaking limbs, he makes his way over, handing the tiramisu cup to you and swapping it with your cookies.

“I thought you hated snickerdoodle cookies, Hoon?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed.

“I do.” He admits. “But you’ve given me your tiramisu all week, I wanted you to have mine this time.”

Your heart swells at that, and you point your spoon at him accusingly.

“Yah, is this because you want my chocolate pudding at dinner?” You joke.

“Pffft, what? Nooo.” He quickly defends himself. “But if you’re willing to share—”

“Shut up Park Sunghoon!”

“Yes ma’am!”

❀﹐

You don’t know why, but you’re starting to feel giddy whenever you talk with Sunghoon.

Your palms does this thing where it sweats profusely, and your tongue feels like dried sandpaper.

There’s no way you like Park Sunghoon, right? You’ve barely known the guy for two weeks, so why was the heart racing at the thought of him?

“I’ve convinced the nurses to get us two bottles of coca cola,” Sunghoon says, practically jumping up and down as he entered the room.

“Really? Out of all the drinks you could’ve persuaded them to get us, you got us coke.”

“Don’t diss Coca Cola like that!” Sunghoon says, crossing his arms.

Just like Sunghoon had said, the nurse approaches the two of you an hour later, 2 bottles of coca cola in her hands. She hands one to Sunghoon, then to you.

"Enjoy." She says, smile reaching her eyes.

Sunghoon's eyes light up when he opens the bottle and takes a sip. "Ah, for some reason, this feels so nostalgic."

A little memory pops up in his head, one of him playing at the park with his mom and younger sister.

"Sunghoon-oppa! Mom says she brought us coca cola!" The young girl, Yeji, says. "C'mon! Come with me!"

The young Park Sunghoon lets his younger sister take his hand, running towards their mom who was on the other side of the park.

"What's wrong Sunghoon-ssi?" You ask, noticing how his thick eyebrows were furrowed and his grip on the bottle had tightened.

"Huh?"

"You zoned out for a bit."

He chuckles nervously, glancing around the room. "Sorry, I think I just had a flashback." He says. "Park Yeji."

"Who?"

"My younger sister." He explains. "I could see her clearly. I wonder where she is right now."

You too wondered where your family was. Maybe they were too busy to come visit you. You could briefly remember having a younger brother. Jungwon. Yang Jungwon.

"Cheers." He says, mood changing quickly. His canines shined brightly as he smiled, making him look all too gorgeous in your eyes. "To the car crash, for bringing me and Park Y/N together."

You giggle, raising your bottle in the air. "Cheers to the car crash, for bonding me with this weird guy named Sunghoon."

"Yah!"

❀﹐

"Is it weird?"

"Hm?"

It's 11pm, and you and Sunghoon face each other as you're both laying on opposite ends of the room.

"That we've known each other for only a few weeks and I already feel like I've known you for an entire lifetime?"

You smile at his words, shaking your head. "No, I feel the same way Hoonie."

"Would it be stupid to say out loud how much I want to kiss you right now?"

Your mouth almost drops at his boldness, but you quickly shake your head.

Sunghoon takes your silence as approval, sitting up to come over to your side.

He brushes the hair away from your face, leaning in to close the gap between your lips.

When the both of you pull away, you automatically lean in again, the feel of his lips on yours felt so right.

"I love you Sunghoon." You say as you cup his cheeks. "I don't want to fight anymore."

"I know," he whispers. "I love you. Cause even though we were both going down, we were going down together."

"I hate you." You say, a smile playing on your face. "I hate you for being the only person who I can't stay mad at."

"And I love you," he says. "For being there for me, always."

"Sunghoon."

"Hm?"

"I love you."

He smiles down at you, uninjured hand coming to hold yours. "I love you too."

❀﹐

"What?" You say flabbergasted.

The next morning was the date of both yours and Sunghoon's discharge, and both your families decided to come visit.

"You two were married." Your father explains, a bewildered expression on his face. "How could you not know? Was the Park Y/N not obvious?"

"I thought that was just my last name!" You say, defending yourself.

"Your last name is Yang, noona." Your little brother speaks up. It was Jungwon, the same boy you kept seeing in your flashbacks, only this time, his face looks more clear and matured. "It was before you married Sunghoon-hyung."

"You're telling me we got married and divorced?" Sunghoon says, stuttering over his own words.

"Yes son," Sunghoon's mother explains. "Well, not quite exactly. We don't know why you guys wanted to divorce, you kind of shut yourselves out when you were arguing. You didn't officially divorce yet, you got into an accident on the way to court."

That made so much sense now. The flashbacks of arguments between you and Sunghoon, the makeups after the arguments, the cute moments, everything. It started to all click in your head.

"You still share houses and everything, the lawyers had to put your case on hold because you were both hospitalized." Jungwon says. "We were here to pick you up separately, in case you weren't comfortable staying with each other."

"It's fine." You and Sunghoon both say at the same time.

"Are you sure honey?" Sunghoon's mom asks concernedly.

"Yes mom, I'm sure."

The drive home was awkward, you both drove in different cars but to the home you had bought before the accident happened.

"Noona," Jungwon calls out to you. Your parents are still in the car, looking at the scene in front of them.

"Yes Jungwon?"

"Listen, I may not know a lot about love," he says, "but I know what you and Sunghoon-hyung have is real. I could still see somewhere in his eyes that he remembers parts of you and he still loves you whether or not his memories came back or not. I could tell you love him too. I don't know why the two of you decided to divorce but I know you called me crying hysterically because of it. I just think you two needed to talk it out, without the lawyers, without the paperwork. You two are the two most stubborn people I know, but also the two most loving people I know, you wouldn't just leave each other like that."

You want to cry at your younger brother's words, tears already leaking from your eyes. "Thank you Won."

You reach your arms out to hug him, a hug that he instantly melts into. "I love you noona."

"I love you too."

❀﹐

"This isn't what we expected, huh?" Sunghoon says, leaning his head on the marble island in the middle of your kitchen. "This whole time I thought you were my best friend, turns out you were my soon to be ex-wife."

You laugh quietly at the irony of the whole situation. "Whatever we were in the past is in the past Hoon."

He nods. "I can't believe we were going to divorce."

"I can't believe it either."

"You know what my mom told me in the car?" Sunghoon sits up straight to look at you. "The reason I have a broken arm and you don't was because during the crash, I put my arms around yours to protect you. Isn't that funny? Even though we hated each other at that moment, my first instinct was to protect you."

You stay still at that, his words sinking into your brain.

"It's like the universe wanted us to be together." You say quietly.

"Hey Y/N?"

You turn around to face Sunghoon. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad I married you."

Even though you and Sunghoon aren't sure where you stand in terms of relationship, all you know is that you love him, and that is enough for the both of you.

[heewhoresimp]

23 curse coming up

[heewhoresimp]

Tried something hehe

[heewhoresimp]

haven’t seen lots of awareness brought to this in enhablr yet but i really wish all engenes could also post about & talk about the mistreatment they’re getting from belift. the way they haven’t had not even five days of rest the past two years is so concerning. the way the members’ healths are getting worse is so terrifying. they’re all so horrendously overworked and exhausted. we all saw jay’s injury and how they STILL made him perform despite the fact that his knee was injured. and now he’s on a hiatus that probably won’t even last that long considering how greedy their company is.

jake had to sit out from two different stages in their most recent concert and couldn’t even open his eyes when he was present for the other stages. heeseung can’t even properly perform with how overworked and exhausted he is. riki even spoke out about fainting in his weverse (whether it was a mistranslation or joke or not) this is all so terrifying. it’s so concerning because every engene knows how much enha love music & how much they love performing and having concerts for their fans.

their schedules for the past two years have literally been inhumane. comeback after comeback. tour after tour. event after event. concert after concert. belift is treating the members like they’re literal robots and the only people that can actually stop this is engenes themselves the longer you demand for a rest for the boys for no more comebacks and even boycott the higher of a chance enha will have a BREAK.

so please as an engene SPEAK OUT. repost reblog on here on every platform retweet on X share posts on tumblr use hashtags do whatever you can in your power for enha because it’s so clear they don’t have anyone else but us engenes when their own company is treating them like this.

mind you. they’re planning on making enhypen have another comeback at the final quarter of this year. AGAIN.

LET ENHYPEN REST ‼️

tagging a few moots: @intromortal @heeslomll @ak4e7a @enha-stars @venomhee @sjyfave @alvojake @hollyoongs @yzzyhee @ja3yun @jaylaxies @hoondrop @fakeuwus

[heewhoresimp]

please Engenes send this message to Belift !

(copy)

Hello BELIFT LAB, in recent weeks we have noticed the physical and mental fatigue that several members of Enhypen have had , as fans we come to urgently ask for a decent rest for them with the following clauses:

1. The break should last at least 2 or 3 months, if it is extended longer there is no problem.

2. During this time you cannot allow them to be forced to record any type of content, such as missions or game activities for them.

3. Nor do creating events, fancalls, autograph signings, concerts, albums, mini-albums.

4. If you want to record an episode of en o'clock, let it be one where they can rest and be calm, without having to complete challenges or missions.

5. Get better personal and security during your rest.

(Due to the incidents with SUNOO)

6. Begin to better distribute the individual activities of the members after the break. (Because SUNOO is the one with the least solo activities, not a cover that he wanted to record has come to light)

7. Do not rush a comeback when you are returning to activities.

(email is protect@belifit.kr)

(This text was made by fanbases, I'm just sharing it! please help! OUR BOYS URGENTLY NEED REST!!!

USE HASHTAG #letenhypenrest

ON EVERYTHING ENGENES‼️‼️

THEY NEED US⁉️⁉️⁉️

[heewhoresimp]

I'm the same age as ni-ki. If a normal person like me has trouble sleeping and a light sleeper, and if someone wakes me up just an hour later I've slept, my whole body starts shaking and if i didn't get to sleep at all for more than 20 hours my head literally started spinning and i couldn't concentrate properly to whatever I'm doing, AND THIS IS EVEN WORSE. IMAGINE CHANGING TIME ZONES EVERY OTHER DAY WITH NO SLEEP AND WITH NON STOP WORK, DANCE PRACTICES DESPITE HAVING PROBLEM WITH THEIR HEALTHS‼️

DANCING AND SINGING FOR HOURS WITH JUST A FEW HOURS OF SLEEP ARE YOU KIDDING ME!????

AND THEY LITERALLY SAID THEY PREFER LONGER FLIGHTS JUST BECAUSE THEY GET TO SLEEP AND REST PROPERLY ON FLIGHTS!!??? NO DORM? NO BEDS? BUT ON LITERALLY FLIGHT SEATS!!??

THIS IS COMFORTABLE??? THEIR FLIGHTS IS THEIR HOME OR WHAT????

HOW CAN THEY TREAT THEIR IDOLS LIKE THEY ARE SOME KIND OF MACHINE!????

THE COMPANY OWNER IS NOT HUMAN??? TO SEE WHAT OTHER HUMAN'S ARE GOING THROUGH RIGHT NOW!!!!? OR THEY JUST DON'T CARE AT ALL????

HOW TF THEY'RE LITERALLY MAKING ANOTHER COMEBACK IN SEPTEMBER????

GIVE THEM A BREAK AT LEAST FOR 2 MONTHS WITH NO SCHEDULE NO CHANGING COUNTRIES AND NO FILMING NOT EVEN EN O'CLOCK.

‼️‼️THEY NEED BREAK‼️‼️

WE CAN WAIT FOR THEM TO RECOVER FIRST AND THEN START WORKING AGAIN.

JUST LET THEM REST IN THEIR DROM AND EVEN BETTER WITH THEIR FAMILIES WITH PROPER CARE AND MEALS. WITHOUT ANY CAMERAS, NO FILMING AT ALL.

WE DON'T WANT THEM TO SEE FAINT AGAIN ON THE STAGES OR HAVING REGULAR VISIT TO HOSPITALS. THIS IS JUST NOT RIGHT.

WHAT KIND OF INHUMAN BEHAVIOUR IT IS????

‼️‼️ENHYPEN NEED REST‼️‼️

‼️‼️GIVE THEM BREAK‼️‼️

[heewhoresimp]

Damn

happy hotwifing ― p.js & p.sh

When a single man moves in next door to you and your husband, it wasn’t difficult for either of you to take interest in what he could offer to the dynamic of your lives together. Unfortunately, the new and interesting man appears to be afraid to admit that he’s curious as to what happens behind your very unlocked front door.  or the one where your husband, jongseong, fucks you in front of the window to help the neighbor get off and then said neighbor shows up at the door a week later. 

minors dni! | reblog to give husband and neighbor a boner

WORDCOUNT― 18.9k

PAIRING― husband jongseong x afab reader x voyeur sunghoon 

CONTENT― husband!jay, bachelor sunghoon, hotwifing/ open marriage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, second hand embarrassment, threesome, smut. 

WARNINGS― mentions of sunghoon’s ex cheating on him, also jongseong is assumed to be bisexual and/or he is attracted to sunghoon too but there isn’t any dude on dude stuff. jongseong does put his fingers in sunghoon’s mouth tho, deal with it. 

NOTE― i wrote this originally on ncteez. i am the same person lol 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― exhibitionism, voyeurism, big dick jay, HUGE dick sunghoon, top/dom(ish) jay, service top/shy/bottom(ish) sunghoon, embarrassment kink???, mentions of porn, masturbation, phone sex kind of?? idk he calls sunghoon so he can listen to the shit he’s seeing, alcohol consumption, finger fucking, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, tit fondling, raw grinding,  oral (f & m receiving), deepthroating/facefucking, making out, dirty talk, pussy drunk men, cock drunk reader, double vaginal penetration, riding, missionary, finger sucking, cum stuffing, desperate desperate people!!! 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon ran from a lot of things. He ran from his ex fiancée when she cheated, he ran from new opportunities out of fear of losing what he already had, ran from a cop once as a teenager for streaking near the old folk’s home. Running wasn’t exactly something he’s fond of but, more often than not it’s what his heart tells him to do.

As stated, the last time he ran away was when his fiancée was found in the bed he paid for with her co-worker. That’s when his need to run came in the most handy, having no qualms with giving her the apartment and everything in it. His job allowed him to leave without much of a financial hit, her’s wouldn’t. 

The ring he bought stayed on her finger for some reason, the home he made became one she shared with any man that wasn’t him. It’s okay though, because to him? She can have it. He’s much more comfortable starting over than she would be. So, that’s what he does. 

He has money, he has a good job, and now he has a lovely house of his own on a quaint little street on the other side of town. Far far away from her. 

Starting over is equally as exhausting as it is exciting but Sunghoon keeps his chin up throughout the process. Making an empty house his new home, working his job as if his entire intimate life didn’t just fall apart, and of course, preparing himself to mingle with the new neighbors. 

A month after moving, Sunghoon had made platter after platter of food for neighbors as his greeting in an attempt to make friends. Many accepted and returned his dishes washed and unscratched. All are friendly to him but the majority of people in this neighborhood are middle aged and a bit out of his league. There is one pair of neighbors who appear more around his age though, and interested in actual friendship with him. The pair who brought his dishes back full of their own offer of a decent dinner for him to eat on his own time. 

Despite the majority of people living on this street being polite and fond of him as a newcomer, this specific couple appears to be the only ones without an entire family. Just like Sunghoon. No children, free time to go out on the weekends, no minivans or babysitters coming every day during working hours. Naturally, he internally clings to the idea of them being his new friends, because his old group of friends consisted of his ex fiancée and her tight-knit group of pompous women and their boy toys. 

Jongseong is the husband’s name, and briefly he met you alongside him a few times. He assumes you must have your own interests to cater to, because each time he finds himself on his own front porch with Jongseong talking and joking around, you rarely come with him. Save for the one or two times you did stay to hang out for a couple of hours.

After a few months, he’s managed to sprout friendship with the man next door who has a pretty wife with a ring on her finger. Sunghoon tries not to internalize that he was supposed to be living the way Jongseong is. Maybe he’s a bit jealous of the happiness in Jongseong’s eyes when he talks about you, or maybe it makes him feel like he either wasn’t good enough as a partner, or his ex simply just didn’t love him anymore. 

Still, even with the slight jealousy, Sunghoon is comfortable around him. He’s never clicked with another man so quickly in terms of friendship, at least not without several shots of hard liquor to get himself comfortable. It’s definitely different with his neighbor. 

The guy is open, kind, and occasionally pretty funny. He comes over a few nights a week with the claim of “man-time”. It’s been at least fifteen times since he officially met Jongseong and comfort comes alongside him when he sits on this porch and they fuck around about menial things. Hanging out with him is arguably like a breath of fresh air. 

Jongseong though, he takes note of a lot of things that Sunghoon doesn’t quite seem to notice himself. One, any time he mentions his wife, Sunghoon’s eyes falter a bit. Two, Sunghoon is clearly a single man and Jongseong can’t quite grasp why that is because he’s a handsome dude, with a level personality. Three, there are slight self-deprecating jokes coming from Sunghoon at least five times an hour and it’s starting to make him wonder. At first it can be funny, but after a while it kind of stops being a joke. 

So, here they are, joking and having a nice conversation on Sunghoon’s porch. It’s a Friday night and Jongseong assumes they’re close enough by this point to really talk. You’re in the back of his mind, making offers, smirking about the new neighbor, laying down the interest flat out after merely meeting with him a few times. If Sunghoon really is a single man, and if he’s as open minded as he seems, perhaps laying down some hints and an invite can help him out of this clear slump that he tries to pretend he’s not in. 

“What about you? Do you have someone in your life?” Jongseong asks after a solid twenty minutes of gushing about you. Internally knowing what he says about you is true, but also trying to sell the idea of how wonderful and sexy you are. He leans back as he studies Sunghoon, noting the way he stiffens at the question. 

Again, it’s clear that Sunghoon is a single man with the way he’s always in this house alone before and after work. On the weekends, he’s sitting on his porch waiting for Jongseong to come join him. Sometimes there’s a doubt though, because looking at him, anyone would believe he is taken. He is down to earth, funny, kind, handsome as hell. Maybe he does see people and Jongseong just never catches it. 

“Ah, no,” Sunghoon avoids eye contact, trying to laugh it off as he confirms Jongseong’s suspicions. He wants to talk about what happened though. He hasn’t been able to talk about it, and honestly, Jongseong seems like a trusted friend at this point. “I was with someone for six years, asked her to marry me, and then we broke it off. That’s why I’m here now.”

“Oh yeah? Starting over, huh?” Jongseong nods politely at him, figuring something like this may have happened. “Can I ask what happened?”

Sunghoon shrugs nonchalantly, looking at Jongseong with a carefree face and a smile.

“She wasn’t the most faithful, you know how it goes with those sorts of things, I guess.” 

Jongseong studies his face a bit more, seeing straight through that carefree attitude and noting the immense amount of hurt Sunghoon must feel. 

“I don’t, actually.” Jongseong starts, watching Sunghoon’s brow rise in confusion. 

“Oh, well isn’t that nice?” He responds with a defeated shrug, almost wanting to roll his eyes. “You might be the first man I’ve ever met who hasn’t dealt with infidelity at some point. Even just as a teenager.”

“On the contrary,” Jongseong says with a smirk, leaning towards Sunghoon as if he has a secret to tell. “We fuck other people all the time.”

Sunghoon stares at him as he processes those words. Unsure of it that means they both are cheating out of spite, or if they’re about to divorce or something. 

“Sometimes in the same bed.” 

Oh. 

“At the same time.”

Jongseong deadpan stares at Sunghoon, searching for a reaction to his words. There have been many times where he and his wife invite someone to their bedroom, and many more times where the person ended up so freaked out that they ghosted the entire situation. Perhaps out of fear that Jongseong doesn’t know what he’s doing with his wife. Many people can’t seem to fathom that possessiveness, jealousy, and competition aren’t part of the deal. 

You married Jongseong and he married you long after the two of you started doing this. The trial period was over before it even started. He loved watching you be pleasured, and you loved the way he looked at you as it happened. Of course, not all of the sex involves other people, but it never hurts the marriage when a third shows up. 

“Oh–” Sunghoon swallows around his dry throat, mind running in several directions at once. He’s not sure how to respond to that information. “That’s cool, I guess.”

Jongseong stays silent, smirking a bit at the way Sunghoon, so tall and broad, stutters to find the words to say. It’s not like he straight up invited him, not yet at least. 

“I couldn’t imagine doing that, considering I just left my fiancée for fucking someone else.” 

Jongseong nods both understandingly and apologetically. People do tend to mix up the two. Is it cheating when he watches another person fuck you? To some people, yeah but, monogamy is natural for many people. 

“I assume she didn’t tell you that she would be fucking someone else.” Jongseong shrugs, leaning back again. “I can imagine that even if she did tell you, you’d not have allowed it, right?”

Sunghoon nods. 

“It puts my stomach in knots to think of someone I love wanting to be with someone else.” 

“That’s fair,” Jongseong starts, glancing away and thinking of how to word what he wants to say. “What if someone else wanted you to fuck the person they love?”

Sunghoon freezes again, unsure of if he’s thinking too hard about that question, or not enough. 

“I’m sorry, what?” He asks defensively, looking his neighbor dead in the eye. 

“I’m not saying you have to take up this offer but, I mean, you’re a single guy. I’m a married guy, with a wife who is incredibly curious about you.” 

Sunghoon continues to process the words, still overthinking it. 

“Is this a joke?” He asks in a quieter voice, whispering as if the entire neighborhood can hear them. 

“Are you attracted to her?” Jongseong continues to press, wondering what it’ll take to get a simple yes or no out of him. He notes the way Sunghoon’s ear goes red, and can’t tell if it’s because of the offer or because he’s afraid to call another man’s wife attractive.

“Here, let me rephrase,” He starts over, leaning forward again. “My wife thinks you’re, in her own words, ‘beautiful.’ She asks about you every time I come home from hanging out here, and she’s starting to get persistent.”

Sunghoon, still at a loss for words, slowly nods. 

“She’s pretty, yeah.” He says, now leaning himself toward Jongseong and raising a brow in curiosity. 

“As a single man, are you looking for love or are you looking for fun?” Jongseong continues, prying answers out of him and smiling at the way it seems he was right in believing there is interest here.

“I just got out of a six year relationship, I’m not trying to do all of that again,” Sunghoon shakes his head in disappointment. “Not for now, at least.”

“So, do you want to fuck my wife?”

Silence. 

Jongseong pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily, seemingly frustrated.

“Look, does it help to know that I want to watch you fuck my wife?”

Louder silence. 

“Okay, you clearly need some time to think. Just, if you’re ever interested let me know. I can open the blinds if you want, like a sample or something.”

Jongseong can see the way his eyes glisten at that offer through his silence. The wavering interest igniting right then and there. Ah, a voyeur, what a perfect addition to this neighborhood of dry vanilla cake. It’s not strange at all to see a monogamous man watching his footing in this situation, but the offer to watch is an entirely different thing from an offer to join right off the bat. Especially since there needs to be boundaries set if he decides he does want to fuck you.

For instance, when did he last get tested? Considering he got duped by his ex, that’s important. Does he like it raw? Does he know the ass belongs to Jongseong only? Etcetera. 

“Can you say something? I’m starting to feel like I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“Ah, sorry. It’s just–” Sunghoon leans back with a sigh of relief at the general questioning being over and done with. “Yeah, I need to think about it.”

“Don’t think too hard,” Jongseong laughs. “It’s getting late so, if you need me I’ll be fucking my wife.”

Sunghoon watches him stand on his feet and follows the action. Feeling both closer to him and also in a rut of wondering if their entire friendship will rely on whether he wants to fuck his wife or not. Should he like, hug him goodbye or something?

He stands awkwardly as Jongseong studies him even more. 

“Just think about it, really. She loves being watched too, if you don’t want to be involved directly.” 

God, he can feel how red his ears and face have become, surely Jongseong knows by now that the interest outweighs the concerns. And as Jongseong turns to head down the steps, he calls out to him. 

“Let’s say I’m interested but unsure of how to go about it, what then?”

Jongseong turns to him and smiles, taking a few steps closer so that he doesn’t have to yell out to him. 

“It’s sex. If you know how to fuck, you fuck.“

“And if I’m not entirely ready to throw myself into your marital bed?” 

“There’s still a couch, and again–” He smirks. “Like I said, opening the curtains isn’t the most insane sexual practice.”

Sunghoon being the person looking through those curtains though…is it really not as insane as he’s thinking it is?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So…?” You ask as soon as Jongseong comes through the door, clinging to him with doe-eyes and a smile. 

“He seems interested but,” Your husband slides off his shoes and heads straight for the couch to lay against it in a huff. “I don’t know. Just found out his ex cheated on him after like six years, I think the whole idea spooked him.”

“Ah, damn.” You look to the floor, and then make your way onto the couch with him. “What did you say?”

“I asked him if he wanted to fuck you.”

You narrow your eyes at him before rolling them with a frustrated sigh. 

“Why would you ask him straight up like that? I cannot believe you pride yourself in being the talker of our sex life. It’s no wonder we have trouble finding people to join.”

Jongseong looks at you with a fond smirk before shaking his head at you.

“Would you feel better if I told you that he admitted to thinking you’re pretty?”

You smile, warming up next to your husband and feeling entirely safe here. 

“What about if I told you that right before I came back home, he said he was interested and just didn’t know how to go about it?” 

A bigger smile forms on your face as you look up at him, devious eyes glistening in the warm lighting of your living room. 

“I offered that he can just watch instead. If he takes up that offer, it won't be long before he’s banging on our front door ready to show us a good time.”

You reach up to brush some of his fringe out of his face before releasing a dreamy sigh. 

“He’s so handsome. Like, even from here I can tell he must be packing. I hope you’re right.” You say as Jongseong rolls his eyes, knowing damn well that Sunghoon is your type and you’re probably never gonna shut up about him.  “Can’t believe someone cheated on that.” 

“Alright, alright.” He playfully complains, shoving you back against the couch and practically smothering you with his form as he flops down on you. “He hasn’t accepted yet, save those compliments for if he joins. He seems pretty shy, probably likes to be doted on.”

“Ooh, shy?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. He was actually stuttering when I made the offer, I don’t think he noticed how red his face got.”

You chuckle at the mental image of Sunghoon being shy. You only had to meet him a few times to grow interest in him, but on first glance you’d think he would be the dominant type. It’s a welcome change that your husband thinks he’s the opposite.

“Do you think If I joined you next time, he might be more inclined to pull it out or something?”

“Absolutely not. I can imagine he wouldn’t even come out of his house if he saw you on his porch after what I said to him.”

“God, he’s cute.”

Jongseong nods against you in agreement, finally pulling his weight from you and standing on his feet. 

“Yeah, it’ll be fun to see where this leads. Now if you’ll just follow me to the bedroom, I also told him I’d be fucking you tonight so I’d like to make good on my promise.” 

Fortunately for you, Jongseong never makes a promise that he can’t keep.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

For days Sunghoon contemplates the things his neighbor said. Over the short time he’s known him, he clicked into friendship so easily and felt like he could trust him. Apparently, Jongseong felt the same way because spilling all of those intimate details right there during a regular hang out was a bit out of the blue. Then again, he can’t imagine a married man would simply offer for anyone to fuck his wife, so the pros definitely outweigh the cons of this situation.

If it was a joke, he thinks he would know by now. All he’s gotten from Jongseong since then is pleasant conversation as if the offer was never made to begin with. Which somehow makes it worse because he wants to talk about it. He wants more clarity. 

God, since then, he’s had nothing but intrusive thoughts of fantasies he’s never considered before. He’s so horny out of his mind on a daily basis thinking about it, especially now that he doesn’t have his ex fiancée around. Porn has never been so loved by him until now. Even when he was a teenager, he never jerked off this much just to calm his thoughts. 

The various types of porn he’s viewed within the past five days is insane. The post-nut guilt hit him pretty hard at first, sending him into both a sex crazed and sex starved stupor but, the interest only heightened from there as he would eventually start searching up porn related to the exact thing he’s been offered. 

On the sixth night of contemplation, he peeks through his blinds at the house next door and notes the silence. He knows some wild things must happen in that bedroom and he wants to know what it is so badly. Naturally, he starts searching up some keywords without really knowing what any of it entails. 

He watches cuckold video after cuckold video, feeling his opinions of fucking another man’s wife validated by the amount of people who seem to love it the way he wants to. Then, exhibitionism comes into play. He watches at least ten videos involving said kink, his cock growing so pathetically hard at the fact that this could be a reality if he wants. Then, voyeurism.

Good lord, that’s him. All of these videos, at least in the ten more he watches, he can easily put himself in the shoes of watching. Which only makes it more arousing when he lands on a video that is clearly scripted, but entirely too similar to what his kind neighbors offered. 

There, a man watches through his window, palming himself as a woman gets absolutely railed against her own window. The camera pans to and from both ends of the scenario, for five minutes he watches the woman get fucked from the man’s window view, and then for another five minutes, he watches the man pleasure himself from her view as she moans and whimpers for him. 

He watches intently, weeping cock twitching each time he closes his eyes and realizes that if he wanted it, that could be him. He could be the stranger in a window watching his neighbors get eachother off, except Sunghoon isn’t a stranger. 

He doesn’t even need to watch the video to imagine now. Thousands upon thousands of videos comfort him in the idea that yeah, maybe involving himself in a marriage that isn’t his own is okay. Jongseong is a handsome guy, and pretty fit himself. Then there’s you, such a pretty fucking woman, walking around like you don’t like to get fucked by multiple people as your husband watches.

Goddamn, if there’s any couple he’d want to be involved with, it would be you and your husband. 

Okay, maybe he’s interested and maybe that interest plays out the next day. Or rather, the next evening. Another Friday night, when Jongseong usually comes over to hang out except this time Sunghoon doesn’t respond to his texts until much later. Out of both nervousness and his own mind games hyping himself up. 

If he’s gonna watch, he doesn’t want Jongseong to see him a mere hour or two before it happens, at least. 

Now though, ten at night, he hyped up his cock the same way he hyped up his mentality. When he’s horny, it’s much easier for him to work up the courage to lay down his own hints, to show his own interest, and to play along with things he’s never delved into. 

Sunghoon: Hey um 

Jongseong: here I was thinking you were ignoring me or something

Sunghoon: can i ask about something?

Hell yeah he can. 

Jongseong: oh? you finally warmed up to the idea? 

Sunghoon: i’m just curious. 

Jongseong peeps out his own window to see Sunghoon’s blinds very quickly close.

Jongseong: why’d you back away from the window? 

Sunghoon: i don’t know, i feel like a weirdo

Jongseong: i invited you to watch me fuck my wife, Sunghoon. 

No response.

There’s a few moments of silence on Jongseong’s end as he turns to you and flicks his head to the window. 

“I’m ninety percent sure he wants me to fuck you in front of that window right now.” 

“Oh?” You perk up in interest, hopping up from the bed and running over to the window beside your husband and peeking out. “Open them up then. If he watches, he watches.”

Jongseong nods, looking down at the silence of his text messages and smirking. You’re right, if Sunghoon wants to watch, he will. 

And so, as you go make yourself up in the bathroom for a good first impression, Jongseong is quick to work himself up now too. Given, the two of you were about to call it a night and sleep since the day was quite exhausting, this is a welcome change of events. After all, Jongseong knows how you act when you’re both horny and exhausted. He’s sure Sunghoon will love it if he works up the courage to just look.

After a few minutes more of silence from Sunghoon’s message box, you make your way back into the room and stare at the window. 

“Is his bedroom lined up with ours?” You ask, quirking a brow. 

“I assume so, yeah.” Jongseong shrugs, still palming against himself lazily to get ready to put on a show.

“Oh, this could be really fun.” You say, now moving toward the window and pulling at the curtains to move them completely from Sunghoon’s presumed view. 

Jongseong follows suit, raising the blinds so fast that the sound is almost laughable.

“Should I go ahead and take off my clothes, or?” You ask now, noting the way Sunghoon’s blinds are still very much closed. 

“Put this on, tie it loosely and let it fall open for him.” Jongseong smiles, handing you the silk robe you only ever wear when a third is joining you. 

“Oooh, perfect.” You laugh with a wiggle of your brows, stepping away from the window to completely undress and put on the robe. 

Jongseong finally texts Sunghoon again when you get yourself situated, right there in the view of his dark and silent home. 

Jongseong: blinds are open.

Thank god Sunghoon has read receipts on, because right as Jongseong goes to lock his phone and play with you, he notes that it’s been read and instantly glues himself against your back. 

“He knows. Keep your eyes at his window, yeah baby?” Jongseong whispers before snaking an arm around you and slipping it under your robe to instantly rub against your clit. 

You do exactly as he says, gluing your eyes to the window directly across from you as you slightly spread your legs and grip the windowsill. Jongseong is good at this, always great with putting on a show too. You know for a fact that even if Sunghoon doesn’t watch, you’re going to be seeing stars whenever your husband deems it appropriate. 

“You think he’s gonna look?” You ask curiously with a sigh, trying not to immediately lose yourself to the feeling of his fingers against your clit, or the hand he’s currently slipping through your robe to grope and squeeze your tits. 

“We can only hope, until then, just enjoy it.” Jongseong smiles against your neck, kissing the back of it before resting his chin on your shoulder, trying to work you up to where you start to slowly lose your sanity like you always do. 

It works out perfectly for him, knowing that whether Sunghoon watches or not, he’s going to make damn sure you’re taken care of. His fingers expertly slide up and down your delicate folds, and his other hand pinches and rolls your nipple to the point that it’s swollen and sensitive. His kisses against your neck become peppered and gentle as he feels your legs start to shake a bit each time his fingers reach your clit again. 

You try to turn your head to look at him, but he laughs. 

“No, eyes on the window.” He says in a raspy whisper, pressing his barely clothed cock against your ass. Thankfully, he’s adjusted himself to where just the tip pokes out of his boxers and feeling the coolness of the silk robe offer a gentle and soft sensation, it satiates his needs for now. “Feels good even like this, yeah?” He asks, sliding his fingers down to tease with your hole. 

You nod against him, breathing in deeply and turning to jelly against him. You love and hate the way he makes your body react. It’s hard to keep your eyes on that window across from you when you’re being offered sheer arousal right behind you. 

“Mm, you always get so wet when you know someone might be watching.” Your husband compliments you, dipping his fingers in before sliding them out again and running them up to swirl around your clit with more pressure than before. “God, you’re soaking my fingers already babe, he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on–”

You let out a small moan, frustrated that you want Jongseong to be right. If only Sunghoon would take the two of you up on the offer. If only he would actually glimpse even for a moment. You clench at the idea of those blinds opening, grinding harshly against Jongseong’s hand with a desperate sort of sound. 

Right then, you see movement next door. Jongseong can tell with the way your pussy grips his fingers tightly when he slides them back into you, and you let out a genuine and desperate moan. He flicks his eyes up, now noting the movement himself. 

The way you writhe your body at the mere confirmation that Sunghoon is watching is insanely erotic to your husband. Whether it’s out of curiosity or if it’s out of arousal, it doesn't matter. He loves the way you get turned on so fast, and with this being the situation, he’s not surprised that you seem more desperate than usual. Plus, the fact that those blinds stay parted shows that Sunghoon likes what he’s seeing, and you couldn’t be more aroused by the thought of what he must be doing behind the veil of his own window-blinds. 

Jongseong chuckles gently in your ear as you continue to lose your mind on his fingers, he can tell that now you’re moving to turn both him and Sunghoon on, rather than just him like moments ago. You grind more, you whine more, you get increasingly more wet. 

And as you stare forward to the little space in Sunghoon’s window where his eyes sit, you grow more and more frustrated with the way he doesn’t open the blinds up. You want to see him too, you need to see if he’s touching himself.

Jongseong can tell through your frustrated moans that you need more, and like the doting husband he is, he offers a solution fairly quickly. 

“What’s wrong?” He coos, fucking his fingers in again at an angle, deepening them inside of you and holding your waist in place. “He’s not giving you what you want?”

You nod brokenly, finally tearing your eyes from the window and shooting a pleading look to your husband, rolling your eyes back only slightly when his fingertips bump the soft and sensitive spot inside of you. 

“My phone, use it.” Jongseong smiles, holding your waist in place tighter so he can fuck his fingers in at a harsher pace. You tremble in his grasp, unsure if you can even process the idea of texting right now. “Tell him to let you see him.”

You nod, smiling through the sensitivity of your g-spot being repeatedly assaulted, clearly on purpose, surely to have you going fucking feral. Reaching for the phone, your hands are trembling as you unlock it and read over the messages from before with Sunghoon. His curiosity is hopefully strong enough to actually stick around for the next however long, because god, you want him to see you fall apart. 

Jongseong: open your blinds, let me see

Sunghoon watches you text as your body jerks with each hidden movement of Jongseong’s hand under that robe, and when his phone goes off he almost panics. Almost. He drops his cock and grabs his phone in one hand while using the other to keep the split of his blinds open enough to keep watching. Fighting the feeling of appearing like a damn stalker, despite his hips rubbing his achingly hard cock against the trim of the window. 

The way Jongseong stares from behind you, the way you smirk through faces of pleasure at what he’s doing to you, at what he must be saying to you. Sunghoon has never felt so fucking aroused watching someone have what he wants. The way you skew your head to listen to what your husband is saying, the way his hands move to places he can’t see. Arguably, you look like the most fuckable person on this planet at the moment and it’s incredibly difficult to not want to fuck something, anything, right now.

Sunghoon knows he’s done for if he so much as grips his own cock by now. So quickly the thought of doing this made his pathetic cock weep against his briefs, and now, seeing it happen in real time just across the yard. Yeah, he could cum within seconds if he doesn’t try to control it. Upon reading your text though, he finds himself following precise directions and opens the blinds for you to reveal himself. 

His face flushes seeing you in full without the blinds cutting off his peripheral vision. It kind of hits him differently realizing he’s in his own quiet bedroom fucking himself to the image of you propped up against the window for him. It’s embarrassing and he feels entirely pathetic when you look at him like this. Both so far away and so close at the same time. His senses are heightened tenfold the moment he sees you react. 

An accidental moan spills from his lips, the sound breaking the heavy silence of his home and echoing through the walls as if to tell whatever ghosts that live here that he definitely wants to fuck around with the married couple next door. Your attraction to him only heightens the confidence he holds within himself.

You, on the other hand, can feel your arousal drip out of you and onto your husband’s hand at seeing Sunghoon coming into full view. Your hand grips at your husband’s, clumsily allowing yourself to feel the sheer force of how his fingers are plunging into you just at the right moment. You roll your head back briefly, basking in the pleasure of being fucked and watched.

“Keep watching babe,” Jongseong groans himself, flicking his eyes to Sunghoon. “He’s so hard.”

You weakly lift your head again, opening your darkened eyes and looking directly at the man through the window. His hair is a mess, fanning across his forehead, and he’s shirtless, revealing the abs you only assumed he had at first glance. His cock is heavy against his dark gray briefs, stretching the fabric out enough to tell you that, yeah, he is packing. 

You make eye contact with him, staring straight into his eyes as you press your ass back and against Jongseong, who readily accepts the movement and presses his cock directly against you with a soft sigh of his own. 

“Already?” He whispers to you with an amused chuckle, stilling his fingers and dropping his other hand to toy at the tie of your robe, hopefully so it falls open naturally at a quicker pace now that you appear to be losing it. 

“Right now.” You respond in a desperate voice, hiking one leg up against the table off to the side and feeling your robe instantly fall open. 

Your eyes devour the image of Sunghoon’s mouth falling open in what you can only assume is a moan at your naked body being revealed to him and Jongseong’s fingers rapidly fucking into you. Instantly, you shoot your hand to your chest and start toying with one of your nipples for him. Throwing a hungry gaze straight across the way and making obvious suggestions at him through it. 

Jongseong from behind you is seemingly in his own little world when he pulls his fingers out and shoves his boxers down. He arches your back with his palm so that your ass lifts for him, instantly you can feel his cock between your legs. He takes a step back, pulling you with him and removing your leg from the table to position you in a way that if Sunghoon looks hard enough, he can see the way his cock slides between your thighs. 

“Not yet, let’s play first.” Jongseong soothes you through the disappointed sigh of your leg being pulled down from the table. You were so ready to start fucking immediately, but of course he wants to make a good first impression. “Hold your legs together.” He adds.

You listen perfectly, feeling Jongseong’s cock slide easily between your thighs. 

“God, fuck–” He moans, feeling the wetness of you drip down onto his length as you squeeze your thighs together as tightly as possible. “He would go insane over you.”

“He already is,” You chuckle weakly, staring at the way Sunghoon’s hand snakes under his briefs and tugs against himself. “I want to see it so bad.” 

“Mm, yeah, I bet you do.” Jongseong responds mindlessly, loving the feeling your thighs offer to his desperate length. “Tell him then.”

Right then, Sunghoon can see a mischievous little smile form across your lips as he struggles already not to release against his perfectly cleaned window. The way Jongseong manhandles you is one thing, with his hands gripping onto your flesh just to pound his cock between your legs– fuck. But, the way both of you stare straight at him is another. Sunghoon might be obsessed with the way the two of you touch each other intentionally to get all three of you off. So badly does he want to be right there in the room, hearing you in his ear, watching Jongseong kiss across your skin and massage your pretty sensitive pussy. One that he hasn’t entirely even gotten to see yet. 

Then, he jumps as his phone rings. 

From your end, you watch as he jumps out of surprise, glances at his phone, then back at you, shaking his head with a wince as he grips his cock again. 

“He’s not going to pick up.” You comment as the tightened squeeze of your thighs loosen up with disappointment. 

Jongseong is instantly smiling, letting his cock fall from its place of stimulation and is pulling you back, back, back. Offering a full view of him falling back on the bed, and you falling with him. 

“Show him your pussy.” Jongseong says, reaching around you to open your thighs as if you’re a grand prize for this little sex game of trying to seduce a broken hearted man.

Jongseong knows he has an entire list of positions he could do to get Sunghoon just as desperate as you get. Usually, presenting his wife’s pussy at another man is enough to have them making decisions they previously doubted. He hopes Sunghoon reacts the same, because if he’s being totally honest with himself, saying no to you when you’re spread out like this is a fucking sin.

You stare at Sunghoon when your husband spreads your legs, pussy pulsing around nothing more than the stare being directed at it. And there, sitting on Jongseong’s hips with your back facing him, you easily hold your legs open and slide your fingers down to circle your clit. 

You stay like that for a moment, squinting to see Sunghoon’s reaction and noting the way his hand fucks faster under the fabric of his briefs. You want him to go harder, so hard that he needs to take that last remaining bit of clothing off of him so that you can see. Thankfully, Jongseong’s cock lies right below where your ass is sitting , and it’s easy to grasp it and hold it up against your folds. You grid against it gently before swirling your clit along the length of him, still staring at Sunghoon with a smile. As if to tell him, “this could be you.”

The way Sunghoon’s hand moves faster is one thing, the way he looks more unashamed now compared to when you first saw him in that window is another. The way his arms flex as he keeps his cock hidden beneath those briefs, jerking himself off desperately as if you can’t tell he’s struggling not to moan loud enough for you to hear even from here, it’s too fucking erotic. 

Never have you and your husband had a neighbor to play with like this. Typically, you’re being watched in the same room, this is something entirely different. This is insanely arousing and you can feel your pussy clench each time you’re reminded of how fucking sweet this deal could be.

“Keep doing that” Jongseong continues to instruct through a half-moan, feeling the way you rub his length against you as a form of masturbation. “I’ll call him again.” 

This time, you note how the phone rings once before Sunghoon is fumbling to answer. You see the way his hand stills to put his focus on saying “hello?” as if he doesn’t know it’s you and your husband. As if the people calling him aren’t watching him fuck himself. 

Jongseong starts immediately though, his words driving you insane enough to know Sunghoon would have to react in a way that sends him over edge too.

“You wouldn’t believe how wet she is,” Your husband boasts without greeting him back, putting the phone on speaker and lying it next to the two of you. “I bet you would love to bury your tongue in her right now, wouldn’t you?”

Sunghoon nearly stutters as he hears the words, staring at the way you hold Jongseong’s cock right where you want it to grind against. It’s so much to be able to see and hear what’s happening, and it’s like something in his head clicks. He’s so fucking turned on that he feels like he’s going insane, so he puts his normal, level-minded self to rest. No room for embarrassment when his cock is already aching for the couple who seem to want him just as bad. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Sunghoon sighs out, lying his own phone down against the window sill and fucking his hips forward into his hand. His briefs now stretched out to the point that they truly are more of an issue than anything else right now. “I would, god, how wet?”

You moan at how desperate his voice sounds, now pressing your clit directly against the head of Jongseong’s cock and deliberately making yourself moan from pleasure. When he flashes his cock to you though, fuck. Just barely he lowers his briefs, palm teasing himself in such a harsh way. He looks so pretty over there, all alone, watching someone else get to play with you like some kind of pervert. 

“That’s it,” You say, knowing he can hear you. “Let me see you.” 

Sunghoon does, shoving his briefs down entirely now, allowing you to imprint the image of how thick and heavy his length is in your brain permanently. 

“Oh, you’d feel so good,” You half-groan to Sunghoon, now inching your husband’s cock straight to your hole and preparing to fuck the daylights out of him. “I knew you’d have a cock just as pretty as you.”

Jongseong chuckles from behind you, entirely aroused by the way you talk to another man, a more shy man. He can tell how desperate you are by now too, especially with the way you toy with his cock as if you picked it up from a store shelf and it’s not attached to him. He loves it. And when he sits up, wrapping his arms around you to also see Sunghoon, he smiles. 

Both of you are totally fucking gone. Even from here he can tell Sunghoon is losing his mind over you. Thankfully, you deserve nothing less and Jongseong couldn’t be happier to play off of the way you both seem to want each other terribly. 

“See this?” He says towards the phone,  snaking his hand around you to move his cock and spreading your pussy lips. ”Even from there, can’t you see how wet she is for this?”

Both of you can hear Sunghoon’s muffled groan before you see it, his head falling forward against the window as he stares down at his hand and the way he fucks it. You’re entirely satisfied, because you know what he’s thinking. You can see how badly he wants it, and your husband does nothing but remind him of it. 

“Do you want me to fuck him?” You finally ask, pushing your own agenda and rising up on your knees to situate yourself right above Jongseong’s length, where he takes over and holds it in place for you. 

Sunghoon’s eyes shoot back to the two of you and he nods before breathing out a small “Yeah…”

He doesn’t seem like much of a talker, but it could still be stage fright. Even if he isn’t the one on the damn stage. You can imagine he would get better at this if he accepts the invite of your open blinds on more than one occasion. 

Jongseong chuckles again at him, the breathy tone of his voice is quite obvious to him. Sunghoon is holding out, he doesn’t want to cum too soon and end the fun.

“You heard him babe, ride me.” 

Instantly, you’re sinking down and feeling the harsh stretch of Jongseong’s cock pulsing inside of you. Your drawn out moan rings in Sunghoon’s mind as he watches the slow descent. Only now, noting how big Jongseong is, and seeing how well you take it. He twitches in his palm, eyes nearly rolling back to escape the overwhelming arousal that floods his thoughts. 

Sunghoon isn’t sure if either of you are aware, but he can hear how wet you are through the phone. When you slide down and start bouncing, all while staring forward at him, he can hear it pour out of you. The slapping of your ass landing against Jongseong is a beautiful sound, and he does his best not to moan through it and muffle those sounds out. 

He stares straight back at you, thinking hard enough at how he fucks the circle his fingers create. He’s losing his breath when he fucks his fist in time with the way you bounce, tuning into your face and imagining that he’s the one you’re riding. No offense to Jongseong, it’s nearly like he doesn’t exist right now considering he’s almost entirely hidden by you. 

That doesn’t last too long though, because Jongseong makes himself well known through his breathy words. Dirty talking in a way that somehow, Sunghoon still finds himself shocked by it. The words turn him on, he can only imagine how you feel about. 

“Fuck, babe, you’re so tight.” Jongseong says at first, gripping your thighs and basking in the way you squeeze his length each time Sunghoon does something to turn you on. “ All spread out like this for him? So, so good.”

Sunghoon feels so shameless, and for some reason it feels okay. Your husband is dirty talking to you about him and it’s insanely sexy when he hears it. Already stuttering his hips in his palm, especially when he notes that Jongseong moves his hands to your pussy and spreads it open again for him. Offering him the perfect view of his length sliding in and out of you. 

“Would love to see how this pussy gets filled up, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Unsure if Jongseong is talking to you or to him at this point, Sunghoon answers without thinking. 

“Fuck, yeah, fuck–” Sunghoon says with a cut-off groan, holding the base of his cock so tight he feels like he can’t breathe. He can’t release yet, he has to keep going. 

You moan loudly at his breathed out answer, nodding your head frantically at the confirmation, answering for yourself shortly after. 

“Yeah?” You start, encouraging Sunghoon to keep talking. “You think you could stretch me open too? Yeah?” 

And then? He moans brokenly through the phone which instantly has you leaning yourself back, and lying against Jongseong’s chest. He falls back with you, holding you and once again and moving his fingers to your clit, his cock still pounding in at the perfect pace. 

“Fuck, she’s there–” Jongseong grits out, feeling your orgasm wash over you and grip his cock insanely tightly. “Goddamn, feels so good babe, that’s it.”

Sunghoon, watching and listening, instantly releases the grip on the base of his cock, staring straight at the way Jongseong stuffs his length inside of you. Hearing the way you called his name with encouraging words echoes in his head, and then he stutters out a broken sob as he feels his own orgasm wash over him, and just like him, you’re also listening. 

He must hold his breath when he’s close, or maybe he’s just way more shy than he appears to be, considering what he’s doing right now, but you don’t mind as you ride your own high. Ears popping shortly after when Jongseong continues to chase his own pleasure through the mess of your pulsing cunt. 

Strangely enough, even Jongseong is shocked at how fast he cums from this. Releasing a mere two seconds after you relaxed around him. You can feel him pulse inside of you as you lie against him, pussy still on full display, cum dripping out of you in a beautiful scene for Sunghoon’s eyes to devour.

And devour, they do. Sunghoon just stares, head spinning as he ignores the spurts of cum hitting his window and dripping down onto his carpet. His hand is also drenched but he makes no attempt to move afterwards. Arguably, he’s still aroused by the image of the way your husband fills you up like that, and the way you’re so full of his cock that it dribbles out and onto your thighs from around him. 

God, he wants to lick you so bad. Even now, fully spent and his sober-mind coming back to him, he wants to taste you. He wants to taste what Jongseong just spilled into you. 

“Sunghoon,” Jongseong calls out, breaking the silence with an out of breath voice. “You still watching?”

There’s another moment of paused silence.

“Yeah–” 

Jongseong smiles, nuzzling his face against you and your neck as you continue to lean against him out of breath. Slowly, he pulls out of you, once again spreading you open for Sunghoon to see, allowing the rest of his cum to drip out of you. 

“Take a good look, because this pussy went fucking insane over you.” He says, slapping your sensitive clit twice before sliding his hand down and playing in the mess he’s made of you.

Sunghoon does look. He has been looking. Honestly, it’s almost embarrassing at the way his cock twitches with interest again, so fucking fast after having already been emptied. Never has his ex let him raw her like that. Never has he seen his cum drip out of someone. He’s so jealous right now.

“I’ll be coming over tomorrow to discuss this.” Jongseong adds nonchalantly, easily going from filth-talk to casual-talk. “Get some rest.” 

“Goodnight, Pretty boy.” You call out with a dazed smile, finally moving yourself off of Jongseong and adjusting your robe back onto your shoulders. 

And right before Jongseong hangs up the phone, both of you smile at each other at the way Sunghoon lets out, in the tiniest voice for such a broad man, a gentle little “Goodnight.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By morning, Sunghoon nearly forgot Jongseong said he was coming over. It wasn’t until the afternoon when he managed to get the image of you getting off out of his mind that he remembered there’s supposed to be a discussion about it. 

Embarrassment hits him harder than it ever has, thinking about what he was doing for both of you to see. It wasn’t just a show for him, he put one on for the two of you as well. 

When he makes his way back into his bedroom, he tries to ignore the fact that your blinds are still open, and there’s no one in the room. He pauses briefly, once again trapped in the on-going loop of what he saw happening on that very bed just the night before. 

It feels like he’s doomed when Jongseong comes over. He could just not answer the door but it doesn’t change the fact that he lives right next door and he already came all over his window before your very eyes. Before Jongseong’s very eyes. He’s already crossed the boundary into someone else’s marriage and despite loving the idea of it, it’s scary. It’s not something he’s ever considered doing before meeting the two of you, and now, he’s kind of just confused as to how all of this works. 

Like, it almost seems too sweet of a deal. You’re a beautiful couple, who is he to be able to watch what you do with your husband? What’s the catch? 

Well, he comes to find out that there isn’t much of a catch at all. Jongseong shows up with a warm smile and a gift of wine. It felt welcoming but insanely awkward with the way it’s the first time Sunghoon has ever been offered a hug by him.

They hug. Jongseong fucking hugs him to say hello with that expensive ass bottle of wine as if to say “nice cock, my wife loved it.” 

Jongseong does pick up on the awkwardness though, stepping through Sunghoon’s door and inviting himself in. After all, it’s only appropriate at this point. He keeps his smile though, loving the way you woke up in a good mood all thanks to Sunghoon letting his curiosity get the best of him. 

“Don’t be like that,” Jongseong says, glancing around the house and nodding in approval that it doesn’t appear to be entirely barren. He kind of expected the house to not feel like a home, because that’s usually what single men do. “You can back out anytime you want.”

Sunghoon, somehow, feels eased by those words. His heart thumps against his chest at the thought of never doing it again though. Which is kind of weird to him. 

“Sorry, I just don’t really know how to act right now...”

Jongseong offers him a warm smile again, seeing himself to the kitchen and opening the drawers. 

“We can talk about that,” He waves him off, still rummaging through a kitchen that isn’t his own. “You got a corkscrew?” 

Sunghoon nods, trying to make his frame seem as small as possible by tip-toeing past his neighbor with the huge cock and opening one of the only drawers he didn’t get to. He pulls out the corkscrew and hands it to him, making no attempt to look into his eyes even for a second. 

“Oh my god, loosen up.” Jongseong rolls his eyes, shoving Sunghoon by the shoulder playfully and heading back to the bottle of wine.

Sunghoon feels slightly comforted by the fact that maybe he can loosen up with a bit of wine in his system, but getting to that point feels like it’s going to be hell. He’s never felt so embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” He responds in a small voice, grabbing two random cups and following Jongseong. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to expect out of this whole thing, like–” 

Jongseong cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“That’s why I’m here to talk to you about it. Clearly this isn’t something you’ve done before, it’s not like we didn’t want you to get off or anything. You’ll come to learn that we enjoy this kind of thing.”

He pauses as he opens the bottle, shifting it to the side now to grab two cups and look at Sunghoon. 

“If you end up not enjoying it, there’s always someone else we can find to take up the offer.”

Sunghoon very nearly panics, hoping it doesn’t show plainly on his face as he takes over pouring the wine. Jongseong picks up on people so easily, watching Sunghoon shake his head slightly at the words and pour a suspiciously nervous amount of wine into both cups. 

“That’s the thing though,” Sunghoon says, popping the cork back into the bottle and already taking a swig of his wine. “I did enjoy it. I mean, I do enjoy it.”

Jongseong raises his brow, nodding his head in encouragement and grabbing his own cup before following Sunghoon to his living room.

“Good, I’m glad you had fun. Let’s talk about it then.”

Sunghoon knows it’s inevitable, and hopefully within the next hour, he won’t feel so cautious in talking about it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You know, usually I wouldn’t let her cum so fast,” Jongseong shrugs, standing to grab the bottle of wine and bring it into the living room. “I tend to try and get a few out of her but she just wasn’t going to let me. Did you see the way she grabbed it and sat on me? I couldn’t have stopped her even if I wanted to.” 

The way Jongseong talks loudly and comfortably about it is kind of soothing. Given, this is probably why they’re opting to hang out inside of the house rather than outside. This is a private matter, an intimate one, even. 

“She slept like a rock afterwards, and is now insisting we keep the blinds open at all times to view at your discretion.” 

Sunghoon stutters a bit, scooting his cup towards Jongseong and hoping he pours another generous amount into his cup. Already, since he doesn’t drink too often these days, he can feel the buzz and comfort settles within him as Jongseong seemingly dotes on him. 

“What I’m trying to say is, our blinds are permanently open unless you’d rather not do this. Alternatively, the door is open too, but,” Jongseong pauses so he can sip his drink. “You’re going to need to get tested first if you want that thing anywhere near my wife.”

Sunghoon shifts slightly, squeezing his legs together uncomfortably as his wine bubbles in his belly. 

“I’ve already been tested. My ex cheated on me with god knows how many people, you think that wasn’t the first thing I did?”

“Smart man,” Jongseong claps him on the shoulder, now leaning in a bit too close for comfort if Sunghoon were still in his embarrassed mind-state. “We get that you’re shy about all of this, but I’ve gotta tell you, the way she clenched when you moaned, oh man.”

Sunghoon’s eyes start to shine at the compliment, for some reason feeling like he’s on top of the world hearing that. 

“Felt like I was being strangled, honestly.” Jongseong laughs before going quiet. “So, what do you think?”

Sunghoon pauses, staring at his cup and then at his neighbor. 

“I, um–” He sighs out of frustration, wondering why he can’t articulate a damn sentence with confidence. “I liked watching, I guess. Not sure if I’m ready to just…”

“Come over and fuck my wife?” Jongseong finishes his sentence playfully before immediately gripping Sunghoon’s shoulder and laughing fondly at him. “Take your time. Like I said, the blinds are open and we have a pretty active sex life. I can imagine you’re going to wonder how I’m not milked dry yet.”

He already wonders that.

“But I do want to say, if you decide to actually come over and show her a good time, there are rules to that.” 

Sunghoon quirks a brow, unsure of if his mind is running in a way that will let him take down mental notes. 

“First of all, she’s protected so as long as you can provide proof of your test you can cum in her all you want, she likes that but, you’re not touching her ass.”

Sunghoon nods, shrugging nonchalantly and surprised he even responded that way. 

“She likes it rough but she doesn’t know you well enough yet. Don’t slap my wife, don’t grab her neck with the intention of choking her, and don’t call her any type of degrading name. Not yet, at least.”

Wow, his brain is actually taking down the mental notes perfectly. Even with these rules, he’s not entirely into hitting the person he wants to be inside of, not unless they ask anyway. 

“That’s it. Those are the rules.” Jongseong says with a shrug, taking another drink and tapping his foot on the floor. “What about you? For possible future endeavors, what’re your terms?”

There’s a long pause. Sunghoon is totally unprepared to make rules for a situation he’s never even been involved with before, but he does his best. 

“Well,” He breathes out, blowing a strand of his fringe up from his forehead in a huff. “I don’t know. Don’t put anything in my ass?”

“Well, that’s sucks,” Jongseong deadpans, then nods. “But fair, okay. What else?” 

Sunghoon continues to let his eyes wander around his living room as he thinks of things he doesn’t like sexually. 

“I really don't know. I’ve mostly just had normal sex. I can tell you what I do like?” He admits, knowing that all of this is just in case.

“Alright, go on then.” Jongseong nods, now topping off their drinks. 

It’s actually hilarious to him, hearing Sunghoon list off the most mundane sex acts. He does his best not to chuckle at the mention of “blow jobs, I like those.” Instead, he offers something along with that, interrupting him.

“Ever been deep throated?” Jongseong asks, watching Sunghoon breathe in because it’s like he lost all of his breath trying to list off things he likes. “Like, you know, ever face-fucked?”

Sunghoon nods, then shakes his head, then nods. 

“ I mean, my ex never really let me hold her head in place, but I tried once. And don’t even get me started on the way she would refuse to continue if she gagged even once.”

Jongseong shakes his head in pity.

“Man, you’re gonna love my wife.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well, to put it lightly, Sunghoon might, definitely, insanely, obsessively be in love with you. Not in like the “leave your husband” way but more in like the “i want you so bad and know that i’m allowed to have you if i’d just stop being a little bitch about it” way. 

It’s been another entire week since Jongseong came over to discuss things with him and even more so now, is Sunghoon’s mind in the gutters. He’s thankful he’s good at his job, almost able to do everything needed without much thought behind it because if that weren’t the case, he would probably be fired by now. 

Fired for being too horny at work isn’t something he ever considered would happen to himself, and though it hasn’t and probably won’t, he isn’t too shocked at this point to be learning more and more about these hidden little interests that only came to light when he met you and your husband. 

Those blinds do stay open, and that little bedside lamp in your bedroom has become one of his favorite things. One, because it illuminates the way your body moves when Jongseong inevitably fucks the breath out of you, and two, because it’s actually kind of a nice lamp.

And god, his window. His poor fucking window. Four out of the seven nights since Jongseong came over has he been standing right there, blinds open, getting himself off. He knows he’s a pervert by this point. He embraces it now, knowing for a fact that you’re also embracing it, and even Jongseong is too. 

The embarrassment that hits him after each time he releases hurts much less than the post-nut guilt of all that porn he was watching before all of this happened. He’s not sure why, but there’s something inside of him that tells him it’s because he’s wanted. He’s being fawned over by an entire married couple and it makes his confidence go through the fucking roof. 

That second time he stood at his window, he was still unsure of it. But now, three more sessions later, he finds himself considering the offer of being in the room. Each time he thinks he should do it. You know, like release his cock mid-jerk off session just to run next door and barge into the room to bury himself inside of you, all while Jongseong allows it to happen and praises him for manning up to do it. 

He hasn’t yet though, because most of the time he struggles to pull his eyes away from how fucking good the two of you look together. And you know, to him, when he thinks about actually being in that room with the two of you, there’s still some shame left in him about it. 

Something about the idea of joining a married couple despite how much he loves watching them, the idea of them asking him multiple times to work his body on you, the idea of them leaving their blinds open just so he can get off at his own volition. 

It’s such an insane fantasy come to life and the shame he feels about actually following through stays despite it wavering with each time he watches and listens in by calling you himself to hear you moan. 

Again, by now, an entire week later and several sessions of pure voyeurism, he questions that shame and wonders how much it’ll take to ignore it. Next time for sure he’s going to go over there. Next time, he’s going to put that shame to rest like he did the first time with simply watching. 

That next time doesn’t happen though, because you’re not wandering around your room naked for Sunghoon to see when his alarm goes off. Because yeah, it’s kind of a ritual now to look out the window and nod a little “good morning” to you and your tits.

When he looks outside near the afternoon, both cars in your driveway are gone and it hits him over how fixated he is on the two of you. It feels almost empty seeing the two of you gone on a weekend, when Jongseong is usually texting him to see if he wants to hang out. 

By this point for him, yes, come over please. 

Then, relief washes over him when he hears Jongseong’s car pull into the driveway. The amount of pining within Sunghoon at this moment is driving him insane. It’s only four in the afternoon by this point and his mind is reeling. Going miles a minute and honestly, he needs this overwhelming feeling to be eradicated. 

He needs to do it. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jongseong is shocked as he sits eating his dinner to the sound of a knock at his door. He’s swift when he stands to his feet and answers it. 

“Oh, was gonna text you to hang out after dinner–” He pauses, realizing this is the first time Sunghoon has ever been on his doorstep save for when he greeted them with a meal after he moved in. He eyes him up and down momentarily before smirking. “Well, well, well.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t quite make eye contact as he stands there and shoves the proof of his tests into Jongseong’s chest, already regretting the decision to come over without so much as texting. 

“Showing up looking like this, already hard too?” Jongseong says snidely, glancing at the results and leaning himself against his door frame. His eyes stare directly at Sunghoon’s obvious raging hard-on beneath his pants, then he glances up at his face. 

Sunghoon appears to be both ashamed and proud, presenting himself like a damn virgin. 

“Relax, it’s cool. You can come in,” Jongseong finally says, trying to ease the tension that seems to be festering within his friend. “I’ll call and see if she’s coming home tonight.”

Sunghoon is fucking mortified. Of course he’s bad at timing. Of fucking course he shows up ready to fuck and you’re not even here. Now he’s just left standing just inside of the front door with a desperate and pathetic cock that, for some reason, still isn’t even going down. 

“She’s. not. here.” Sunghoon says to himself loud enough for Jongseong to throw a laugh at him, putting the phone up to his ear after pressing the call button.

“She went to see her parents. I bet the second I tell her you’re standing there like that, hot ‘n hard, she’ll be running red lights.” 

Sunghoon is flushed. Entirely aroused by this whole situation despite the embarrassment. The last thing he needs to admit to right now though, is getting off on the shameful way he’s acting. He knows he looks desperate, and that…for some reason, makes him feel proud. 

He’s so in his head that he doesn’t even hear Jongseong talk to you. Completely misses the way he says into the phone “hey babe, guess who is standing in our living room right now? so hard it looks like he might cry.”

Totally misses the brief pause and then Jongseong’s response of, “yeah, you might wanna rush.”

Luckily for him though, he’s so in his head that time flies as he tries to will his length to go down just a little bit. It’s frustrating, really, to only learn certain things as they happen to him, but like, damn. He really feels like he’s about to burst already, just standing here with a woman’s husband who is knowingly about to let him fuck her. 

“You’re not usually this quiet.” Jongseong finally says to Sunghoon, who is still just standing there in the living room. “You nervous?”

Sunghoon instantly nods, throwing his hands in front of his hard-on and looking at Jongseong. 

“This is the worst, actually,” Sunghoon starts, shifting from one leg to the other and glancing away. “Fuck you guys for being so enticing.”

Jongseong shrugs proudly, offering a smile and then nodding his head as if to invite Sunghoon to sit on the couch. 

“She’ll be here soon, I’m just going to clean up. Don’t think too hard and take off running, she’s excited.”

Sunghoon nods reluctantly, taking a seat on the couch and staring up at the ceiling in defeat. Jumping out of a window sounds pretty nice but by this point he assumes every window he will ever touch probably has his cum on it by now. You know, association and stuff. 

Then, he hears a car pull up and he’s practically throwing himself to his feet. His balance turning him into a clumsy mess, totally forgetting how to navigate his body and entirely losing the ability to know how to navigate this entire situation. 

The good news for him though, is that you practically jump out of your car and sprint for the door. Not even greeting Jongseong when you rush inside and kick off your shoes. 

All Sunghoon knows is that, one second he stands to his feet and gets a head rush, then he hears a door slam, Jongseong letting out a breathy laugh, and then you slamming into him and practically knocking him back down onto the couch.

“All this time you made me watch? And now you show up when I’m at dinner with my parents.”  You playfully scold him, immediately straddling him and grabbing his face with both hands so that he can look at you. “You’re going to have to tie me up if you don’t want me to be all over you right now.”

Sunghoon looks at Jongseong with a stunned expression, receiving a simple shrug in response. 

“You want her to touch you?” He asks, heading for the bedroom and raising his voice to continue. “If not, I do have rope.”

Sunghoon looks at you, still totally stunned by how fucking fast you got on top of him. He’s rendered more speechless than you’ve ever made him, and his cock twitches painfully from the sensitivity of you sitting on top of him. 

He nods politely, dipping his head and looking down. 

“You can touch me.” He whispers, only to be cut off by Jongseong shouting from the bedroom.

“You guys gonna come into the bedroom, or?” He yells, peeking around the corner and shooting a look at you specifically, as if to remind you to pace yourself considering that Sunghoon is entirely new to this and still seems like a deer in the headlights. 

You nod to Jongseong and then lift Sunghoon’s face back up to you again. 

“I can tell your heart is racing,” You say to him in a fond tone, tilting your head playfully. “It’s okay, come on.” You add, pulling yourself off of him and grabbing his hand.

He stares at the way you intertwine your fingers. Feeling like if he thinks hard enough, you’re not married and you’re more into him than just sex. Then again, he doesn’t want to think about that at all. The whole reason he’s so turned on is because this is considered strange to most people he knows. He doesn’t even want to be in love, he doesn’t want to be in a relationship with any single person right now. 

What he wants is this. What he wants is to watch you through his window, and lust over you, and then get to have you. Time and time again. What he wants is for Jongseong to always share you with him, because he can barely cross his own boundaries, better yet crossing someone else's. 

At least with him, you’d be safe. Jongseong wouldn’t have to worry about broken rules or him coming into your home to take full control. This isn’t his relationship, it’s yours, and if the two of you want him involved even with just sex, he’s leaping for the opportunity at this point. 

There, he’s led into the bedroom where Jongseong looks at him with a fond expression. Sunghoon stares for a moment, then looks around the room. It feels like he’s been pining to be in this very room for ages, and knowing he’s standing here right now feels even more overwhelming. 

He glances at the window, looking through it into his own open blinds and the embarrassment hits him twice as hard, which obviously has his cock aching in arousal. He isn’t even ashamed of the little, breathy whimper of defeat he lets out at this moment, rolling his eyes back and furrowing his brows. 

You let go of Sunghoon and take your place beside Jongseong, both of you checking Sunghoon out from head to toe before looking at each other and smiling. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” Jongseong admits, feeling defeated that for the first time in his sex life with you, he doesn’t know how to get the ball rolling. “Why does this feel so intimate compared to usual?”

You laugh, now staring down both of them, wanting nothing more than to fuck and be fucked. The air in this room feels electrifying, and already you have goosebumps rising against your skin. It feels like heaven. 

“Probably because he’s so close to home,” You chuckle, feeling totally in control with two lost men staring at you as if they want to eat you alive. “Isn’t that right, Sunghoon?” You say, taking a step towards him and already lifting your shirt off of you.

Just as quickly as Jongseong loses his ability to be the one in control, he gains it back after seeing how confident you are. He knows for a fact how badly you want to be on Sunghoon right now, and he has no qualms with that, but part of the fun is being able to present you until the third in the room is practically drooling. 

“Not too quickly,” Jongseong warns, pulling you back by the arm and wrapping his arms around you, dipping his head down to kiss your neck and look Sunghoon directly in the eye. “Just look at him for a bit.”

Sunghoon feels so fucking seen right now, his cock still wildly twitching at each word and glance. He very nearly falls to his knees right then, because in all fairness he’s been rock hard all fucking day and intentionally held off so that he would be so out of his mind, that surely he’d fuck you as good as you need him to. 

“Jongie, I’ve been watching him.” You say, leaning against his warmth and devouring Sunghoon with your eyes, “C’mere, Hoonie.” You add, giving both men shortened versions of their names to show your adoration for them at this moment. 

Sunghoon manages to take a step forward without his knees buckling from under him, his eyes scanning your bare torso and the way your chest is hidden by your bra. He can’t not stare, after all, he’s grown accustomed to it by now. He knows what's under that bra and what’s under those pants, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s never seen your body this close. He’s never touched you before. 

“Well?” Jongseong looks at him as he makes his way across the room a bit too slowly for his liking. “We have all day, technically.”

Sunghoon switches his eyes over to Jongseong, who seems amused by how enamored he is right now with you. His mind is fairly blank right now, outside of thinking about everything he wants to do, everything he wishes he could say, but still, all he can manage to do is stand in front of you, still not reaching out. He looks at the way Jongseong has you locked in his arms, holding you still against his chest as if to tame a beast from him. 

“You’re so pretty, Sunghoon, really.” You say, blinking up at him and tapping Jongseong to loosen his grip on you. “You can touch me too, you know.”

He’s still reluctant, looking to Jongseong once again for confirmation and receiving a nod. His hands reach out, touching nothing more than your bare shoulder before sliding down your waist and stepping even closer. 

You can feel the warmth radiating off of them as they sandwich you there between them. Jongseong and his confident breaths behind you easily contrast to Sunghoon’s deeper, nervous breathing. You kind of get now why your husband told you to just watch for a little bit longer. Sunghoon is so readable, with the way his eyes can’t find where to land, the way his hands know where they want to go but he clearly holds back from doing too much too soon out of fear that this entire agreement will shatter before his very eyes. 

You hum out happily, leaning your head back against Jongseong and pressing your hips forward, against Sunghoon. Feeling entirely loved, wanted, needed. 

“I missed this feeling,” You sigh out with a pleasured smile, throwing an arm out and over Sunghoon’s shoulder, pulling him even closer. “I bet you’ll miss it too. I bet you’ll keep coming back for it.”

Jongseong hums as well, nodding his head in agreement before blinking over at Sunghoon and lifting a brow. He wonders how long they’re going to stand here staring at each other so, rolling his eyes dismissively, he presses on.

“I want to watch you eat her out.” Jongseong announces, feeling that it’s not too out of the ordinary to make suggestions since Sunghoon appears to be totally blinded by your tits right now anyway.

Sunghoon nods with empty eyes, shortly before you see him physically break out of his presumed trance and take a step back, very nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Wait, really?” He asks, somehow still unsure that this is a thing that’s actually happening as he regains balance.

“Oh, absolutely.” Jongseong encourages him, using the emptied up space in front of you to maneuver you over to the bed. 

Sunghoon watches as your husband sits you down on the bed, grabs two pillows and places them behind you, then shimmies your pants off of you in a very loving way. He doesn’t know whether to be jealous of Jongseong for being able to love someone enough to pleasure them using others or to be jealous of you for being loved so blatantly. 

“Sunghoon,” Jongseong calls out, tapping your legs to spread them out and taking a step back to make room. “Go on.”

Sunghoon’s legs take him there before his brain can think twice. One second he’s looking at you from the angle of the center of the room, the next he’s falling to his knees, staring straight between your legs at the point of his lust for the last however long. Slender fingers gripping your thighs much the same way Jongseong did the first night he saw the two of you together like this. 

It continues to hit him like a freight train. He’s here. He’s doing this. Not even a year ago he was sleeping in a different place, with a fiancée, making calls to find venues for a fucking wedding, and now he’s here. Between the legs of another man’s wife, at his request. 

Why is he so pleased with the drastic change of events? Why is his mouth watering looking at the small damp spot seeping through your panties? Why does he feel like he isn’t even himself at this moment? 

None of it matters, not when you reach out and run your fingers through his hair to urge him forward. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes and breathing out through his nose because it’s been a long time since he felt the loving touch of another person in his hair like this. 

It’s been a long time since he’s felt the warmth of a woman in front of him, and even longer since he last felt this drunk on the atmosphere around him. Your soft fingers scratch against his scalp, and that alone makes his entire body shiver as he nuzzles against your thigh lovingly, leaving his kiss against your skin for the first time. 

Jongseong watches, not entirely used to a man acting like this with his wife. Usually, they’re already trying to get their cock inside of her, but Sunghoon seems to be basking in the touch and feel of it all through each step and in a way, he understands. He was with someone for six years and planned to spend his life with her, he can imagine this is something Sunghoon missed doing, despite the bitch not even wanting to gag on him. 

He feels fond watching the two of you, situating himself on the bed and letting you lean up against him. There, he starts to work your bra off of you, matching Sunghoon’s slowly paced arousal. 

You, on the other hand, feel like your body is catching fire. That little gentle kiss against your thigh was followed by several more, peppered up to your panty line, down to your knees, and then right back up before he even thinks about leaving a kiss against the seat of your panties. 

Which, he does eventually get to doing. Jongseong watches your body jolt at the touch. He can tell you’ve been anticipating it since Sunghoon got on his knees but knows you’re both pacing yourselves for the sake of him being able to enjoy himself. 

Jongseong’s hands do remain on your tits through it, massaging and pinching against your nipples until they’re erect and sending jolts of sensations straight to your clit. Thankfully, Sunghoon appears to be preparing himself to see your arousal up close and personal by this point, keeping his lips right up against it as his fingers toy with the hem of your panties. 

He looks up at you, still searching for confirmation on instinct and can’t help but feel that the green light was given the second he moved into the house next door with the way you both look at him. 

You’re not the only one being loved on right now. He feels entirely taken care of simply for being able to go down on you, and he wants nothing more in this world than to make you feel good. 

So, he does his best. Reaching his arms forward and gripping the sides of your panties before gently pulling them down. He watches as your, by now very wet, panties unstick from your folds as he reveals it to himself and honestly, he doesn’t even care at this point with how he blatantly moans over it. 

And just as you thought he was going to take his time like before, it’s like your entire world is flipped upside down. You take in a sharp and surprised inhale at the way he’s got his tongue on you the second your panties hit the floor. 

Jongseong chuckles at your surprise, internally praising Sunghoon for that sudden jolt of confidence he must have gotten to do that after unintentionally teasing you for far too long. He can feel your nipples react to what he’s doing, and through the sound of Sunghoon’s tongue, his groans through the taste of you, even he feels like he’s going insane just sitting with you against him like this. 

“Ah, fuck,” You moan out, feeling the way his tongue leaves no part of your pussy unexplored. “Fuuuck.” You continue, totally speechless and unable to praise him the way you’d very much like to right now. 

  When you run your fingers through his hair again, feeling the way he moves his head beneath them, the way he stiffens his tongue as he slides it up your entire pussy, then lands on your clit and begins to flick his tongue at such a pace? You can’t help it when your legs nearly close in on him, shaking against his ears.

Jongseong is there though, quickly reaching down to hold your legs open for him. 

“Sensitive?” He gleefully whispers to you, watching the way you grip Sunghoon’s hair in your fingers through the obvious struggle. He knows you won’t answer, which is fine, because he loves when you get like this. Though it’s never through a man simply giving you some good head. 

Sunghoon continues his assault with his tongue, so drunk on the taste of you that all he can do is keep going. Keep tasting, flicking your clit until it’s swollen before sliding back down again and burying his tongue inside of you as deep as it’ll go. Like he can’t get enough, especially with the way your hips wiggle to get away, with the way your fingers try to weakly tug his head away from you.

He hopes this is exactly what Jongseong wanted to see, because he couldn’t be happier to fulfill the request. Moaning into you only to breathe nothing but you back in. His cock still neglected from a full day of arousal, tasting you alone is soaking his pants. Never has he felt so desperate for something. Never.

Even when he can feel the bed shift and your legs close around his head again, he continues. 

“Hold her legs open for me,” Jongseong instructs as he pulls himself off of the bed, now seemingly so aroused that he feels the need to involve himself. He shimmies off his clothing and props himself back up on the bed, directly next to you and easily holding his length to bump against your slacked and moaning mouth. 

You readily accept your husband into your mouth. Instantly taking him as deeply as you can out of sheer arousal. Wanting to do the dirtiest things your brain can come up with solely because of how good everything feels right now. Jongseong loves it, especially with how greedy you seem as you furrow your brows and will yourself to take more into your mouth. 

“Sunghoon,” Jongseong calls out, reaching over to tap his hand that’s putting his obvious strength to use against your thighs to get his attention. “Look.”

Sunghoon does, after sliding his tongue back up and flicking your clit several more times to get those satisfying shakes of your body in reaction. His eyes trail up as he finally takes a breath of fresh air, only now realizing that you’re both entirely naked. 

“If you keep coming back,” Jongseong starts, moving his hand to caress your cheek before holding the back of your head in place. “this” he punctuates with a hard thrust into your mouth, gagging you. “is what you have to look forward to.”

Sunghoon watches as Jongseong holds your head there, continuously gagging, and then he glances down to your pussy and goddamn. You’re clenching around nothing each time you gag, and the moans you’re letting out along with your gags sends him over edge. His tongue is immediately back on you, satiating that clench with his tongue as best he can. 

The sound of Jongseong’s ever expected fond reactions goes unnoticed by Sunghoon as he puts his entire fucking soul into eating you out. 

Thankfully, you’re able to breathe shortly after, kind of. Save for the fact that when Sunghoon’s isn’t knocking the breath out of you, Jongseong is stealing it by blocking your airways with his length and moaning all the same.

The entire room sounds so erotic, and everything still feels like it’s on fire. Your sensitivity subsides as your focus falls to pleasing your husband, leading your hips to chase Sunghoon’s hungry tongue anywhere it goes. 

It stays like this for a few minutes, all three of you seemingly lost in each other before you feel your husband lean over, allowing you to take care of his cock without his help and sliding his fingers straight to where Sunghoon’s tongue is.

There, he easily slides them in, and still, Sunghoon doesn’t stop. It doesn’t phase him one bit. His tongue continues, working around Jongseong’s fingers and sometimes even licking around them to taste the arousal that seeps from deep inside of you. By now though, he’s humping up, wanting more, more, more. Your hips chase his tongue and your husband’s fingers the same way his hips chase nothing.

Jongseong only likes him more by this point. Even the times they have been with curious men, typically they’re not licking your pussy and his fingers. Sunghoon is so peculiar about this, and arguably his lack of experience is what’s making this feel so fucking magical. His attention doesn’t appear to be divided between the both of you, nor does it even appear to be solely on you like he thinks it is. 

He’s treating you both as if you’re one person, one soul, and appears to accept anything either of you offer as long as you feel good and Jongseong is satisfied with how things are going. 

Never has their bedroom been this silent of words either, especially when someone else is involved. There’s always crude words, but at this point all three of you seem to understand that you’re experiencing rather than trying to put on a show. You’re not competing, you’re not rushing for the finish line, you’re just…fucking. Existing within pleasure together.

“He’s a natural.” Jongseong compliments, sliding his fingers up and out of you only to slide them into Sunghoon’s mouth. The man accepts them too, sucking your wet off of his fingers with a pornographic groan at the warmth and taste of them. “Wonder what else he can do?” 

You smile when you pull off of Jongseong’s, now leaking, cock and look down at Sunghoon. He’s already looking up at you, lips glistening much like his eyes are as he plants more kisses up your body. Solely because Jongseong practically hides your entire pussy with the palm of his hand from him as a hint to move his hungry assault elsewhere. 

He does, happily. He’s satisfied even as he kisses up your belly and feels like he doesn’t need to ask to plant those same glistening lips against one of your nipples and fondle it with his tongue just as beautifully as he did with your clit.

He leaves space for Jongseong’s hand when he moves up, trying to be careful to avoid his hard on brushing against anywhere where it’s not wanted, which doesn’t seem to be much of an issue because Jongseong pulls his hand back shortly anyway, pulling off of the bed and studying the two of you. 

You hug Sunghoon’s head while he worships the chest he’s stared at from his window day after day. Jongseong can clearly see how shy Sunghoon is, but he still seems to be doing everything in a way that makes you both love it. At this point, it wouldn’t even matter what he does, he knows you’d go insane over it, and that’s enough for him to allow it. 

He can’t help himself when he leans over you to kiss you, seemingly so in love with you, careful not to accidentally bump Sunghoon’s head from your tit and probably cause some sort of huff or pout out of him. 

“Lay him back.” Jongseong whispers to you through his kiss, pinching your chin to keep your lips on his for a few moments longer before letting you go. 

The way your eyes shine, and the way Sunghoon’s tongue seems to never tire, you’re almost sad to pull him off of you. But you do, nonetheless, guiding him to stand to his feet and finally running your hands up his torso to urge his shirt off of him. 

You stare at his abdomen, touching and feeling each dip of it. His arms are just as nice and toned, and god damn is his cock huge. You could tell from the window, and you can tell here, even while it’s clothed. 

“Off.” You say, tugging him forward by his jeans and sitting yourself up.

He laughs awkwardly at the movement, looking between the two of you and honestly, damn. You’re both so fucking beautiful right now. He’d be delighted to take these pants off, and he does.

Shortly after, you instruct him to lay back on the bed and he’s only getting more and more comfortable with the situation. Doing exactly as instructed, not even embarrassed by his angry and heavy cock twitching in near pain to be touched. 

“God, look at him.” You groan, now moving yourself on the bed to lean on one elbow and trail your fingers up his abs. 

His entire body twitches at the touch, and he winces just a little bit with a sexually frustrated huff. 

“Should I fuck him?” You ask, looking up at Jongseong, who was actively already fisting his length shamelessly at all of the ideas he has in his head that you could to do Sunghoon, or of what Sunghoon could do to you. 

“Do you want to?” Your husband retorts with an aroused moan following shortly after, looking over to Sunghoon and watching the way he straight up nods shamelessly and practically grabs you by the arm to pull you on top of him.

“So eager,” You laugh, throwing your leg over him and instantly seating yourself directly on his cock. Feeling how huge it is, how hard it is. 

Sunghoon moans at that alone, hands shooting to your waist and squeezing so hard that you know it’ll leave a painful sensation later. 

“Go on then, fuck him.” Jongseong says, amused with how badly this man wants it. 

And you do, without much more of a warning. You lift yourself and expertly slide straight down on his pathetic cock. You watch Sunghoon as you do it, struggling to breathe through the feeling of your tight walls clenching around his length and attempting to adjust to his size.

Sunghoon runs his own fingers through his hair now, trying to keep himself grounded by the feeling he’s missed out on for so fucking long. He lets out a deep half-sobbed moan, cursing at the feeling and nearly tearing up at how fucking tight you are. 

“Shit,” Sunghoon grits his teeth, holding your waist still as if to keep you from moving, then he’s wrapping you in a hug and pulling you straight down against his chest. 

Jongseong skews his head, taking a step closer to see how well Sunghoon fits inside of you and damn. Your pussy is clenching every passing second trying to adjust, and his entire body is reacting to it. Naturally, Jongseong has no choice but to grip his cock harder at the scene, biting back his own desperate moan so that he can still appear to be collected about this. 

As you lay in Sunghoon’s arms though, the harsh hold of him keeping you in place, you can’t help but sigh at the searing stretch inside of you. And he, on the other hand, is being driven crazy by the smell of your hair. Honestly, the scent alone is driving him wild enough that it’s a struggle to keep his own hips from writhing with the need to stretch your pussy out more.

“Keep him still while you make room for me.” Jongseong finally chokes out. “Don’t let him cum.”

You breathlessly nod, trying to press yourself up from Sunghoon’s heaving chest just to grip onto his shoulders and bounce against his desperate attempts to stop you. He gives in after the second bounce though, going from trying to hold you down on him to loosening up and almost helping you bounce.

“That’s it, that’s exactly what she wants–” Jongseong compliments, running his fingers up your back and making you shiver. “Right, babe?” 

You try to answer, but you moan out instead with the way Sunghoon’s hands keep you bouncing at such a pace that your g-spot is being repeatedly fucked against. And when he moves his hands to your ass, he loses himself to the pleasure as his eyes darken even more, fucking up now, deeper into you when you slide down on him. 

“So deep,” You nearly sob out, hands reaching out for Jongseong somewhere behind you, and he’s quick to be there for you. 

“I know, baby.” He asks, leaning onto the bed to kiss against your face. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Sunghoon moans before you can, sinking his head further into the pillows and letting himself get lost in the feeling of you bouncing on him. Jongseong was right about this before, you do get wet. Fucking soaked. 

“You can take more, baby.” Jongseong says to you now, seemingly ready to give you more than either of you know you can handle.

Still, you nod, knowing exactly what he’s wanting to do. You adjust the way you bounce, now leaning onto Sunghoon’s chest so that his cock slamming into you is on full display for Jongseong. 

“Slow down for a second, Hoon–” Jongseong says, liking the nickname well enough to use it himself. “Let me show you what sharing feels like.”

And holy fuck, Sunghoon is not prepared for it. He’s shocked that you’re wanting it, with the way you pant out breathless, pained moans against his collar bone as Jongseong makes attempts to stretch you out more than you already are. 

Sunghoon holds onto those little pants, feeling your hands grip against his body as your husband nudges the head of his cock inside, causing both of you to cry out with a desperate sound. 

Inch by inch, Jongseong works himself in, holding his breath and soothing your back throughout the process, up until he’s managed to fit about as much as he can into you and thrusting forward just once to test the waters. 

“Shiiit–” He moans through a laugh, pulling out and thrusting in again, harder. “So tight.”

The reaction is more than Jongseong could ever have wanted. Both of you, clinging to each other through the overwhelming sensation. Sunghoon, probably overly sensitive from the feeling of your pussy gripping him and Jongseong’s cock massaging the underside of it as he chases his own pleasure. Then there’s you, constantly clenching to adjust, letting out little pleased cries that only get prettier and prettier, especially when they’re mixed in with Sunghoons. 

At this point, Jongseong can barely tell which one of you is moaning, but it’s all the same to him and he begins to do the work for all three of you. Loving the way he’s managed to make his wife and another man fall apart beneath him. 

“God, you both love it.” He says, knowing for a fact that you’re both too gone by now to hear him. Which is good, because he can’t hold his own moans in anymore. 

So, he doesn’t. He grips your hips to hold you in place and continues to thrust, feeling your pussy relax with each thrust until even Sunghoon is able to fuck up slightly. And for you, feeling both cocks sliding into you opposite of each other, you really can’t comprehend a single thing outside of pleasure right now. 

You can hardly breathe, so talking isn’t entirely on your agenda, still though. You try. 

“Fuck, fuck–” You breathe out, gripping even tighter onto Sunghoon now.

“So fucking wet,” Jongseong soothes, offering a harsher thrust now that he’s beginning to lose himself to the feeling too.

“So fucking, big–” You say, mostly into Sunghoon’s ear despite your husband having a good size as well. “Don’t stop. Fuck me open–” You moan to him, encouraging him to keep trying to fuck up.

Jongseong smirks at your hushed and out-of-breath words, you always get dirty when you’re super turned on. Plus, the way Sunghoon follows instructions is insanely sexy too.

In fact, he follows your instructions a little too well. Somehow, Sunghoon overpowers both your weight on him and Jongseong’s harsh thrusts. To the point that he actually has to stop moving his own hips because if he doesn’t, Sunghoon will get all three of you off within seconds if he keeps going at this pace.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah,” Jongseong moans in probably the most erotic voice you’ve ever heard come from him before. Because, never in your life alongside him have you heard him have to cut off his comments with a moan. “He likes it fucking rough.”

And he’s not lying. Part of you wonders if Sunghoon has ever been able to fuck this way, because even as you and your husband manage to find room to converse through this, Sunghoon is still gone and lost in his own world. Still holding onto you, and still fucking into you so hard that you’re very nearly releasing little yelps each time he bottoms out. 

Jongseong, on the other hand, knows exactly how your body reacts when you’re getting close. Usually knowing before you do, and he really does his best to keep his composure through this. He does his damndest to hold off, amazed that Sunghoon lasted past the first instance of you sinking down on him. 

Shaking hands reach between you and Sunghoon, and you’re quick to sit up and lean back against Jongseong instead to let him have access to your clit. Despite his cock slipping out of you slightly, he can still manage to fuck a few inches in at this angle, and honestly it’s a welcome relief because if he continued any further, he worries your clit would be left long neglected by his brain malfunctioning in a sudden orgasm.

You smile in a daze as you stare down at Sunghoon, his eyes droopy and hooded when he opens them, but for the most part remaining closed and focused on fucking you as good as he can. And paired with the sensation of Jongseong rubbing your clit, you’re rendered useless in announcing that you’re close. 

Thankfully, your lovely, amazing, and doting husband knows you as well as you know yourself. 

“Keep going,” He breathes, out of breath and reaching his other hand up to hold one of your tits in his hand, lips going to your neck. “She’s close.”

Sunghoon lets out a choked moan at the same time you let one out, and instantly Jongseong pulls out with a pleased and frustrated moan. 

“There you go baby,” Jongseong coos at you, now focusing solely on rubbing your clit with one hand and fucking his fist with the other. ”Squeeze him.”

God, you do, coming undone wrapped around his relentless cock, pulsing and shaking as Jongseong makes no attempt to ease the orgasm out of you. His fingers only circle your clit harder, and Sunghoon only fucks up harder. 

“Fuck, Sunghoon,” Jongseong calls out, watching the man in awe. “How are you holding out right now?”

Sunghoon blinks up, his eyes totally lost to arousal and he continues to fuck into you far past your orgasm ending, loving the slide of how much wetter you got through it. He feels like he’s fucking half a year’s worth of himself into you, which is fair. Because he definitely is. 

“Look at him babe, tell him it’s okay.” Jongseong continues, wanting Sunghoon to get off so that he can stop holding off on his own. It’s entirely insane how much self-control this man has.

Not even Jongseong himself could withstand this without losing a bit of self control, and yet, god. He really is the perfect third. The perfect neighbor. 

This is an indication that Jongseong is about to go full cuckold and work at himself as you take what you want from Sunghoon, and you really do try. 

Your legs shake around him as you continue to try and ride him, leaning down to hover over his lips in a faux first kiss to tell him to rest his hips, and he does, sighing out a little sound of relief as you take back the control.

He’s never been so fucking turned on in his life, and in all honestly, not even he knows how he hasn’t gotten off yet. He’s needed it all day. He’s needed it all his fucking life, it seems. 

Jongseong studies the way your tired legs work, the pace slowing down minute by minute before he steps in. His control now fully regained as his orgasm fades and he can continue to instruct and enjoy without a wall of pure sex invading his actions. He releases his cock now, stilling your hips and pulling you off of Sunghoon.

The sound alone is somehow filthier than any porn he’s ever heard. Sloppy and wet, paired with Sunghoon’s frustrated groan at the loss of warmth. 

“Hoon, take the lead.” Jongseong says, helping you to lay back and rubbing your thighs to soothe them, only moving you from the position because he knows you’re going to be sore tomorrow. 

Sunghoon, of course, jumps into action immediately. Lifting from his spot and situating himself between your legs with ease. Now being able to see you under him, rather than hovering above him, he feels like he has all the power in the world to treat you right. 

“Anything you want,” He says, already adjusting himself with your pussy and pressing in. “Anything, just tell me.”

You’re entirely endeared by his words and can’t help it when you pull him down in a huff and connect your lips to his for the first time. He melts into it, fucking his hips into you at a slower pace now, deeper, more lazily. 

He’s smelling you and feeling you entirely, every sensation in the world he could ever want is being satiated right now, and he’s not ashamed to whine through it. Pumping himself into you until it hits him, all because you fucking kissed him. 

So hard does it hit him, each thrust milking him entirely of his cum and not trembling once through it. His cock has been sensitive all day, this new sensitivity is welcome to him as long as you continue to lick into his mouth and scratch against his back like this. 

It’s a given that he was a goner the second he got on top, and when he finally empties the last, impossible amount of cum into you, his ears pop and begin to ring. 

“You guys look so cute–” Jongseong coos, helping Sunghoon out of you on wobbly legs before he leans down to scoop some of the mess out of you. “Now, you lay back too,” he adds, still toying with the cum dripping from you. 

He does, relieved and thankful for the rest after that exhausting experience. He’s out of breath when he flops himself down next to you, turning his head slightly to look at you and how content you seem to be. It makes him feel content too, even without your lips against his. 

There, Jongseong scoops some of that cum out of you and slathers his fingers with it, shuffling forward onto the bed to place himself between your legs now. Then, his fingers make their way over to Sunghoon. 

“Taste it.” He says, wondering if Sunghoon will fight the idea of doing it. 

Shockingly, he doesn’t. He opens his mouth with ease and sucks Jongseong’s fingers into his mouth for the second time. You watch, watching the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the taste of himself mixed with you. You groan out, throat dry from the embarrassing amount of moaning before wiggling your hips. 

“Patience, babe,” Jongseong says, not even glancing at you and keeping his eyes trained on the way Sunghoon eagerly licks his fingers clean before releasing his fingers and blinking over to you, and then up at him.

“You’re both going to fucking kill me.” Jongseong lets out, rolling his eyes before training them on you. “Gonna stuff this mess back into you, yeah?”

You nod obediently.

You’re so content, readily accepting your husband in his rightful place and basking in the familiar feeling of his length pressing inside of you. It’s a feeling you know, and a feeling you love despite having already been fucked open by both of them already. 

At this point, it’s not even just arousal in the air. But like, a secret second thing that somehow feels more content than content. 

Jongseong is in love with the way you look right now though, arguably so for Sunghoon too. With his fucked out face looking just as drowsy as yours does despite the sun setting when all of this started. It’s not as late into the night as it seems to feel, which is fine because time seems like it works differently at this moment. 

“Kiss her,” Jongseong says, with a last gift to Sunghoon for fucking you so well. “Thank her.”

He does, because of course he does. He dips in so fast, cradling your face in the same delicate way he touched your thighs from before. Kissing you just as gently, all while Jongseong takes his time to slide into you with such a fulfilling pace that, honestly, if you will it hard enough, you could probably get off another three times if you wanted to.

But you don’t, putting that filthy side of you to rest as you allow your husband to take what he needs. His pace quickening much like Sunghoon’s kisses do, up until you’re bouncing up with each thrust of his hips, and Sunghoon is left chasing your lips. Up, down, up, down. 

He chuckles into it, his teeth catching your bottom lip a few times before chasing your lips harder, all for Jongseong to admire from above. 

And admire it, he does. Loving the way you kiss Sunghoon in a playful way compared to himself. There’s passion here, and it makes it all the more easy for him to work himself up to his own orgasm. 

You’re not shocked at Jongseong’s silence through his own high. Pressing his hips so tightly against yours, trying to bury himself as deeply as he can go to release all of this tension inside of his body. You still feel as full as you did when they both were inside of you, but this is something entirely different. It’s Jongseong, and it still shows that he’s the one person on this Earth who knows you better than you know yourself.

He knows you love to feel his cock pulse inside of you, know you love when it dribbles down your thighs as you wobble to the bathroom, and now apparently, he knows you seem to love kissing Sunghoon through the entire experience. Clenching against his orgasm as if you were already willing to start over from the beginning. 

And just like that, he pulls out and lays on the other side of you, stealing your lips from Sunghoon briefly and kissing you. Both out of appreciation and love.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The clean up was devastating. Poor fucking Sunghoon, never realizing that aftercare is like, a huge important factor to fucking that hard. Which only solidifies it to both you and your husband that he’s clearly never been given the sexual freedom he so needed.

The two of you exchange side eyes at the way Sunghoon expects to shower alone and take care of himself, despite walking straight into a wall on wobbly legs with sleepy, mostly closed eyes. 

You help him to the shower, Jongseong allowing you to join him and clean him up as he sits just outside and waits to ultimately clean himself up this time. After all, Sunghoon was the one who fucked you senseless, the least he can do is learn how to clean up the mess and soothe your muscles. 

Fortunately, he seems to be pleased to learn and eager to put his new knowledge to use. Standing there under the warm water with a blissed out little smile, hands gently caressing your sore pussy as if to soothe your sensitivity. Obviously, it doesn’t work that way but, you still give him credit for it.

By the time you’re done showering, Sunghoon is practically dead weight. Literally fucked himself to sleep, it seems, as Jongseong laughs out and nods to the guest room, which he already made up for him. 

You help him to the room while Jongseong helps himself to shower, where puddles of water remain on the floor. 

Apparently you and Sunghoon both share the trait of not using a towel to step on after a shower. Which is only more of a reason to like him. 

Jongseong likes taking care of people. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When Sunghoon wakes up the next morning, sunlight blaring through closed blinds, his half asleep brain realizes very quickly where he is. 

He’s embarrassed again, but the content feeling in his chest replaces the heavy one he had been holding about the entire situation. He had fun. He liked it. No, he loved it. So much so that for the first time in his life, he’s needed to pass the fuck out immediately after. 

And it’s not long after he wakes up, lying there in thought, that he hears a soft knock at the door.

You’re poking your head in, blinking over at him and admiring his sleep hair. Which isn’t too different compared to his sex hair, and you smile.

“Good morning,” You say, stepping into the room and revealing Jongseong close behind you. “Wanna go again?”

Sunghoon stares at you, and then at Jongseong and his smirk. You’re both fucking insane.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

pls reblog my works ;o; if you do? i love u. if u dont? whyyyyy not?

[heewhoresimp]

Damn am soft

SMILE : pjs

in which .. you tell jay that his smile is the prettiest thing

jay x gn!r genre fluff, clingy jay, est rel warning some kissing suki’s note spreading much needed appreciation for his gorgeous smile ( 858 )

“are you awake?” you asked softly.

perhaps it was the fact that jay was tired out of his mind, his brain only half-awake as he began to doze off, or maybe it was simply the fact that he loved the feeling of you snuggled up against him. either way, he couldn't find the energy to respond to you, choosing to keep his eyes closed instead, savouring the comfort of having you in his arms. 

“jay?” you asked again, keeping your voice low. 

you knew he had a tiring week of practise, and didn’t want to accidentally wake him up if his exhaustion had already taken over. so when he didn’t respond the second time, you took that as a sign that he was asleep.

you rested your head back on top his chest, a small smile spreading across your face as you felt the steady rise and fall of his chest.

the warm glow from the table lamp reflected against his face at the perfect angle, and even in his sleep, he looked attractive, almost infuriatingly so. as you watched him with a contented smile, you noticed that the tense furrow etched between his brows since the moment he returned has now faded away. instead replaced by a peaceful look, as though your presence itself was enough to melt all his stress and worries away. 

absentmindedly, you reached out to poke at his cheeks gently, pinching them ever so slightly and letting out a soft laugh at how adorable he looked. pressing your palms on either side of his face, you squished his cheeks together, making his lips form a small pout.

“cute,” you mumbled under your breath, smiling to yourself at the sight of him pouting. 

to your surprise, the corners of jay’s mouth twitched up ever so slightly, and you realised that you weren’t the only one who was trying to hold back their laughter.

“you know what?” you said with a cheeky smile. even though your voice was barely a whisper, you were certain that he was listening. “you’re so handsome, like seriously, so good looking,” you continued, gently tugging at the corners of his mouth and bringing his lips up into a smile, “and your smile? it’s the most beautiful thing ever.”

that did the trick.

jay couldn’t hold it in anymore, his lips breaking into a wide smile. you could feel the rumble of his chest as he let out a low chuckle. “you knew i was awake, didn’t you?”

you laughed, brushing a few strands of stray hair away from his eyes. “you’re really bad at acting, you know?”

“hey, i see this as a win-win situation for me,” jay smirked. “the prettiest girl is currently in my arms, calling me cute.”

“i only think you’re cute on rare occasions,” you quipped back quickly. “you’re only average at best.”

“oh really?” jay asked with a raised brow, “if so, then why are you hugging me so tightly that my legs are starting to go numb?”

even though you knew that he meant it as a joke, you suddenly became aware that you have been lying on top of him for quite some time now and his body must feel even worse with you crushing him under your weight. so you instinctively propped yourself up, attempting to relieve the extra weight on his sore muscles.

but before you could lift your lower half off of him, his arms immediately wrapped tightly around your waist, tugging you back down into his embrace.

“you’re crushing me, but don’t go anywhere,” jay mumbled, the tips of ears reddened, and you were able to catch a glimpse of his flustered expression.

you usually would have teased him for blushing, but perhaps it was because you hadn’t seen him for the past week, you decided to press a light kiss on his cheek instead, nuzzling your face against his shoulder.

jay wrapped his arms back around you, pressing you impossibly closer to himself.

“did you mean it?” he said after a moment. his voice was so softly that you wondered if he meant to ask the question out loud.

“mean what?”

“what you said about my smile.”

you paused for a second, there was something unusual in the tone of his voice. he sounded more vulnerable than usual, as if he thought that what you said was simply a spur of the moment decision, that you merely said it to make him flustered and not because you genuinely meant it.

“jay,” you said with an affectionate smile, cupping one side of his face so his eyes would meet yours, “of course i meant it. your smile is the most beautiful thing ever.”

jay felt his heart flutter at your response, immediately burying his face into the crook of your neck in embarrassment as heat rose up to his cheeks.

“why do you do this to me?” jay mumbled into your shoulder.

“what? i’m only telling the truth,” you laughed, running your fingers through his soft hair before placing a chaste kiss on his forehead, “you’re the prettiest when you smile.”

[heewhoresimp]

Leehan x squirting

wet the bed | leehan

members: leehan x gender neutral reader

genre: smut

tags: fingering, oral, squirting, intercrural sex

summary: your boyfriend is obsessed with making you squirt.

wc: 1.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing any actual smut... i am so shy right now. please be patient with me and let me know if you liked this. <3

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

Thinking about how Leehan would be so turned on by making you squirt... You would be so embarrassed at first because of how messy you are!!! But when Leehan shyly admits he's fucked his fist multiple times to the thought of you squirting on his fingers, face, or cock, you gain a little more confidence. 

Thus starts Leehan's obsession with making you squirt. You're lying naked on your shared bed, grasping at the sheets with one hand and biting your lip as whimpers escape you. Leehan's still fully clothed, but you can already see the impression of his cock through his sweats. Leehan's using his fingers, thrusting them deep inside your pussy and massaging your inner walls.

You clutch his wrist out of nerves. "A-ah, baby, slow down, I might-" But Leehan just smiles at you sweetly and keeps going, scissoring his long fingers inside you. Putting pressure on your pelvis with his other hand, he circles your clit with his thumb. "Leehan!”

Leehan leans down to give you a kiss. It's sloppy and messy, drool dripping down your chin, but if anything, it makes you even wetter. "You don't know how hard you make me," Leehan groans against your lips, but you can tell by the spot of precum where his tip presses insistently against his sweats. "I promise I’ll make you squirt, baby."

You already know he will. Leehan manages to hit a spot inside you that makes you squeal, and when he notices, he laughs. "Oh my god, Leehan!" You let out an even louder gasp as he slinks down the bed and sucks your clit into his mouth. Leehan hums around your clit, and you immediately tangle your fingers in his hair. You're stuck between overstimulation and wanting more, to be able to reach your peak as soon as you can.

But Leehan makes that decision for you as he firmly laves his tongue up and down your slit. He gently spreads your lips with two thumbs to reveal your hole, then fucks his tongue inside your pussy. "Fuck, Leehan!" 

Thrusting his tongue deeper, he moans at how wet you are and how divine you taste. "Baby, baby, ride my face, please." At this, you fist your fingers harder in his soft hair and grind your pussy against his tongue. You can feel tears escaping your eyes at how overwhelming this all this, but you can't stop; you're just so desperate to come. 

As Leehan moans into your pussy, you notice that he's moving his hips. When you stretch your neck to see what he's doing, you find that he's pushed his pants down to his thighs and is feverishly grinding his cock against the bed. Oh my fucking god. “Leehan, are you-”

“Ah, fuck, need you so bad,” Leehan begs lowly, “need you to come so bad.” He grips your hips and licks at you even harder. Your thighs unintentionally squeeze around his head at how his tongue feels sliding through your folds, but this encourages him even more as he brings his fingers back to your pussy, fucking his middle and ring fingers into your sloppy hole. 

You feel dizzy with pleasure, and you hear your heart beating in your ears. You can’t stop babbling and nonsense is coming out of your lips. When Leehan firmly circles your clit, you feel your core tense in anticipation. “Ah, ah, Leehan, baby, god, so good, I’m about to-”

Almost instantly, a rush of wetness gushes out of you. Noticing this, Leehan moans and increases his pace. The squelching noises his fingers make as they thrust into your pussy make your cheeks burn red, but you can’t stop to overthink about how embarrassing this all is when you’re coming so hard. Leehan cups your pussy with the hand he’s fingering you with, adding more pressure. More fluid squirts out of you, soaking the sheets and Leehan’s hand. “More, more, Leehan, please-”

“Ah, baby-” Leehan sits up, holding your thighs and spreading them apart. That’s when you notice he’s fully shucked off his pants. His hair is disheveled from your grip, eyes glassy, and you can’t imagine how equally ruined you yourself must look. His cock is stiff and thick, his tip flushed red with precome already dripping down it. He strokes his cock with one hand and looks at you imploringly. “Baby, can I-”

You nod your assent, but instead of burying his cock inside you like you thought he would, he grips his cock and quickly runs it up and down your slit. The firm pressure on your pussy makes you keen and spread your legs even wider. He circles your clit with his cock, and you feel another wave of ecstacy overcome you. “Oh god, oh god, Leehan, too much, too much-” 

“You’re almost there, baby,” Leehan urges. “I’ll make you squirt again.” He quickens his pace, and you feel utterly lightheaded at the way he teases at your pussy with his warm, hard cock. He bends over to give you a searing kiss, and you can’t help but sigh and melt into it—he tastes like your come, and it makes you whine against his mouth. 

You think you’re about to come again. “Leehan,” you plead, “I’m almost there.” Hearing this, Leehan adds more pressure, his tip catching at your hole, and you feel yourself squirt again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The drag of Leehan’s tip against your folds drives you crazy, and more wetness spurts out of you. You feel like you’re coming endlessly, liquid rushing out of you as Leehan shifts and starts thrusting his hips, sensually grinding his cock against your folds. He’s staring straight at you, eyes glazed over with desire. Moans escape his lips as he bucks against you even harder. 

“Baby, baby, I’m-” Leehan wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck as he lets out a loud groan. You whimper as you feel spurts of his come on your pussy. Leehan keeps on coming and coming, but he doesn’t stop rolling his hips against you. Eventually, his thrusts come to a stop, and he sighs against your neck, sitting up once again. You? You’re beat. You can’t feel your legs, and you don’t think you can move at all. 

Looking up, you see your boyfriend staring at you lovingly as he catches his breath. His face and chest are red, and his cock is still—surprisingly—hard. You can’t help but let out a giggle. “Someone came a lot.”

“So did you,” Leehan teases back, “I made you squirt twice.” That’s when you notice the huge, very obvious spot of wetness beneath you on the sheets. 

“Oh god, that is embarrassing.” Face burning, you’re about to stand up to go to the bathroom (to the best of your ability) when you feel a hand on your wrist. 

“Where are you going?” Leehan’s eyes crinkle up into crescents. “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

[heewhoresimp]

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