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w2heehoon · 18 hours ago

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Falling in love with your older brother’s best friend certainly wasn’t one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little pottery shop in Seogwipo. A stray kitten in a pet carrier, asking for a place to stay, and you couldn’t help but do.

╰ a summer romance divided into two parts

PAIRING: older brother’s best friend!Jaeyun x fem!reader

WARNINGS (for this part): mentions of alcohol, even more art references, smut, virginity loss, unprotected sex multiple times, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), reader overreacts once and Jaeyun yearns, but yes, they are in their lovers era, and i am not saying that there’s a scene where he paints the reader naked, but i am

PART TWO｜23.7K｜STORY MASTERLIST

By the time you woke up, the house was wrapped in a silence so thorough, it almost felt like a dream. The usual soft hustle of dishes echoing, drawers opening and shutting before finally the smell of bread browning and eggs hitting a hot skillet reached you was taken by such a stillness that you had expected Jake to have already gone to the shop, starting his day ahead of you. But as you padded barefoot to the kitchen, you found him there. Sat slumped at the dining table, his coffee mug long gone cold beside his limp hand as his head rested against the wooden surface, hair tousled from sleep, and lashes resting peacefully against his cheeks.

You sat in the chair by his side, carefully mirroring his slumped posture and resting your head against the dining table. The year had just reached that one point where the days had an impossible glow. When the curtains moved with the breeze, beams of light came and went on Jake’s sleeping form, catching on his skin and picking strands of his hair, turning everything into gold and you couldn’t help but you reached for him, stroking a few strands of his hair, moving it away from his forehead, and drawing it to the back of his ear. But as gentle you had been, it made Jake wake, his eyes opening, a bit confused and fuzzy with sleep, but the sunlight caught them too, melting the dark brown into gold, and you felt your breath catching in your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I was going to make breakfast but I fell asleep.”

“I am the one sorry for making you stay up last night.”

“Yes, you are the one to blame,” he laughed, but he didn’t raise his head — instead, he reached for you too, tracing your features with the delicacy you imagined artists devoted solely to their masterpieces. And for a moment, there was no time, just one breath after another, and Jake’s fingers on you.

Years from now, someone was going to ask you when you fell in love with Jak and you wouldn’t know how to reply. You never knew the exact moment when your heart decided that the next beat would be for Jake, you only knew that it had been built for you pretty much as the summer came to Seogwipo, the flower withering almost imperceptibly day by day, leaving only the greenish tone of the warm season until it was inevitable and you wondered how haven’t you noticed the small changes before. And then, you would remember this moment. Golden eyes on you, and artsy fingers trailing through your hair. Because it was the moment you admitted that it already happened — you were in love with Jake.

You turned the thought in your mind, over and over again, expecting that every time you uttered that small secret, it would feel smaller, something you could hold in the palm of your hand and hide within your pockets without anyone noticing. But instead, the more you turned it over the more it seemed to take over you.

You were in love with Sim Jaeyun.

“How are you feeling?” he asked then. “Nauseous or something? I was searching for a hangover soup recipe, although I am not sure hangover is the exact term after being drugged.”

You halted for a moment, forcing yourself into that odd state of full awareness, methodically examining and testing every part of your body. But aside from the flush of warmth rushing through your body with the realization of your feelings towards Jake, everything seemed alright.

“I am a bit tired, but overall, I am fine,” you said.

“That makes two of us.”

Somewhere over the surface of the table, Jake’s phone started to ring, a soft tune you are almost sure the developers named it after a tree, the rustling sound of when the breeze hit it, and maybe that’s why none of you moved, not even when it went to the voicemail and started all over again.

“Maybe you should pick up,” you said, and Jake hummed at you. He definitely should — no one would casually call him on a Sunday afternoon if not in an emergency, but despite the distress about it, he took a little longer to let you go, lingering on the warmth of your skin for a moment more before he reached for his phone.

You watched as his eyes widened a bit, a slight curse forming on his lips as he straightened himself on his chair, but before you could ask who it was, the front door was thrown open.

You knew it wasn’t a real thing, but you could swear your heart quailed, a tiny gap forming where a heartbeat should be at the view of your brother.

“If it isn’t the two people I have been looking for,” Jongseong said. A smile played on his lips, but you quickly realized it was those types of smiles people gave in the middle of annoyance and not because they actually thought the situation was funny.

Jongseong pressed something on his screen, immediately making Jake’s phone start ringing once again. “And oh — look, their phones do work.”

┈

It was a dream — it had to be. Perhaps you were still drugged in the bathroom of that dirty bar close to Jeju City because there was no way your brother was standing here. Jongseong belonged to your life in Seoul, your parents’ minimalist house, and the Michelin restaurants. He belonged to the fancy attorney’s gathering and champagne in crystal flutes. The mornings filled with pollution clouds, and the nights buzzed with the traffic on the avenues, but not to Jeju — not to your Seogwipo. It was silly and you knew it. Your brother had known this place before you — he had come here before you, some week after their graduation to help Jake move in, but you suddenly felt overprotective over the place, as if he was going to take it away from you — or take you away from it, actually.

There were no greetings, hugs, or smiles, as you would have expected upon seeing your brother after so many weeks. There was just him walking to the kitchen and standing as tall as he could in front of you and Jake.

The house was starting to get hot and drowsy by the approaching afternoon, the July sun streaming directly at the table and onto your back as you watched your brother sigh and then sigh some more.

You didn’t need to tell him about the landlord, the summer storm, Jeonchae, and the half deposit. Jongseong had discovered everything through the landlord himself when he went there early this morning.

“He was really unpleasant,” Jongseong said. “But have you ever thought about calling me? Fuck, Baby. I wouldn’t tell mom and dad if you didn’t want me to, but I could have helped you.”

“How did you even come here?” Your brother asked out of the silence. You weren’t really sure about what he intended to get with his question, but still, you replied, your voice coming smaller than you remembered it ever being as you told him you had taken the bus.

“Do you even know how to take a bus?” he asked then. It had been just words — unconcrete things that shouldn’t weigh anything but it did and the heaviness of it made something within your chest hurt. Honestly, you didn’t know how to take a bus. Your parents had made sure you never needed to use public transportation, always being free in the morning to take you to school, and after that, to doctor appointments, extra classes, and wherever you needed to go. You had asked at the terminal, a gentle lady who ended up questioning your age when she noticed how confused you were. But to admit would only worsen the situation, and so you didn’t

“That’s it, I am taking you back to Seoul.”

“Jay,” Jake called, his voice cutting through the small gasp you released. Jongseong stopped, all together with you, and you took the opportunity to turn to Jake, watching as he pushed himself from where he stood against the window, countering the table, and coming in the direction of your brother. A single hand rested on your brother’s shoulder and you weren’t sure if Jake was assuring him, or holding him. “Let’s talk for a second.”

“Baby, go to the shop for a bit for me, will you?” Jake asked. It wasn’t the request that got you moving, but how Jake delivered it — the words directed at you when nothing on his body was. His eyes remained fixed on your brother, not even blinking. And so, you nodded, almost feeling the weight of the air as you rose from your chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor before you walked the familiar path to the front door, stopping only to take the key at the entrance table before you stepped out.

“She calls my parents every day,” Jongseong said, his voice coming so perfectly through the wooden door that instead of going to the shop, you stood still, hearing them through. “Day and night.”

“I have heard a few times,” Jake said.

“And she hadn’t said anything about the landlord — she didn’t say anything about coming here.”

“Maybe she just didn’t feel the necessity.”

There was a pause, none of them saying anything and you knew your brother all too well to know he was using this to shoot Jake a pointed look.

“Oh please,” your brother murmured then. “She thought it was better to come here and bother you rather than calling me?”

Bother. The word felt like a slap on your face. Your heart pounded in surprise, a flush of warmth spreading through your cheeks and suddenly you didn’t want to hear the rest — but because you couldn’t move, you did. You heard your brother rambling about how you turned Jake’s life upside down, taking the settled routine he so laboriously built and making it into a mess. You had even brought a kitten! Jake didn’t like kittens, he was a dog person for God’s sake.

“Stop,” Jake said. There was no anger in his voice, no unfairness. He said it just like he had called for your brother earlier on, that voice that could never not be listened to, and once again your brother turned silent. “You are being unreasonably rude. Baby is not bothering me — actually, she has been helping ever since she arrived.”

“Oh, is she?”

“She helps me with the market, and the food,” Jake said, and you really hoped he meant you went to the market with him, and prepared the food, because never once had Jake allowed you to pay for anything — not even a few nights ago when you told him you were getting ice cream from the convenience store and he ran after you, catching you on the sidewalk. He took your wallet from your hands and replaced it with his credit card, a minion printed on it that immediately made you laugh because, of course, Jake would have those printed credit cards. “She helps me in the shop,” he continued, and that one felt more like a lie than the rest. You did stay in the shop with him, occasionally cleaning the shelves and placing new pieces in the vacant places of just-purchased ones, and packed for him, but help felt too deep for those stupid acts

“You are just mad because she didn’t call you as she is used to,” Jake concluded.

“Because she didn't call me?” Jongseong echoed, his voice rising with disbelief. He sounded like he was talking partly to himself, that particular tone of shocked realization people give when confronted with an uncomfortable truth — Jake being good at seeing not only the nuances of your being but your brother’s as well.

The silence that followed was longer, and when it ended it came with the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, their soft rustle making it too hard to get the words and by the moment you noticed someone was approaching the door it was too late to leave causing Jake to walk straight into you, stopping for a single second before he closed the door behind him. You would have thought he was going to pretend you weren’t there if he hadn’t smiled at you, and what a smile Jake had. Just at the sight of it, your heart tethered itself. Not completely, but enough to stop quivering so much.

“Jake, I-”

But he only shook his head then, silencing you by cradling your face. His warm palms pressed gently against your cheeks as his thumbs moved in delicate arcs, cleaning the tears you hadn’t even realized you had shed.

“He wants to talk to you. Wait a bit before coming in,” he whispered. “I am going to the market for a bit, alright?”

You nodded, leaning on his touch. You didn’t remember the decision of doing it, only that you did, inclining your face in his palms as if it was the most natural thing to do. Although you didn’t shed any more tears, Jake rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks once again, immediately making something stir inside of you, rapid and warm. But it was nothing compared to how you felt when he hugged you the second after, pulling you into his chest as his mouth pressed at the top of your head. Everything about it so overwhelming that it took you a long second to notice you had never hugged each other. You had placed your arms around him while riding the motorcycle a dozen times and as he carried you out of the bar last night, but never had you held each other just for the sake of holding each other. It was too intimate. You could feel the way his skin was warm beneath his t-shirt as you twisted your fingers on it and God — it didn’t matter if you felt like your body was close to coming undone, you could stay there forever if it were ever allowed. But Jake was stepping away then, leaving you to watch as he crossed the garden, pulling his hands on the front pockets of his jeans as he tilted his head up to the sky, letting the sun bathe his skin, his hair, beams of light simply not being able to not reach for him. And once again you were reminded of how Jake belonged in this place.

The afternoon was utterly quiet. You could hear the breeze brushing through the bushes at the other side of the street and then another cabinet was opened and closed, and you sighed, taking the knob in your hand.

By the time you stepped inside the house once again, abandoning the shop key back on the entrance table, Jongseong was rubbing a hand over his face, his anger completely burned out by itself. He opened his arms to you in a silent yet clear invitation for a hug, and it was enough for you to rush through the house, curling your arms around your brother’s shoulders.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “Jake said I was mad just because you hadn’t called me for help, and yes, he is right — throughout the whole way here, I kept wondering why you didn’t call me before doing anything.”

“I guess it was my fault. I was too harsh on you when you said you wanted to spend your summer alone, but what I genuinely meant was that you shouldn’t do anything alone, you always got me.”

Your heart ached at his words because you knew it — you knew you never had been truly alone. Not even when you stood in front of the apartment complex in Jeju City, the kitten in a pet carrier, and Jake’s address on your phone. You knew that if your immediate plan didn’t work, you could just call them — your mother, your father, Jongseong. They would find a way for you. You had never needed to be truly afraid. There would have been the aftermath, of course, the small complaints, but there would always have been another hand to catch you, or at least to hold you as the things scrambled eminently.

“I don’t think I want to study law,” you whispered, it was so sudden that you could hear the uneasiness in it, the truth being finally put into words. Your brother’s grip tightened on you, bringing you so close to him that you felt his tiny exhale.

“I know, Baby,” he said. “Mom and dad know too.”

For a moment, you didn’t understand what he meant — the realization taking too long and weighing your body through the seconds that followed.

“Why do you think they allowed you to come to Jeju alone so fast?” he asked in the midst of your silence, moving away from you only enough for you to see his face. “I know you have it in you that you have to live greatly to not be a deception for mom and dad, and it’s partially my fault, but Baby — we are so rich, and I am not talking about money, but love. Whatever you decide to do mom and dad will support you with the only thought of you being genuinely happy about it.”

And there was another truth. Because despite their disapproval of Jongseong’s passion for music, your parents had been the ones who eventually supported him completely, gifting him enough guitars to build up a collection — not to mention all the expensive pedals, amplifiers, and those small customized guitar picks with his initials engraved that your brother still kept in his wallet. They had even converted the guest room into a soundproof studio when the neighbors started complaining about the noise.

“Listen,” Jongseong said. “Maybe it won’t be so easy to live with this, but you already got the good grades, and the school awards I failed, you finished the extra classes I dropped, and you carried all the expectations they could have had for us during school time, so let me carry the expectations they could have for after it.”

“The world’s always going to need lawyers, but it’s always going to need whatever you choose to do too. Find your way,” he said. “It’s not that bad, look at Jake — you know about his family, right?”

You hummed at him.

“I have to say, I was quite worried when I left him here after our graduation, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without the support of our parents, but he seems alright.”

“He is,” you said. Not sure how much true it was, he ate only lamen by the time you arrived, and although you had never seen him drinking aside from that one night when your prepared beef and he said beer was the best companion to it, there were way too many beer bottles inside of the fridge, but somehow you believed that if he wasn’t, he was getting there.

“Do you want to stay here?” Jongseong asked then.

You moved closer to Jongseong once again, resting your cheek on his shoulders as you looked at the living room’s window. Outside, Seogwipo was as halted as it had always been, the sound of the bushes hanging tiny and fragile in the summer air, and you felt your chest aching.

How you wanted to stay.

┈

Jongseong didn’t ask for you to call your parents, but you knew — it was something that had to be done and so you resolved to do it after showering.

It wasn’t easy. Your heart thumped against your ribcage as you stared at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the video call button. Although you had pressed it countless times throughout the summer — from casual updates about your day to sharing glimpses of Jeju’s scenery — this particular call felt too huge. And so, you breathed in deeply, closing your eyes for a few steadying seconds before you finally called.

Your father picked up on the second ring, holding the phone at possibly the worst camera angle imaginable as he shouted, Baby Park!

Your mother appeared right after, pulling her glasses because four degrees of presbyopia made it hard for her to see from up close and it was enough to make you start crying again.

“Baby?” your mother asked. “What happened?”

You told them everything. Not only about Jeonchae, the landlord, and Jake. But everything. Starting from memories you weren’t sure how you had. You told them about phrases that landed wrong and weighed more than they should. You told them about how you always feared doing things and disappointing them, and again, it wasn’t easy. But it wasn’t as hard as you had thought it would be all those years because Jongseong was right — you both were so rich.

┈

By the time you stepped into the living room again, Jake was just arriving from the market, a plastic bag so small in his hands that you knew without knowing that he had been wandering around just so to give you and Jongseong time. But you couldn’t relish on his kindness for much longer because your brother started complaining as soon as he spotted Jake, hadn’t I told you to sharpen your knives when I left, Jake? And these pans were still your grandma’s? I-

Jake seemed to be only half listening as he handed Jay the plastic bag. His gaze completely focused on you and you were glad that you had changed, making yourself more presentable by trading your dress from the night previous into a pinkish set, the tone matching almost too perfectly with the color of the tip of his ears.

“Naturally annoyed,” you mouthed. And Jake laughed — only once as he tried to cough out the rest, but then, you were laughing too, and your brother demanded both of you to go somewhere else because you were annoying him.

You both were still laughing when you stepped into the garden, taking the side path and stopping in front of the shop. In the hurry of leaving none of you took the key to the shop where you had left it, and Jake showed you the flower pot where he hid the extra keys underneath it.

“The biggest one is for the house, and the smallest for the shop.” He didn’t look at you as he said it, his head still tilted to the small flower pot, allowing a few strands of his hair to fall over his forehead. A smile tucked at the corners of his lips, and he seemed so young like this — so pure. The words Jongseong had said twirled through your mind, and you didn’t know what had been on your face, perhaps the sadness of not knowing how to tell him he was doing alright and that you were proud of him, but when Jake looked at you a frown took up the space between his brows.

“What?” he asked.

“I called my parents while you were in the market,” you said. You didn’t notice how still Jake had become until he averted his gaze from yours, preferring to stare back at the flower pot.

“You are going to stay, right?”

“May I?”

“Of course, Baby,” Jake said, his words being uttered so softly that the breeze nearly destroyed them. “I like having you here.”

“But about Jeonchae-” you continued.

“Don’t take to heart what your brother said,” he asked. “I never had a cat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them — actually, I have been thinking about adopting Jeonchae — if you allow me.”

“There would be no better home for him.”

It was alright, honestly, until it wasn’t.

Jongseong cooked for the three of you, and cleaned the house as if it were a task. He asked if your room was alright and if you needed him to buy anything because he could get it delivered to you. And when you said you didn’t think that things worked like that in Seogwipo, your brother seemed about to retort, but in the silence that followed he understood what you meant. There were no traffic sounds filling up the gaps between your conversation, no machines or reform sounds, it was just the breeze of the sea stirring and shuddering the bushes on the other side of the street, and nothing else.

“But tell me if you need anything,” he said. “I can find a way.”

“I know,” you whispered.

After dinner, the three of you spread on the greenish grass of Jake’s garden, something you didn’t really know how you hadn’t thought of before. The moon was beautiful this time of the year and the grass was warm against your skin, the peak of summer giving you its all, and turning into a great memory for the next day, when another summer storm finally came in, making the downtown buildings steadily dripping as the three of you made your way to the restaurant Jongseong had chosen for his last night on the island.

Nangpoon Babsang or the oldest restaurant on the island as the sign advertised, and perhaps the reason why there was a line over the curb, forcing the three of you to wait outside until the night had completely settled, the sea breeze picking and almost giving you the awkward decision of choosing between your brother’s jacket or Jake’s, but as your brother only extended his at you, Jake was already draping his around you, pushing the collar up to your cheeks despite its already growing warmth because it smelled like him.

Jongseong looked between both of you, but if he meant to say something, he didn’t as his attention was taken by the arrival of the message saying you were the next to enter.

Although the outside of the restaurant seemed to have undergone a significant modernization to fit the evolution of Jeju City, the inside gave meaning to their advertising and remained faithful to traditional Korean aesthetics. There were no walls to subdivide the room, but it had been split into diverse small sections by a bunch of folding screens, their surfaces displaying a host of artworks, and giving each table some privacy underneath the low light of the hand-crafted paper lamps. Although antique, it felt fancy somehow. And you weren’t surprised that your brother had been the one to choose it.

“You know what?” Jongseong said as he took the chair in front of you. “I am glad you both met — my beautiful family is finally reunited.”

“What?” Jake asked. “Is Baby our love child now?”

“No. I meant that my sister is your sister.”

There was a lost moment, a second where you should have released the air from your lungs but you didn’t, and it passed with it stuck in. Jake, regardless, laughed — out loud as he reached for the cup of water he had just filled, swallowing the whole thing before he placed it back onto the table, but he didn’t deny — didn’t say he didn’t see you like this. Instead, there was a small hum and the topic died between both of them, leaving you as the only one still stuck on it, chest aching because you seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

And it didn’t help that when the waitress approached your table, Jake went completely rigid, his shoulders tensing as his fingers tightened around the cup he was still holding until his knuckles had turned white. It didn’t help that when her eyes met his, she halted as well, lips parting slightly as she whispered his name — the sound coming so softly it felt as if she couldn’t quite believe it and was trying to convince herself.

She was somewhere between your and Jongseong’s age. And a piece of art. Her wavy hair had been held by a dozen pins — not the golden ones you kept in a jewelry box and which perfectly matched all your other accessories, but colorish ones, pink and blue pins holding her hair, and keeping them away from her freckled cheeks. Her necklace was made of beads just like a string she kept on the belt. She was the embodiment of the children who were born in Jeju and were proud of it, and if you stopped to think about it carefully, she was completely Jake’s style. Artsy and free.

“Jake,” she called again, stronger than before and it was your brother’s turn to halt, curiosity sparkling over him as his eyes rushed through her name tag. Eun-kyung. It brought you no memory, but it seemed to do to Jongseong because the corner of his mouth tucked up as he looked back at Jake.

“I didn’t know you were in Jeju,” she said. “I guess it’s just for the summer?”

“No, I have been living here,” Jake replied. She seemed surprised by the news, her eyebrows rising slightly.

“Oh, I had no idea,” she said.

The silence that followed hung in the air, thick and still. But even there, you weren’t able to wrap your mind around all your thoughts.

Jongseong cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“So, what do you recommend?” your brother asked. “Aside from Jake that’s almost a local, we are all city people.”

“Jeju Black Pork is the most traditional Jeju dish,” she said after a moment. “Tourists tend to choose it to try the local cuisine.”

“Three Jeju Black Pork then,” your brother resolved.

“Anything to drink?” she asked.

“Beer,” Jake said quickly.

“Make that two,” Jongseong added with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And a tangerine juice for our little sis.”

Eunkyung nodded as she wrote the order on her notepad, her eyes flickering back to Jake once more before she resolved to walk away.

“So, Eunkyung?” Jongseong asked then. “As your first love, Eunkyung?”

And that was it. Something within you hurt with your brother’s question, a sharp twinge that you wondered if it was what people called heartbreak.

Jake was a nice guy, and you knew it — you had spent enough time watching as he smiled at strangers, presenting them with so much kindness that it made it impossible for anybody to be uncomfortable with him. You had listened to him talking enough to know he truly cared about people and wouldn’t have a second thought before helping anyone in need and that was the problem. He was a nice guy, careful, and kind, but you had misread. There was nothing special about you and if there was — it was because you were his best friend’s little sister. Not as someone he could be attracted to. Eunkyung was the type of girl he was attracted to — someone his own age, someone with that artsy spirit that belonged to this place as much as he.

The realization made you burn with embarrassment, a warm flush creeping up your neck as you felt too childish, too small. The voices around you grew louder, suddenly overwhelming your senses as you tried not to focus on Eunkyung coming with your drinks, her eyes completely focused on Jake.

“I need to use the restroom,” you announced, hurling from your seat so hastily, Jake’s jacket fell off your shoulders, but you didn’t stop yourself to take it back.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the small room, pacing against the tiled floor as you tried not to cry, but by the time you had stepped out of it, Jake was leaning against the wall, his jacket draped around his shoulders once again as his hands fidgeted with the pickup keys.

“I was considering whether I should rescue you from the restroom once again,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he referenced what happened two nights ago. But although you had acknowledged his attempt to lighten the mood, the ache in your chest made it impossible for you to smile back. “We decided to make it a to-go. Jay is paying for us.”

His lips parted upon your lack of reply, the space between them widening with what he meant to say next, but whatever it had been was forgotten as Eunkyung appeared at the end of the hallway, their eyes catching.

“Jake, do you have a minute?” she asked. “I’d like to talk to you before you go.”

None of you moved, not even her, and you took the opportunity to reach for the pickup’s key in his hands, murmuring something about waiting there. It seemed to take both of them out of the haze. Jake finally strayed his eyes from Eunkyung, and you were pretty sure that there was a reply, but you were already walking to the front door.

The weather had cooled down even more, another sparse rain treating to fall as you walked to where Jake had parked the pickup. The vehicle supposedly had a back seat, but the place was so small and cluttered — there was no particular discussion before you had been assigned for it on the drive here, making Jake push the driver seat forward, and rest his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hurt yourself as you jumped to the back, but you might not have paid attention enough because it didn’t matter how you tried to push it forward now, it didn’t seem to come in.

A curse was already escaping from your lips by the time you heard Jake, his shoes whacking on the sidewalk as he reached for you.

“Baby, wait,” he asked. “You are going to hurt yourself like this.”

You halted upon his concern, everything within you ceasing long enough to make you feel empty inside of yourself.

You always thought the most embarrassing thing that could happen upon falling in love with someone was to be fiercely rejected, the I don’t like you you had heard so many times through the school’s hallways, and still made you flinch every time, too sorry for the person rejected, but no — no. The most embarrassing thing was to be let down easily, that soft caress when the person loved you, but not as much as you loved them.

“Baby,” he tried again, rushing his fingers through his now disheveled hair. He seemed frustrated. But you had already given the final push and the driver’s seat finally surrendered, giving Jake just enough time to place his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hit your head but this time you didn’t thank him.

Jake didn’t follow you inside. He remained there, leaning on the driver’s door as if he understood that you needed space and was willing to give it to you. But when your mother called asking if you wanted to take the flight tomorrow with Jongseong and you replied with a way too sincere I don’t know, he seemed simply unable to not turn to you, your eyes catching through the glass window. And you hated it — hated the way the air hurled out of his lungs as if you had just physically punched him. You hated the way the sound of it hung in the air between you, heavier than the humidity clinging to your skin and making your heart swell because you could do anything to make him feel better.

┈

It had already been two nights since Jake had slept in your room, but you could swear, everything was smelling like him.

You lay there, telling yourself to sleep, but instead, you found yourself standing up, tearing the sheets off the mattress, and tugging them into a small ball before you walked out to the living room. It was too late to put the washing machine to work, yet the simple idea of doing something made you feel better, and you continued, but as you stepped out, there he was.

Even before your eyes had adjusted to the light of the living room, you had felt him. A piece of warmth in the middle of the cold night.

Jake looked up at you, straying his gaze from the cup of water in his hands, his eyes so painfully soft beneath the yellow lamps, you felt your heart aching at the view and you wished you truly could hate him, turn all this mess inside of you into simple repulsion so you could leave without a second thought.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked then, but you only hummed at him, already starting towards the bathroom.

You took your time putting the sheets inside the machine, loading everything as if you could start it this late at night without disturbing the whole house with its screeching sounds because you expected that when you stepped out Jake would have already gone back to his bedroom. Yet, he didn’t, preferring to walk after you, leaning on the door jamb as his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Baby,” he called. “Don’t leave — at least not until the end of summer — not like this.”

You scoffed, a sound that tried to mask the sting you felt, the sticky upset and dread that gnawed at your throat as you looked back at the idle machine.

It’s not like you wanted to pack your luggage and leave Seogwipo tomorrow, but you were suddenly feeling awkward with Jake. You suddenly didn’t know where to put yourself, much less how to fill the silence within the space of your conversations — and perhaps it was the worst part of everything. It had always been so easy to be with Jake.

“She cheated,” he said, as a matter of fact — as if he knew his ex was all the cause of your distress.

Jake removed his hands from his pockets then, choosing to fidgeting with the hem of his worn out t-shirt and you had spent enough time with him to know, he was about to tell you something, some long story and in any other moment you would have loved to take another piece of Sim Jaeyun and pop into place. But not now — not about this.

It was already terrible enough without the full story.

“We met in the summer of my senior year,”

“Jake,” you cut.

“No, listen, Baby,” he said. “Please.”

And it might have been the way he said it. The tone that said without saying that he needed you to know it, but you stopped then, closing your eyes as you clutched onto the washing powder box because once Jongseong had said you were too see-through. You could never hide your feelings, they are always there — one look away for those who cared to search, when you disliked something it settled heavy in the corner of your lips, when something saddened you it took over your eyes, and honestly, everything was already humiliating enough. You didn’t need to cry in front of Jake.

“I was really young and stupid. I had to enter a university in the mainland because of my parents so she promised me she would too,” he said. “And she did, but not in Seoul — it was a few provinces down, and for some time we made it work. I would drive there every weekend,” he continued, his voice growing softer. And you felt your heart ache at the image of a younger Jake making those long drives. But it just added to your earlier thoughts — Jake was a nice guy. You could picture him going to pick up a drunken Eunkyung, carrying her and holding her until she had fallen asleep.

“But I felt she was getting farther and farther away. She said she was tired of it all — she didn’t like the mainland, and I was too different there, and quoting her — always relying on my parents’ money and opinions.”

Your eyes snapped open, the indignation taking the best of you and you couldn’t help but turn to Jake, your eyes catching in the low light.

“I tried to explain it to her — all the things I told you on the roof, but I don’t know, she couldn’t understand?” His voice cracked slightly, and you had to resist the urge to reach out to him. “She came back to Jeju just a few weeks before my grandfather died. I told her about it and she just said she was sorry. Never mentioned going to the funeral and I should have noticed, but I never knew we had somehow already broken up.”

“So when I came to his funeral, I went to visit her, but she was with someone else, you know-”

Your breath caught, a wave of protective anger washing over you as you pictured Jake, grieving and alone, discovering such a thing. You blinked, not surprised when tears blurred your vision.

“Jake, that’s terrible,” you said, your voice coming higher than you intended, and showing all your disbelief. “She simply abandoned you when you needed her the most. How could anyone do that to you?”

“She is a-” you halted yourself, swallowing hard to control your rushed thoughts because Jake was only shrugging his shoulders at it.

“I don’t know what she wanted to tell me,” he said. “And I don’t care anymore — I was a bit shocked to see her. I have been here a whole year and it never happened, that was it, so don’t be mad with me because of this.”

“I am not mad because of this?” you snapped. It had sounded like a question, but it very much felt like the answer he needed because he smiled — faintly before he composed himself but not enough for you to not notice how his eyes were gleaming, and in the rush of the moment you started toward your — his grandparents’ old room, trying to step past him, but he caught your wrist, the sudden contact startling you so much that you would have fallen if Jake didn’t catch you, moving you until the low of your back met the kitchen counter.

And if the scent of his floral soap flinging from the bathroom wasn’t a great indication that he barely had left the shower, the water droplets still clinging to the edges of his hair were. Rivulets raced down his jaw and into his throat, making it even harder to look at him.

God — this whole day was a huge mistake.

“I have spent the whole night trying to see things from your point of view, Baby, but I am having a very difficult time here,” Jake admitted. “The other option would be because of what Jay said then. Because I didn’t reply. But what could I have said to him?” Jake continued, the words now coming so hurriedly and blurted, almost as if all he just wanted was to get it out of him. “I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t simply say no, Baby is never going to be a sister to me because I think I have fallen in love with her — Jay would have taken you out of that restaurant in the same second and caught the first flight back to Seoul, and every time I think of you leaving, I feel so uptight — hell, I feel so-”

His hand slipped from your wrist, folding his fingers through yours and bringing your hand to the back of his neck as he pulled you forward — or moved himself in. You weren’t sure what was happening anymore, everything inside of you was humming and making it difficult to think but his forehead was resting against yours and when he spoke again, it came as nothing but a hush of breath, the softest gust of air against your lips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked. But you couldn’t say anything. Not when your heart was cracking open under the weight of everything. You could feel his plea in every centimeter of his body, the despair in the soft breath unfurling against your mouth, and the tension in his muscles.

“Please tell me I didn’t get this all wrong and I am being creepy right now.”

The sound of a door being opened filled the space where your reply should have been and Jake moved back, his hands falling away and making your skin tingle, already missing his warmth.

“Do you always stay up until this late?” Jongseong asked.

“Yes,” Jake replied, so fastly, you would have believed it if you hadn’t seen him knock out at the couch right after dinner for a couple of nights, you having to gently tap his shoulders so he could recollect himself and walk to his bedroom.

“It’s terrible for your health, you know?” your brother asked then, but none of you replied — you weren’t even sure if you had breathed as Jongseong walked to the fridge, taking a bottle of water and going back to Jake’s room without any other word.

But as the door clicked shut again, you turned back to Jake pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, hands finding and curling on the front of his t-shirt for support. He was trembling — or perhaps you were. You didn’t give yourself another second to consider anything before you placed your lips on the shell of his ear whispering: “I am in love with you too.”

And before Jake could hold you again, you had already gone. You had slipped out of his reach and the kitchen, rushing to your room and closing the door as you leaned on it. Your heart beating against your ears — but not loudly enough to miss the way he laughed on the other side.

On the morning of the next day, Jake went to Beomseok to ask for the pickup once again and the three of you climbed it, taking the road to the airport.

The drive was surprisingly quiet. None of you spoke through the whole way up the island, the sound of the wind coming through the open windows and the radio being the only things filling the space. But then, an old song came in, something about a country road and going to the place the singer belonged, and Jake was the first one to murmur the lyrics, Jongseong following suit, their voices turned a pitch lower to match the singer’s tune and you couldn’t help but laugh.

In the rearview mirror, you caught Jake looking at you, your eyes locking for a quiet second before you felt the tip of his fingers against your knees. He had dropped his hand between the driver’s seat and the door — purposefully out of Jongseong’s sight — his palm up as his fingers stretched. You reached out for him, pinching the tip of his fingers, and he might have been satisfied with this small gesture because he withdrew, putting it back on the wheel.

“Jake, the exit!” Jongseong snapped.

“Oh shi-” Jake steered in a hurry, passing through the raised pavement markers and causing Jongseong to reach for the handle above the door, the same curse Jake failed to complete fleeing through your brother’s lips and stealing another laugh from you. But this time Jake didn’t look through the rearview, his heart was already seconds away from bursting.

┈

“We are here,” Jongseong said, eyeing the airport for a split second before he turned to Jake.

“Don’t you want us to go inside?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” your brother replied. “It’s not like I am taking a long flight — thank you for the ride, and everything. I am leaving a great responsibility but feel free to just call me, I can come pick her up if you grow tired.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said, extending his hand to your brother, that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders guys loved to do, and then Jongseong turned to you. It was hard to hug, but you pushed yourself through the middle of the seats anyway, arms curling on your brother’s shoulders as he hugged you back.

“Take care of yourself, alright, Baby?” Jongseong whispered. “And call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling that one lump in your throat that seemed too close to tears. “Thank you, Jay.”

He gave you one last squeeze before freeing himself, opening his door, and jumping out of the pickup. He hauled his carry-on from the trunk with no effort, a small smile on his lips before he turned around, and walked to the airport.

“Hey,” Jake whispered, his hand rubbing against yours. “Since we are in Jeju City, why don’t we do something over here?”

┈

You had already heard about the art museum of Jeju — walked to it during the week you stayed in the city. The immersive digital exhibition had been listed as one of the must-go spots on the island by diverse tourist sites, but the sight of a group of friends arriving made you step away — too awkward to go inside and wander through the rooms all by yourself.

But today — today you had Jake.

The first room was a forest, red flowers hanging on the trees as their petals twirled through an imagined wind.

“Do you have an artsy explanation for this?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Once I went to an exhibition in Seoul with a classmate — lights and something was the name. I spent the whole exhibition just appreciating its beauty, and then in the last room there were points of light imitating the pattern of birds’ flocking, that was when a woman appeared. She was with her son, and then she started giving a whole explanation about how birds never stray away from each other, always sharing their difficulties to reach a common goal, and how that was what the artist wanted to show,”

“Ever since that day, I kept wondering if artists always intend to give deeper meanings to their creations than just beauty.”

Jake tilted his head back, red petals projecting on his face as he watched the exhibition going on. You knew they weren’t concrete, just a projector streaming images on him, but when they slid through his cheeks, you had that odd desire to reach for them. But he looked at you then, leaning in, his eyes flickering beneath the lights, mischief glinting as if he wanted to tell you the most beautiful thing he had ever known.

“I personally think it’s just pretty,” he said instead, and you laughed at this, head thrown back, the sound so carefree and soft. Your laughter seemed to be coming easier now and it was impossible for him not to smile back at you. “But if you want a more scholarly answer I would say: because art is an expression of personal perspective it is subjective. Their meaning and even what it makes others feel. Someone might come here and just think it’s pretty like me, but someone else might come here and feel like this field is speaking to them, a whisper from their childhood, a secret memory of their first love, or even a sign for a future decision. Art will never strike everyone in the same way.”

“Once a Spanish painter said you can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life,” he continued. “Or something like that, the point is-”

“Some things leave no impression, meanwhile others become a life mark — there will always be the before and the after,” you said.

“Yes.”

The next room was a maze of paper lanterns. A couple of siblings ran in between on a game of tag, and when the boy rushed past you, you had to step closer to Jake, tucking on his jacket for support and being completely unaware of how he melted there. But if anything, he just slid his hand on yours, interlacing your fingers and guiding you through the rest of the exhibition.

There were more fields, and mountains projected on idealist sunset skies. There was an empty room in which flowers grew whenever you touched, and when you brought it to Jake’s attention, drawing a tiny line of flowers, he pulled you through the room, your finger still pressed on the wall and leaving a trail of flowers behind.

But it was the last room that genuinely made you stop — waterfalls of golden, electricity blazing and pulsing and cascading down around you like fallen stars.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Life-changing beautiful.”

“It really is.”

You turned to him, but he had his gaze already fixed on you, his eyes gleaming, lips curling. He had no embarrassment in letting you know he had been looking at you for the whole while.

Jake used your connected hands to pull you to him, and suddenly he was so close and the air was stuffy. When he reached for a strand of your hair, he smelled like clay, that earthy scent that was already turning into your summer redolence and oranges.

“Am I too late to be your first kiss, Baby?” Jake asked.

The moment seemed to take forever. It seemed to take no time at all. Your simple you are unfolded slowly, blending with the echoes of the world very — very softly, and perhaps it was what prevented his heart from breaking there.

“But I don’t mind forgetting it,” you whispered. “Pretend it never happened.” It was just the echo of his words on your lips, but he was smiling then, his hand leaving yours only to cradle your cheeks, holding you as he leaned over — his mouth hovering over yours, parted lips brushing on a kiss that wasn’t a kiss. And you knew you had told him you could forget your first time, but when his hands slid further into you, fingers tangling into your hair and angling you up so he could pinch on your bottom lip, it was hard not to forget it. You knew without knowing that no one would ever kiss you the way Jake did. He seemed to want to relish it, feeling you through each passing second of your connected lips. He seemed not to want to let it go, memorizing you through each heartbeat as he just grazed his mouth against yours, catching his breath before he kissed you again and again and again.

Someone cleaned their throat, immediately making both of you part, lips swollen, and causing you to bury your face in his chest, but Jake only laughed — the sound echoing through your body as he reached for you again, an arm curling around your waist as the other sized for the top of your head, tangling his fingers on your hair as he held you to him and murmured an apology to whoever it had been.

“What do you say about us getting some milkshakes before going home?” Jake asked then, lips falling on the shell of your ear as if it was just another ordinary day — like you were still Jake and Baby from a few hours previous, and that the taste of his smile wasn’t still lingering on your lips. But that was the greatest thing about being with Jake: he made everything easy. And when he stepped away, holding his hand out for you, you took it without a second thought, allowing him to guide you out of the museum and back to the pickup.

┈

“Who was it?” Jake asked.

“What?” you asked, straying your gaze away from the milkshake in front of you.

Jake had stopped at a dine-in halfway back to Seogwipo, a small parlor just off the interstate that advertised the best milkshakes on the whole island! and made you both order not only two — one for each of you, but four, lining them in the middle of the table and sharing.

“Your first kiss,” Jake clarified. “Who was it?”

You weren’t sure if it was the sugar getting into your system, the euphoria of having kissed Jake, and having him sitting across from you, pinkish ear, and ankles resting against yours but you still took a moment too long to comprehend the question.

Was he really asking it or was he testing what you told him at the exhibition?

You pushed the strawberry milkshake back into the line, buying yourself some time.

“You?” you tried.

“No. I meant for real,” he said. “Who was it?”

“It wasn’t even that important,” you said. “It was a game of truth or dare. I didn’t even like him, but I guess he did as his friend seemed pretty invested in getting us to kiss. He was kinda cute — had this wavy hair and had swimming classes in the afternoons, so I didn’t mind.”

“Did he ask you out after?”

“Yes, asked me to go to one of his swimming competitions.”

“Was he your first boyfriend then?” Jake asked. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, playing with the milkshake he had first chosen with his straw and you could swear, there was a hint of something in his tone, a covetousness about this particular topic.

You reached for his milkshake, pulling it back into the line and giving him another one. It took his attention, but you didn’t look back at him.

“No. I refused him,” you said, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

“You kissed him and then refused when he asked you out?” he asked. “What a heartbreaker girl.”

“I was such a terrible person, right?” you said. “But in my defense, I was always too invested in my studies to really think about my romantic life. I barely could fit my lunch between school and extra classes, imagine a boyfriend? And there is also the fact that my mother always said that dating should come only when you are responsible enough, before it is stupidity — I didn’t want to be stupid to her.”

“Can you fit it now? Wouldn’t it be stupid, right?” Jake asked then. You looked up at him, immediately receiving a raise of eyebrow, shy yet flirtatious — that amusing combination he was, and when he took your hand in his, bringing your wrist to his lips, shivers scattered through your skin before he had even continued. “I promise I will be a good first boyfriend.”

“Yes,” you whispered. The word squeezed out of you, coming as nothing but a tight exhale, but Jake smiled at you then, that one twist of lips that took over his whole face. “If it’s you.”

┈

You wondered if it would be awkward then. If the silence would start to stretch on too long, and the spaces between words would be filled with awkwardness — none of you knowing how to deal with this new thing between both of you. But later that night, when you encountered Jake on the space within your bedrooms doors as you walked out of the shower, it was easy to curl your fingers on the front of his t-shirt as he cradled your face.

It was easy to part your mouth, heavy breaths and gasps blending as he captured your top lip with his, his tongue licking over your own, slipping past and tasting like the cream milkshake you shared lastly and the sugar from the cookies you had ordered to combine with. Everything so sweet, you couldn’t help but pull him closer, a little bit meaner as you demanded more, but if anything Jake smiled at you, squeezing his fingers into your skin, his thumb pushing over the corner of your mouth, and coaxing you to open wider, but then, he stopped, abruptly and all at once stepping back.

“I am going to take a shower,” he informed, his voice coming tighter and pressed before he pulled his hands on the front pockets of his jeans — adjusting himself.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself then. You hadn’t lied when you said you never had a boyfriend, and your lack of experience made it difficult for you to know what to do with the fact that you had just made Jake hard. And so, you simply stood there, body too warm, and the hallway seeming to shrink around you as your heart beat loudly against your ears.

“I am going to take the trash outside,” you blurted out. Jake nodded at you, already turning around and walking to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You stared at it, taking another moment to steady your breathing before you managed to move toward the kitchen, reaching for the trash can and stepping outside, immediately being shrouded by Seogwipo’s summer.

The stars seemed impossibly bright tonight — as it hadn’t been in days. And couldn’t help but linger there as you dropped the bag into the bin, tilting your head back to take it in before the sound of footsteps made you turn, spotting Euntaek walking in your direction, his shoulders lower than he used to, and his fingers tapping the tray you swore to have sent back to Mrs. Choi not even two days ago.

“Hi, Baby,” he said.

“Hi,” you said back — softer than you would’ve if you hadn’t noticed his unusual posture.

“I was going to come earlier, but Grandma saw a city boy arriving, and I guessed it was your true brother so I imagined it would be better not to,” he said. “But this morning Beomseok commented that Jake needed the pickup to go to the airport-”

“News runs here.”

“It’s a small place,” he said. “Once I dyed my hair red, and my grandmother knew even before I had left the hair salon.”

You nodded at him.

“I am sorry about Arin,” he said then. “We all know she is getting out of hand, her parents are being a bit too much about the university’s stuff but none of us expected she would give it to you — at least not without a warning,”

“Haeyoung argued with her,” Euntaek continued. “Arin first said you seemed to stiff so she wanted to loosen you a bit, but then she said she just switched the cups — anyway, I am sorry.”

“If we could another day-”

“I am with Jake,” you cut.

Euntaek halted for a moment, his eyes widening slightly before he smirked at you. He didn’t seem disappointed or annoyed. If anything, he seemed to be bemused — more with himself than the whole situation.

“I see,” he said. “Well, that makes sense.”

Either the night had suddenly turned warmer, or your body, every part of you reacting to pulling those words out to the world — you were with Jake.

“Grandma baked an extra tray,” he said, extending the tray still in his hands. “So-”

“That’s really kind of you,” you replied. “Please thank your grandmother for me.”

“Sure. Goodnight,” he said, already turning and walking away. There was nothing vulnerable about Euntaek right then, and you doubted there would ever be. But you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry as you watched him walking alone. All his dreams of Seoul, of music, of something bigger than this island and this small-town life that might never be enough for what he imagined for himself.

When he drove you to the bar near Jeju City, he had told you that his whole family was against his dreams. If he were to move to the mainland it should be to study administration, finance, something usual and concrete — something that would help them in the island once he got kicked out of the mainland because everything was too fierce for him there.

And once again, you couldn’t imagine how it felt to have everyone against you.

How was it for you, Jake? you wanted to ask. Would a single phrase made it better for you?

“Euntaek?” you called.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck — with the band thing. I hope you manage to go to Seoul someday. Get cast in a big company.”

“Would you go to one of my concerts, in Seoul?” he asked. You thought about telling him that Seoul was no longer your home. That you would never truly go back there — not before the beginning of the semester at your university or later. But perhaps it had been your awkwardness with strangers and the amount of explanation it required. Perhaps it simply had been the string of sympathy you were still feeling for him, but you nodded then, earning the most genuine smile you had seen Euntaek ever give.

“If Arin isn’t there,” you said.

“Oh, Arin is never leaving Jeju, believe in me.”

He waved at you, only once before turning to leave, and this time for real.

You stood for a moment, the tray warm in your hands as you gazed up at the stars one more time before heading back inside, placing Mrs. Choi’s tray on the kitchen counter.

When you turned around, Jake was walking out of the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower, and a loose t-shirt clinging slightly to his not-quite-dry skin. The soft glow of the kitchen light caught the droplets of water still clinging to the ends of his hair.

“Mrs. Choi passed by?” he asked.

“No, Euntaek did.”

“Ah.” The single syllable held more weight than it should, and you crossed the kitchen toward him, closing the distance between you in slow, deliberate steps. His gaze followed your movement, rounding slightly as you reached up to a damp strand of hair that fell across his forehead before you allowed your fingers to trail down to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

Jake’s breath hitched slightly as your hand came to rest against the side of his neck, his pulse quickening beneath your touch because the whole house suddenly felt too small, too warm, the air between you too stuffy.

“Baby,” he warned. “I don’t want to scare you again.”

Your brows furrowed at his saying, your confusion settling heavy on your face, but then, it dawned on you — hurriedly and making you gasp, Jake thought he had scared you earlier on.

“You didn’t scare me,” you said. “I just — I meant it when I said I never had a boyfriend, so I never-”

“Don’t worry, alright?” he whispered. “We go on your time — always.”

The shop was busier today.

A group of foreigners came on the morning, wishing to learn how to do pottery, and ever since you have been standing there, watching Jake.

He made a little gesture at his chest, curtsying and gentleman-like as he bowed at a compliment, his dark hair tumbling forward into his eyes. And God — he was utterly staggering.

You must have stared for a moment too long because Jake’s gaze fell upon you, the gravity of his world suddenly centered on you, and the force of it made you turn around, skin warmer in a way you knew it wasn’t the afternoon heat setting in.

You had stuck a stray brush in your hair to keep it up, allowing the afternoon breeze to love the back of your neck, but as Jake approached you from behind, he took the brush from your hair — just so he could pull it up again, threading his fingers through your locks before he set the brush again and leaned in, curling his arms around you, breathing into the base of your neck.

“What do you think about closing the shop early?” he asked.

“I think you are not taking your shop very seriously,” you said. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was pouting then, his bottom lip being poured out as he tightened his hold around you.

“C’mon, Baby” he whispered. “It has been a few days since we last took something from your list,” he remarked, but what he truly meant was that it had been a few days since you had only been making out on his couch, and when his hands slipped beneath your pajama’s shirts, splaying his hands on the bare skin of your waist, he suddenly stopped, laughing it off and kissing you sweetly before he said you should go to sleep. “Maybe we could go to a bar as I had promised?”

┈

Jake rode you up to the island at sunset, the traffic turning thicker and thicker as he approached Jeju City with its busy avenues, flashing lights, and more people than you’d seen ever since you had gone out with Euntaek.

And when Jake held the bar’s door, gesturing for you to go in first, you had braced yourself for a darkened room, the intoxicated air, a forced retreat to that night a week ago, and the hazed fear, but instead, you were greeted by neon lights and an electronic chime humming beneath that old summer hit everyone knew. Machines lined the walls, from the old Pac-Man to VR games cramming side by side to make room for the tables, and the wooden bar.

Somewhere a group of friends laughed and you couldn’t help but do the same. Surprise and relief burbling out of you. Jake smiled down at you, the machine lights making him glow peach and tangerine as he held his hand out for you.

Jake guided you to the bar where he traded two fifty-thousand won bills for some coins that he insisted were just enough for you both to have some fun, taking turns at the machines, being lit up by the flashing lights and the shimmer of it all. Your hands brushing, your bodies close together.

Outside Autumn was already approaching, pressing itself against the late July nights and making it a chilly thing but there — it was summer, warm, and heavy, making Jake remove his jacket, rolling the sleeves of his gray button-down shirt absent and carelessly just below his elbows, allowing his bracelets to catch the colorful light of the place as you bet over the games. A drink over Pac-Man, and baskets of fries over Pinball. And when you said you had no idea how to play a shooting game, he stood behind you, his hands above yours as he guided you through. Just as Jake always did whenever he taught you something, but this time, you allowed yourself to lean on his touch, pressing your back against his chest and feeling the solid warmth of his being.

“Will you give me a kiss if I get you to break the record?” he asked as if you haven’t been stealing pecks the whole night — as if you didn’t know the taste of his lips better than anything. But the request made your skin tingle, the night being too blazing, too sweet, and you caught yourself nodding at him.

When the game ended, requesting you to put your name as Jake got the highest score you turned to him, the same peach and tangerine light gilding him, and it suddenly felt too strange to be in the middle of all those people. You weren’t sure who pushed first, but both of you were rushing past the tables and back into the summer night. Streetlights glinted off the hoods of parked cars, and the stars hung prettily above, the layered beauty taking you anew. But you only got a glimpse of it before Jake used your connected hands to pull closer to him, leaning on and bottling into the darkness of his height. You tilted your head up. Just enough for your top lip to catch his bottom. And he made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the whiskey of the bourbons he kept on asking whenever you lost and the strawberries you always rewarded him from the bottom of your cocktails.

“Should we go home?” he asked.

And it was what both of you intended to do, but half an hour until you got to Seogwipo. Jake had to stop at a tiny town that consisted only of an artificially bright gas station and a convenience store to fill his motorcycle. You wandered inside the convenience store as he took care of the motorcycle, almost feeling his gaze on you when you stopped at the cashier, paying for a package of cookies and two ice creams without his minion card. But when you stepped outside he didn’t say anything — Jake only shouldered off his jacket, spreading it on the sidewalk, and gesturing for you to sit down as he took the space by the side of it.

It was quite mesmerizing how your bodies already knew each other. When you sat by his side, Jake soundlessly shifted his arm, pressing his palm on the pavement so you could lean on him, your head resting on his shoulder, and when a breeze came a bit harsher, Jake’s proximity was the only heat in the night. It warmed you, starting from your arms brushing against his until it filled your whole body and you pressed yourself to him, eyes fluttering to the sky. Even as you sat close to the streetlight nothing seemed enough to obliterate the stars. They kept shining above you, creating streams of silver and purple against the darkness.

You couldn’t tell if it was very late or very early. The hours blended on a moment itself and you didn’t want to leave, not in a few weeks, not never. Not because of the fear of what was going to happen but because you loved this place. And the sincerity of your own thoughts struck you. Your mother once had told you about a night from her youth years: she was right there — surrounded by her friends in the place she loved, and she knew, even as the years passed, she would always remember and miss it and how lucky and doomed she had been for noticing it while she was still there. Now, you finally comprehend her sentiment. You were still here, but your chest ached at the idea of losing the thread of this night — of losing Jake. You felt yourself saddened by the simple idea of someday that summer becoming just a memory of your youth years.

“I wish I was a painter,” you blurted out. “So I could paint this sky — this place, hold it forever.”

In your periphery, Jake tilted his head, following your gaze to the sky. He barely gave himself a moment before he said: “I can teach you — how to paint. I can teach you.”

┈

And that was how you found yourself in Jake’s garden in the middle of the night, a stack supporting a tiny canvas, and Jake sparing tint cans over the greenish grass, studying each color with a deliberate passion and you got yourself wondering about how it had been for him — finally leave his family’s impositions to live the life he wanted.

“Jake?”

“Yes, Baby?”

“What was your favorite subject?” you asked. “In art school.”

“Painting,” he said, not even giving himself a moment to think about it. “I like painting landscapes and anything about nature. There are some weekends that I would drive out of Seoul only for it, but also there was this one semester that we had to do people’s portraits as our grade project — I have to admit I didn’t like it very much.”

“Portraits?”

“Yes, I painted your brother.”

“Was it that bad?” you asked.

“Maybe he wasn’t just the right muse,” he said, immediately stealing a laugh from you. The intensity of it made you throw your head back, closing your eyes as you allowed the sound to whistle through the night and when you straightened yourself back and looked at him, he was watching you, eyes all soft. “But I would like to try again — with you.”

“I would let you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warmer than before and in the rush of the moment, you kept talking. “But you know — I thought pottery would have been your favorite subject.”

“I thought so too, but it reminded me too much of my grandpa, it was hard to sit in the university’s studio and not sorrow not being here.”

“I am sorry,” you said, but Jake only shrugged, moving his attention back to the paint cans as if it was nothing. Yet, you could see the slight bow of his shoulders, the weight of the mourning always lurking in. He once had said that grief never truly ends, it just gives people breaks, and you couldn’t imagine how it was to live always one step away from breaking.

You couldn’t imagine letting Jake live like this.

Jake passed you a brush and a water cup, and when he rose to meet you, you were already stroking a great amount of water on his cheeks. His skin shimmered too prettily beneath the night sky but he only gasped at you, a momentary thing before his lips twirled on a smile, and it was worth it, even when he reached for another cup, falsely throwing it at you.

He ran when you did, feet a little clumsy on the greenish grass of his garden and neither of you really cared what you were doing. The peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer night on your face, and you had that feeling that was almost sadness once again — you didn’t want this night to ever end. But you were tripping upon an uneven part of his garden, being safe only because Jake finally reached you, his hands sparing onto your hips as he brought you to him. Both of you tumbled into the grass, Jake beneath you, legs tangled in a way you were already used to by the number of times you had made out on the couch.

Your hair fell on him, and he tucked it behind your ears — a foolish act, honestly, because it kept slipping and falling, tickling his cheeks. But he didn’t mind doing it again and again and again before he finally decided to simply hold it as he brought you closer to him.

It was a soft kiss, unhurried as both of you just wanted to be there, but then you pinched at his bottom lips and he shifted both of you, rolling so your back was the one pressed onto the grass, but you didn’t really complain — you only parted your knees so he could fit better within the cradle of your thighs. The solid length of him pressing against your core and you couldn’t help but moan, the sound escaping through your throat before you could even notice it.

Jake halted at the sound of you, pushing himself up on his forearms, but the distance he created had been so minimal that you could tell that he didn’t really want to let you go. And so, you stayed like that, completely unmoving for a long second before you allowed yourself to reach for him, a single finger trailing down to his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble against your fingertips.

His breath caught in his throat as you traced the delicate contours of his lips, mapping every curve and dip, but he didn’t say anything, giving you as much time and space as you wanted — whatever you wanted, Jake seemed never to be able to say no to you.

“Jake.”

“Tell me what it is, Baby.”

You were thankful for the lack of light outside because you could feel yourself blushing, a flush of warmth rushing from your cheeks to your chest, and lower, taking everything and making something within you hum, not really sure of how to tell you wanted him — in the most bare and vulnerable way one could want.

“Remember when you said we would go on my time?” you asked. But despite your courage to bring the topic in, you were suddenly too restless to stay still, playing with his mouth once again, the tip of your finger following the curves of his lips with a concentration so deliberate that it didn’t go unnoticed by him. So he placed a kiss on your cheek, the gesture so soft and sudden, you couldn’t help but lose a bit, meeting his gaze.

“I do.”

“What if I say that I am ready? — that I want it to be with you?”

“Ok,” he whispered. “Ok.”

You almost expected him to laugh it off for tonight, let it go as all the other nights because when he stood up, bringing you with him, he only turned around, placing his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the garden and into the house, letting go only as you sunk yourself into the entrance seat to remove your heels but Jake was already bending on a knee in front of you, fingers fumbling through the straps of your high heels and removing them, one at a time. And when he finished he didn’t let you go, curling his fingers on your ankles and bringing you to him.

Your knees parted for him, creating a slot that he took with no ado, allowing your thighs to straddle his ribs as he traced, upper and upper through the skin of your thigh, taking the hem of your dress and hiking it up until he found the curve of your hips and splayed his fingers through.

“Hold on me,” he whispered. “Will you, Baby?”

You didn’t even need to think before you finished molding yourself into his chest, arms curling around his neck as his finger sunk onto your skin, holding you so fiercely that you wondered if he was afraid you could simply fade away within the small moments he took to carry you to his bedroom and sit you at the edge of his bed.

It was far gentler than you ever imagined it would be, worshipful even.

Jake kissed your forehead, then your cheeks — lips pestering your face with soft kisses before he moved lower, discovering that one sensitive spot underneath your jaw. And when you shivered at the feel of him, he smiled, taking it as an incentive to move to the column of your neck, his lips parting, tongue slipping in a tiny tease that already got you aching for him.

“Anxious?” he asked.

“A bit.”

“We don’t need to do anything you are uncomfortable with, alright?” he said, moving back so you could catch his gaze, all sincere and earnest. “You ask me to stop, and I will.”

You nodded at him, and the smile on Jake’s face was like the whole of summer. Everything about him was warm, soft, and absolutely intoxicating as he reached up to you, brushing his hands through your ribcage, drawing your dress up to your shoulder, and allowing it to fall somewhere over his bedroom floor.

You would have felt embarrassed sitting there, chest bare, panties a simple cotton that matched your skin tone because your dress had been too thin, if Jake wasn’t sighing then, reaching for you like you were unreal — something an idealist painter had created in a dream. His fingers traced delicate patterns across your collarbone, down the curve of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Your heart leaped then, not quite sure if it had been because of his words or how he leaned on you, placing a trail of kisses along the inner curve of your breasts — the conjunction of your ribs, reaching for your lower abdomen. And you were so close to faltering when he kissed the front of your panties — so close, you almost found yourself whimpering when you felt the tip of his fingers fumbling through the edges of it.

“I will take these off, alright Baby?” he asked, and you nodded once again, hands tucking at his blankets as you moved a bit further into the edge of his bed, letting him slide your last clothing piece off and to the floor of his bedroom.

Your whole body ached to pull him closer, but as heavy as Jake’s gaze was, he was being so gentle with you, so unbelievably gentle. Everything was so willful and unhurried almost as if he meant to store every piece of you into his memory and sculpt out of clay at a later date — and maybe he was going to.

His hands were almost adoring when he hitched your panties down to your legs, deifying when his fingers dug at your ankles, lifting them to his lips.

“Jake,” you said, almost regretting it because you expected him to halt, suddenly too self-conscious, but you knew he had heard it too — the way you called him like you tended to whenever you wanted to ask him something — like you tended to say please. And so he only moved into the space between your legs, his stomach pressed to the mattress as he brought the back of your knees to his shoulders.

His lips parted, brushing through the inner of your thigh, slowly, unhurried, and turning greedy only as he approached the place where you needed him the most, and when he finally licked a warm stripe over your folds, you whined at his actions, hands faltering at his blankets and allowing your back to fall into his mattress.

Jake lifted his head to you, but only to give himself space to open your labia with his fingers before he continued, curling his tongue inside of you, a circular flutter just at your entrance. His tongue sought and found your clitoris, sucking on it, all your sensation concentrated in that tiny throbbing little bud. Every nerve turning alive there, every muscle poised for release and making you reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He groaned beneath your touch, but if anything he licked you again in the same way.

“You feel so good, Baby,” Jake mumbled, words hot against your entrance. And you felt yourself throbbing as he touched you there, the tip of his fingers applying a tentative pressure before he stuck a finger into you.

You clenched around him and he swore, lifting his head to look back at you as he pushed another finger in.

The extra stretch made you gasp, your back arching off the bed, head thrown back into the blankets that smelled like him, that perfect combination of flowery soap and oranges, clay and glaze. And Sim Jaeyun was everywhere around — everywhere inside you. His fingers curled, finding that one spot that made something within you ache desperately.

It’s not like you had never fingered yourself — you had, coming far enough times all alone, but Jake’s fingers were much thicker and longer than yours, and the combination of them with his tongue was simply overwhelming. His mouth found your clit again and never left it, sucking and licking in rhythm with the thrusting of his fingers, making your body coil tighter and tighter around him, cunt quivering around the base of his fingers with his every move, and when you pressed your thighs around him, his free hand gripped you, holding you open for him.

You were sure you gasped, Jake’s name falling from your lips in a breathless moan as your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of your orgasm crashing through your body. But Jake didn’t let go — working you through it, and easing off only when you became too sensitive, squirming under his mouth, pumping your hips, and grasping at the sheets to give you some leverage.

He placed gentle kisses on your inner thighs, a worshipful touch that made your heart swell, everything being too much, and you were thankful when he hovered back at you, allowing you to push your face to his, your noses brushing as the reality slowly snuck back in. Seogwipo had always been silent — no matter the time, but tonight not even the breezes seemed to be current. There was nothing except for your breathing and the sound of your heart pounding against your ears.

“That’s my Baby,” he whispered.

“Jake,” you broke in, and there was it again — his name sounding almost like a plea.

“Tell me what’s it.”

“I want you,” you said, splaying your palm in front of his jeans as if you desired to prove a point. He was painfully hard underneath your touch, releasing a tight breath at this slight touch.

“Think you can give me one more?” he asked then, placing his hand between your legs and stroking your inner lips before slipping two fingers inside, seeking any possible discomfort. “I am afraid I will hurt you.”

“Jake — please.”

You could feel that he didn’t care about coming, not really, not when you had given him the opportunity to make you fall apart on his fingers. He could deal with himself quite well later on in the shower just with the memory of it, but then you were slipping your hands through his shirt, curling your fingers on his shirt’s buttons, and how could he say no to you?

He could give you anything even if you never asked in a heartbeat — in the moment his body took to live from one moment to another.

Your hands met in the middle, opening all of his shirt’s buttons, and allowing Jake to hurl it out and onto his bedroom floor, a silent thud that matched the breathless gasp he released when you reached for him again, fingers splaying through him, following the skin of his just exposed abdomen until you had reached for his neck, curling it around the slope curve of it and bringing him back to you.

You imagined that Jake had far enough experience, a reasonable body count for a graduated university man, but it somehow felt like he was pretty much rediscovering himself with you. When you kissed his throat, lips parting against his skin and surely leaving a mark. He groaned as if it never had happened before or if it did, it never had the effect you are having on him, and the sound of it scattered shivers through your spine, making you feel bold enough to push at the waist of his jeans, fingers slipping past the band of his boxers and pushing it far enough for him to only kick it out. It barely had hit his bedroom floor before his lips were on you, tongue pressing against yours, and tasting like you still.

“Baby,” Jake whispered, and you clenched at his sides with the endearing name, thighs closing around him, squeezing him almost unconsciously as if you didn’t want him to move. But he did, sitting on his knees and taking himself in his hands, his fingers curling around his length almost beautifully before he guided the tip to graze your entrance and he pushed into you, bit by bit.

You moaned at the extra stretch, the heavy pressure of him filling you and your hand flew to his wrist for some support, fingers curling around him. Jake’s hand immediately shifted beneath your touch, adjusting himself so he could interlace your fingers, giving it the small and reassuring squeeze you knew so well.

“I need you to talk to me,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you whispered, softly shaking your head as your free hand reached for his neck, fingers curling onto his hair as you brought him down so you could brush your noses, your lips so closely together that when you spoke, he felt your words.

“It’s alright,” you told him. “You can move, it’s alright.”

It was slow at first, the same patience you had watched him having with his creations, slowly and tenderly shaping them up to his confident acknowledgment — and when he finally came completely out, he already knew exactly how to move back in, how to make you whine, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantic.

You had expected sex to be something like this, bodies tightening and coming apart in a cadence that made your chest ache but it was more than that — more than anything you could imagine, actually. It was something like feeling your heart splitting at the stitching, and it was terrifying, raw, vulnerable — and yet incredible.

It felt so good to gush around him, your bodies molding as a single thing and you couldn’t help but wrap your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle slightly, and making Jake groan, his lips finding that one sensitive spot on your neck that got you crying out, pressing yourself closer to him.

“God, you feel so amazing,” he breathed against the shell of your ear, husky and needy, the vibration of his words only heightening the pleasure building within you. “Squeezing me so tight.”

You knew you were approaching the edge once again, you could feel your body trembling and you forced yourself to hold back — to not end it yet. But Jake seemed to sense your impending release, his movements becoming more focused, more deliberate. Each thrust of his hips pronounced with a wet clash, obscenely loud while slick dribbled out of your cunt, and you could feel it pooling into the blankets underneath you.

“Let go, Baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Jake talked as if he didn’t have his brows knitted and wasn’t patting himself, his breath being almost being torn from him at the feeling of how tight you were around him, molding and clenching down on his length until he went tense, holding the blankets in a death grip. The hands you adored so much to watch, tightened and making his veins pop underneath his skin, snaking up all the way to the forearms.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, wetting the tip of his fingers with your fluids before massaging your clitoris. It swelled instantly at his touch, and your orgasm crashed over you with a blind force — Jake following soon after.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the two of you lost in the afterglow. And when he finally slipped out, moving to look at you, there were golden stripes painted across his cheeks, the sun rising somewhere over the horizon and casting the same soft light of when you realized you were in love with him, and suddenly it was too hard to let him go.

You didn’t notice a tear had escaped through your eyes until Jake smoothed a thumb over your cheeks, his eyebrows knitting together in worry, but you didn’t allow him to pronounce what was on his mind, catching his lips on yours, kissing him sweeter than it should’ve been considering you were still naked in his bed, your bodies so mixed up that you couldn’t quite tell where you ended and he began.

“I am fine,” you told him. “I am.”

You just weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with everything you were feeling for him.

You might have murmured something about staying like this because he laughed, slipping away from your hands just to kiss the space right above your heart.

“Let’s stay like this then,” he replied.

Jake rolled you both through the bed, bringing you to his chest so you could lay on it, his heart slowly coming in peace underneath you. And you stayed — stayed until the room had turned orange and pink with the sunrise, and the particulars of dust sparkled with the full sun. You stayed like this until Jake was hard again, and you swung a leg over his hips, kissing him to stave away any possible awkwardness as your fingers brushed and tangled, guinding him into you. The overwhelmingness of having him when you were so swollen still, made you raise yourself, straddling his hips, but you didn’t allow him to stop, and so his hands spread over your skin, pinning you in place as he worked up on you and made you come in the morning haze.

When you collapsed onto his chest again, you could feel him trembling with laughter.

“Your brother is going to fucking kill me,” he said.

You woke up to the feel of Jake’s lips on your shoulders.

It wasn’t new. Ever since the night at the bar, you both have been sharing the same room, what got you by surprise was the fact that the room was still indigo blue which for the standards of Jeju’s sunrise it was too early.

“Baby,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong, Jake?”

“I will go out a bit,” he told you. “It’s my grandfather’s birthday and I would like to visit his grave.”

You blinked at him, still a little bit too slow to process everything, but as he moved to slip away, you held him.

“May I go with you?” you asked.

Jake’s grandfather had been buried beneath an enormous Japanese cedar tree at the Hallasan mountain, high enough just for you to see the sea stretching to what felt like the edge of the world, merging with the horizon in a seamless blend of blues.

Wildflowers in delicate purples and yellows dotted the green grass surrounding the grave, moving gently in the morning mist still clinging to the lower slopes as you arrived.

You watched as Jake poured sake at the ground — sake, because the old man didn’t like anything aside from it and although you and Jake had agreed it tasted pretty much like soju if chosen rightly none of you mentioned it as he emptied the cup over the grass, before he sat down, picking at the wild flowers scattered through. You noticed a hesitancy in his movements, something uncertain in the way his fingers hovered over each stem as his eyes were not really focused on anything, and you wondered if he was struggling with what to say to his grandfather, or perhaps with showing this vulnerable side of himself.

“Do you want to say something?” you asked.

“I do,” he admitted. “I am just not sure what.”

“May I go first then?”

Jake nodded at you, and you allowed yourself to kneel by his side.

“Hello, Grandpa,” you said. “It might come suddenly as we never met before but I am living in your old house at the back of the pottery shop. It’s a lovely place, and somehow I can’t help but keep imagining how much love it has been built from. Jake must have been so loved there so thank you so much for taking care of him,”

“I know you might be worried, but please, don’t, Jake is doing well — really well, honestly. You would have been so proud to see what a person he has become — I am proud myself and I only came to know him not long ago.”

“So please, be at peace.”

A gentle breeze whispered through the cedar branches above, their needles shimmering in the golden sunlight as Jake turned his gaze toward you, his eyes softened, and reflecting that one golden glow you loved so much.

“It’s not fair,” Jake whispered. “You can’t make me fall in love with you every day like this.”

“Come here, Baby,” he said. His arms spread wide on an invitation you had no second thought before taking, setting yourself in the space in between before he hugged you by your waist, bringing you the centimeter closer you failed to.

“What am I going to do once you leave?” he whispered.

You curled your arms around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head, but you didn’t really reply — you couldn’t. You didn’t know what you were going to do either.

The storm hadn’t been forecasted or expected, a monsoon rolling through the last day of July and catching both of you unprepared from your trip to the convenience store for ice pops.

A gasp escaped through your lips, but you couldn’t confide if it was because of the sudden raindrops kissing your skin or the way Jake pulled you through the rest of the street, using your connected hands to rush you through the side path from the shop to the garden, and into the house.

You laughed as you tripped over the shoes at the entrance hall, but Jake was fast on catching you, leaning you against the wall in order to prevent you both from falling. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back to push you further into him, the line of your bodies pressed together, as the other tangled through your hair, the tip of his fingers finding your nape.

“I want to paint you,” he murmured — blurted out, an admission you weren’t sure he intended to confess, but you caught yourself smiling at him. His voice was all fondness and appreciation. “Can I paint you, Baby?”

You already knew the answer, but you decided to draw the moment a little longer, tilting your head as if you were considering it. And Jake leaned on you, his lips brushing through the column of your neck, interleaving kisses and pleads, tiny please that went down to the neckline of your top, his knees already ready to bend as he planned to go further, but you reached for him, touching his neck, right where his hair grew above the collar of his shirt.

“Alright,” you said. “You can paint me.”

┈

“How do you want me?” you asked, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

His room was no brighter than the whole house, the rainy clouds making everything a bit grayish and dim. But he didn’t care about turning the lights on before he reached for a blank canvas prompt on his desk.

He turned back to you, taking that small sliver of skin between your skirt and top, grazing his fingers there. You shivered when he passed through the hem of it, rushing up to your ribcage, your whole body trembling as he brought you as close as he could.

“It’s a dangerous question, Baby,” he whispered, lips brushing through yours. “But anything you give me, I will take it.”

You weren’t sure what it was about Jake that caused you to find yourself doing everything you normally thought impossible, but you reached for the back zipper of your skirt, tugging it down until the piece got loose from your waist and fell, pooling onto your feet as you pulled your arms up.

Jake’s breath hitched and stammered, his surprise taking him for a full moment before finally he slipped his hands a bit further, drawing your top up and out of you too before unclasping your bra.

You sat on the hardwood floor of his room, his sheet barely wrapped around your waist, and leaving a lot of your skin to be bathed by the dim light as you watched Jake giving the first strokes — the same satisfying, and controlled strokes that somehow made the act of painting an art itself and you loved to watch so much.

Jake looked back at you, and you knew he had noticed how closely you were watching him, gaze following the familiar way his fingers curled around the brush, the way he knew the exact amount of pressure he was supposed to use only to make his stocks fluid on the canvas.

“I am starting to regret it,” he sighed.

“Why?”

“You are too pretty. It’s highly distracting.”

Your lips parted to retort, but whatever words you had chosen slipped and slid as he abandoned his brush, reaching for you instead. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back as the other chased for your neck, the tip of his fingers tangling through your hair, and bringing your mouth to his.

His lips parted too, heavy breaths blending as he caught your bottom lips with his once, twice — just enough for you to feel comfortable enough to lick over him, slipping past his lips, and tasting the cherry ice pop he had chosen earlier in the convenience store and the rain still pounding against the windows and resonating with the rhythm of your heart.

Your hands snuck down to his sides, fingers scraping down to the waist of his jeans as you tried to end a distance that didn’t exist anymore. You were too close already, bodies so tangled you weren’t sure which one of you was shivering, but Jake seemed to understand your urgency as his fingers dug into your skin a little harder, pressing you to him, and when you grind against him, he groaned, the sound doing something to you that you couldn’t explain.

“Jake,” you murmured. “Wait.”

“I am sorry,” he said, hurling away from you. His back met the legs of his desk fast and in a heap. “Not today?”

“That’s not it,” you said. “I mean-”

“Yes?”

“I want you to teach me how to touch you.” Although you didn’t give yourself enough time to doubt the wisdom of saying it, you had to take a breath before you spoke, inhaling summer, rainstorms, and Jake — just Jake, and it made the words come a bit weakly, almost too silent for your own ears, and for a moment you doubted he had heard you. But then, Jake stopped, a sharp swallow going into his lungs. It seemed to take him a long time to make sense of your sentence, and when he finally did, it took every ounce of him to not simply rumble you through the floor, kneel before you and touch you — eat you, make up for all the gentleness he had with you on the first time.

But he only laughed. A bright burst that would have gotten you burning, if his hands weren’t already finding their way back to you, the tip of his fingers brushing a stray lock of your hair to the back of your ears as he moved closer again.

“How can I say no to you?” he asked. “Ask me anything and I will give it to you.”

“Anything?” you asked, making Jake hum, leaning in so his nose brushed against the column of your neck.

“Anything, Baby”

“I just want you.”

“I am yours.”

You pushed your fingers underneath his t-shirt, rippling it with goosebumps at your bare touch, but if anything Jake only reached for the collar of it, helping you hurl it out and to the great mess his room was.

You could feel that Jake was overwhelmed, desire and lust laying right next to each other in his heart, each sharpening the other, but he allowed you to take your pace nevertheless, leaning himself against the legs of his desk once again as he watched you — burning you with affection and fondness as he accompanied every move you did. From the way the tip of your fingers followed the lines of his abdomen to how you finally reached for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping it, pushing it down to his thighs together with his boxers, and revealing that he was already erect and glistening at the tip.

It wasn’t the first time you were seeing Jake this bare, but it was the first time you felt like you could stare, and so, you did — taking him in completely.

Jake’s lips parted in a soft gasp as you reached for him, the tip of your fingers tentatively brushing through his extension. From the already flushed tip to the prominent veins all over him and all the way back, receiving an almost imperceptible buck of his hips in response.

“Jake?”

“Alright,” he rasped, taking your hand on his, placing your palm right against his shaft before he folded you over, pressing slightly. The gesture being both familiar and unknown, the echo of how he guided you against the clay many weeks ago faintly there, but then, he pulsed against your touch, and something tightened on your stomach.

Anticipation filled the room, thick tension that made everything seem heavy, and you knew that whatever way this ended, whatever happened next, it was going to be worth it.

“Start slowly,” he said, guiding you up and down, his hand remaining gently wrapped around yours, showing you the exact pressure that he liked.

With each upward stroke, he squeezed your fingers slightly tighter around the head before loosening on the downstroke.

“You can go a little faster,” he murmured.

The muscles in his abdomen tensed as you sped up, and his free hand rushed through his hair, tightening there as if he was struggling to keep himself focused.

His breath was coming in shorter bursts now, and you watched his expressions, mesmerized by the way his face tensed by your bare touch, his lips parting slightly.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbled.

So you didn’t. Even when his grip on your hand loosened, letting you take total control, and you loved the way you made him groan, head thrown back, pulse jumping in his neck as his hips subtly started to move in rhythm with your strokes.

You knew you didn’t need to ask if you were doing it right, his whole body was telling you that you were, but you did still, leaning on him so when you asked your lips brushed, softly, sweet, and nothing like you were still touching him.

“I feel like you are trying to kill me, but yes, Baby,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

The desk creaked as he shifted, his body following you with an unmistakable need as his hands cupped your cheek, a single thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip before he leaned forward to kiss you.

“Just like that,” he repeated, wild, and unraveled in a way you had never heard him, but it only made you smile at him, pressing the softest peck to his mouth before you raised yourself on your knees.

“Jake,” you called. “Can I-”

Maybe it had been the way you were already hovering above him, but Jake was fast to catch you, a hand molded to your waist as the other slipped between your thighs, fingers hooking into the lace of your panties, and pulling it to the side so you could line him to your entrance, his tip pressed against where you need him the most.

His breath hitched when you came down on him, whispering your name, pronouncing it with the same deliberate slowness he always had and you couldn’t help but moan at the whole feel of him, palms spreading at the lower of his abdomen, head a bit thrown back and barely giving time before you started a slow, hard grind on his lap, lifting yourself up and down, dragging your cunt against his pelvis, his length buried deep enough inside you that the base of him caught your clit.

“There is no way,” he murmured. “It’s your first time doing in it.”

“Who else could I have done it with?”

“Some stupid swimmer back in Seoul.” You weren’t sure if it had been because of his saying or your surprise when he rolled both of you through the floor, but you were laughing — laughing so hard that Jake stopped, his hands still hooked on the back of your knees but not quite bringing you to him as he intended.

“You are my only one,” you said.

Only one — not only your first but also the last one to come. And he might have just thought too deeply into it, but he didn’t care. As you looked up at him, dressed in nothing but the remains of light, and the echoes of your laugh, he didn’t care that it might be just a temporary truth. He was your only one at that moment, and it was enough to make his breath hitch, heart plumbing inside of his chest.

Jake hitched your legs around his hips, holding himself carefully above you as he took your lips, kissing you so when he pushed into you once again, you could feel how much he wanted you in every sharp breath.

His moves were careless this time, gone on all your previous teasing, but he still managed to make you tighten around him, fingers curling on the hair of his nape as your mouth parted against his, his name coming so softly from your lips that he couldn’t help but bury his face into the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he could always remember the way you felt coming around him.

Jake whispered your name, a small call that you tried to reply to, but failed, hiccupping and gasping out a laugh when you realized and you didn’t know you were crying until Jake moved back, his thumb pressing against your cheeks, the tip of it barely brushing through your skin as he dried your tears.

“If you cry every time we have sex I will start being concerned,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, that’s not it,” you said.

“So what’s it then?”

You felt your lips parting to reply, your body reacting faster than your own mind, but when the words once again didn’t come, you stopped, another hiccup coming through instead.

“Baby,” he called, his voice softer than before. “Remember your first night here? When we went to the roof and you trusted me with all your concerns? I said you could rely on me and I mean it still. Just because I am your boyfriend now, it doesn’t mean you can’t share your stuff anymore. I want you to trust me like you did back then. Can you?”

“I don’t want to leave,” you confessed. “Every time we are like this I catch myself a bit sad because — I just don’t want to leave for the United States or Seoul. I just don’t want to leave you.”

Jake breathed in, a sharp intake that made your cheeks burn, suddenly too embarrassed to even look at him, but as you turned to focus on the canvas leaning against his walls, he reached for you, fingers spraying through your chin and angling you back at him.

“I won’t ever tell you to stay,” he said. “Not because I don’t want you to, or because you can’t. I still feel uptight just with the idea of you leaving. But I don’t want to take this decision away from you. I don’t want you to look at me in a few months — in a few years, who knows, and say you should have gone,”

“To study abroad is a great opportunity. You have worked your whole life for it although it wasn’t your dream, I don’t even know which university you got in-”

“Harvard — it’s the best for law.”

“No way, my baby is a genius,” he said dramatically and immediately stealing a smile from you. “But that only proves my point, it’s a great opportunity to have it on your curriculum.”

“Besides, whenever you want to come back Seogwipo is going to be here,” he continued, his voice so soft beneath the rain. “I am telling you from experience.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to stay here?” you asked. “It’s just — Seogwipo doesn’t seem the same without you.”

“I will,” he replied. “I will stay here.”

You reached for him, a single finger tracing the soft lines of his lips before you allowed it to slip to his neck.

Jake closed his eyes, leaning in, just a bit further so that when he spoke you not only heard his words but felt them. “I will stay here — I will stay here waiting for you.”

And just like that July melted into August, summer coming closer and closer to an end, but neither of you ever spoke of it. Not in the mornings when Jake started to linger a bit longer before going to prepare breakfast for both of you, his fingers following the lines of your body as if he was well aware that he had you memorized but still — was afraid of someday forgetting. Not when you both stayed at the shop, Korean tourists becoming a less common occurrence and leaving only a few foreigners to remain. And on the nights when he hugged you from behind as you stood in front of the stove, he kissed your shoulders as if he wasn’t sorrowing that another day came to an end — as if the last week hadn’t come yet and the date printed on the reservation ticket you kept hidden on your luggage wasn’t coming closer and closer.

You could feel that there was a get it out of the system energy hovering around you. A desperate desire to somehow make it more bearable once the day of your departure came, but the fact was that none of you could get it out of your systems. It never mattered how long he hugged you while you both were in the shop, or how many times he made you come during the night, as the morning came it started all over again.

Jake stopped behind you at the kitchen counter, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, gathering the piece on his forearms as he sprayed his fingers on your waist to push you further into him. You could feel his breath, the soft hush of air as his lips parted to say something to you, but whatever had it been was stolen and forgotten as the front door was opened, your brother releasing a full curse. Jake stepped back, his hands slipping away from you, and allowing your shirt to fall back into its place, but not fast enough for it to not have been noticed.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Jay,” you called, but it was already too late. Jongseong was rushing through the house, grabbing Jake’s t-shirt, twisting the thin material between his fists. He didn’t seem to think about the consequences of his actions — he simply did it, using his grip to push Jake away from you.

They tripped over the house, falling on the small space in front of the maroon couch, your brother above. The sound of their bodies collapsing against the floor was almost imperceptible beneath the sound Jake released when the punch came.

You stopped in the midst of a complaint, but Jake couldn’t blame you. He always imagined what was a fight, the throw of punches all drove in the heat of feelings, but instead, there was just a moment of deadness, his blood rushing to the point where Jongseong had punched him and nothing — absolutely nothing. Even the breezes seemed to have stopped outside.

“Jay, that’s enough!” you screamed, finally reminding you body to lung forward, but in the midst of the chaos Jake raised a hand at you, silently telling you to stay still.

Your brother was quivering. Not from his shock, like you or Jake, but from some chained emotion, so Jake stayed still, even when the second punch came, his lip splitting open, a trickle of blood running down his chin. He stayed still as Jongseong curled his fights on his t-shirt once again, hurling him from the floor and back into it once, twice — enough times for his anger to start to burn out.

“Shit Jake, couldn’t you choose someone else to hook up with?” he asked. “There aren’t enough girls on this island so you had to go after my sister?”

“Jay, stop it.”

“Stay away from this, Baby,” your brother grunted at you. “Actually, even leave the house for a bit.”

“Definitely not.”

“Jay,” Jake called then, making Jongseong look back at him, and it suddenly felt like every other argument they ever had, and Jake knew they could counter it. “I am sorry.”

“She is my little sister,” Jongseong said, his tone coming not mad, but tired. “She is so young.”

“I didn’t mean to make it a secret,” he said. “I am serious about her, and that’s why I wanted to tell you in person.”

“It’s true that she is young and needs me way more than I need her, and maybe it is always going to be like this, but you know? I don’t care, I want her to rely on me because I like her — hell, I love her, Jay” Jake said, his genuine feelings slipping like a breath through his lips. He had pronounced love so — so unconcerned, he didn’t even need to think about it before. And maybe that was it that ceased the last flame of fury on your brother, making him hurl away from Jake, throwing himself on the couch instead.

Jake sat up too, a bit slower due to his growing bruises, but you remained still, Jake’s words humming inside of you.

“How long has it been going for?” Jongseong asked.

“Almost a month,” Jake replied.

“Shit, it was on the night of the restaurant, wasn’t it? You both were acting so weirdly.”

“Yeah, and it was thanks to you that I finally told Baby what I was feeling,” Jake said. “So thank you, bro.”

“Don’t make me punch you again,” he hissed. “Who the fuck is your bro?”

Yet despite the harsh choice of words, your brother’s tone had a bit of a joke on it, something only best friends acknowledged. Somehow they had gone from such a terrible place to a joyful one. And you felt an extraordinary rush of relief.

“But you better know where you are going, that girl has been spoiled ever since she was born,” Jongseong said. “She wasn’t even a year and dad was already putting a gold bracelet on her wrist.”

“Hey!”

“I know,” Jake said. “And I can handle a spoiled baby.”

“So it’s already come to this — do as you feel like then — I guess,” Jongseong said, standing up. “I am going to take a shower. Get me a towel and some clothes, I am too lazy to deal with my luggage.”

Neither of you moved until your brother had already closed himself on the bathroom, the water cascading stealing the sound of the breath you shuddered out of you as you rushed to Jake.

You took his chin with the tip of your fingers, tenderly angling him to the living room’s light. The wound was worse than it seemed from afar, bleeding as a darker bruise started to form, and immediately making you frown, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. You reached for it, the tip of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.

“I am sorry,” you whispered.

“Why are you asking me sorry? It’s your brother’s doing,” he asked, tilting his head into your palms.

“Exactly, if it wasn’t because of me, Jay wouldn’t have punched you.”

“Jay was mad just because he simply wanted to be, you aren’t the one to blame, Baby,” Jake said, but you didn’t seem convinced, so he reached for you too, arms curling around your waist as he brought you closer to him. “Do you think your father will react better or worse than him?”

“Remember when I said I never had a boyfriend before?” you asked. “I guess we will have to find out together.”

He chuckled at your statement, it was a minuscule sound spreading through the night but it seemed to loosen something within both of you and he allowed himself to lean on you, his cheek resting against your hairline.

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

┈

Later on that night, Jongseong grasped at your door, his knuckles against the wooden piece before he opened a small sliver, just enough for him to catch sight of you.

“Is the small flurry ball here?” he asked.

“Jeonchae?” you asked, gesturing to the kitten guarding the crochet blanket at the foot of your bed. “Yes, since you are allergic to cats, we had to close him here.”

“So can you step out to the garden for a bit?” he asked. “I want to talk to you.”

The air had turned misty with the humidity, the grass still damp from the amount of days rain had been washing summer away, so you both only leaned against the wall, head throwing back as both of you watched as the clouds raced by.

“Do you want to go?” he asked then. “To the United States? Do you still want to go?”

“I never did.”

“True,” he sighed. “But there was a time that you accepted it. How are you now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Jake indirectly told me to go. He said it is a great opportunity and I know it is, but my heart breaks whenever I think of leaving him and this place. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to study law, but I haven’t called mom and dad saying this because I also know I — I can’t simply stay and build my whole future around Jake, not because I don’t think it will work in the long future, but because-”

“You need to be a person of your own?” Jongseong tried. You weren’t sure if it was the best way to put it, but because you couldn’t find other words you nodded at him.

“I should get a degree, right?”

“You put it in a weird way,” he laughed. “I don’t think it’s something as necessary as breathing if that’s what you are implying. Ever since I started working at dad’s office and taking a few cases I met a lot of people — good people who don’t have a degree and are happy with their lives, and it is what matters in the end isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“As Jake said, it’s a great opportunity to study abroad.” Jongseong sighed then, reaching for your hand and giving a slight squeeze. “And I personally think that giving up before even trying won’t do it. Nothing is permanent, Baby. Life is so full of possibilities. You can go to the United States and study law, you can go and change your major, or you can simply go and come back in the middle of the semester. Restart in Seoul or even here, there are universities here too. Jeju is a small island, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Did you search for Jeju’s universities?” you asked.

“Did you not?” your brother teased. “Well, it doesn’t matter. My point is what I told you back when I found out you were here — whatever you decide to do, you have our support, mine, mom’s, dad’s, and now Jake’s.”

“What still feels a bit weird to me,” Jongseong concluded. “I feel disturbed whenever I stop to think carefully about it, but at the same time, it kinda makes sense — you and him.You both are made of the same impossible stuff.”

You weren’t sleeping.

Previously Jongseong had called Jake to his room, forbidding him from spending the night in your room as you both were already used to. But it was your last night at Seogwipo and your body knew it was a loss to simply let the remaining hours slip into a slumber, so when you heard the faint sound of your brother’s snore, you stood up, padding barefoot to Jake’s room.

His door was ajar, as it often was, a bare sliver that only gave you the idea of Jake sitting at the end of his bed. You didn’t need to say anything, gesture anything. With a single glance at your brother, Jake stood up, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him and you were already on him, pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, arms curling around his shoulders as you brought him to you.

“I know Jay told you to stay there, but I don’t want to spend my last night away from you,” you whispered.

“I guess it makes things a bit more exciting, doesn’t it?” he asked, but you didn’t reply, giving him a slight push as you let him go, cheeks burning and body suddenly too warm.

It was more frantic than you remember it ever being. You moved at the same time, a push and pull of two bodies meeting in the middle. Fingers in hair, hands cupping necks, open-mouth kisses that got you dragging on each other cheeks for breath as you both made your way to your room. The moment the door was closed, Jake was already reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, hurling it over his head, and taking the single step you had given to reach the bed.

A final tug and both of you fell onto the mattress, Jake above you. He barely gave it a moment before his hands were moving over your body, finding the hem of your pajama top and curling on it to slip it off you.

“I need you to be quiet for me, Baby,” he whispered. “Can you?”

You nodded and his hands splayed over your sides, fingertips moving up through gaps in your ribs before he smoothed across your bare skin, grazing a thumb over your nipples, and leaving it all hard for his mouth to take, his tongue swirling and sucking — intended on his task. Jake closed his eyes as he drew the nipple and aureole all the way into his mouth, making it impossible for you to hold a moan.

You placed the back of your hand against your lips, but not before you had received a warning from him, his teeth pinching you as his fingers hanked deeper into your skin, and making your back arch.

“Baby,” Jake called, but his voice was so chaotic, almost as if he was actually hiding his own moan, and you doubted he really cared about you being loud because he was already slipping further into you, kissing the path down to your lower abdomen as he had already done so many times before. He curled his fingers on the waist of your pajama shorts, pulling the material down your leg and throwing it away. But as he took your panties off, he put them in the pocket of his sweatpants instead.

“Are you keeping this?” you asked. Jake hummed, already leaning back on you. “I want something too.”

“Anything you want.”

His fingers curled into the back of your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders, and when he kissed the inner of your thigh, you had to halt yourself, recollecting your thoughts. “A t-shirt?”

“I will let you take all you want in the morning.”

“What about your leather jacket?”

Jake smiled, giving you another kiss. “Fine.”

“You?”

“Do you want to put me in your luggage?” he stopped, looking up at you. And although it had been him that brought this possibility you couldn’t find yourself agreeing — not even as a joke. Jake belonged to Seogwipo, to the greenish hills and the breeze that always smelled like the sea. He belonged to his grandfather’s pottery shop with its everlasting earthy scent. He lived it, and you could never ask him to let go of something so vital to him.

“No. I want you now — in me.”

“This one is easier,” he agreed.

You didn’t get a chance to reply before Jake was bringing his mouth down on you, a wet press over your folds, his tongue prodding gently until he found your clit between them, licking and sucking your sensitive bud, sending a shiver of pleasure through your spine, and you couldn’t help but reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, pulling it on its roots. But if anything he stayed there, his fingers stroking your inner lips before slipping two fingers inside — poking and prodding around, testing it.

“Jake,” you called, but you didn’t need to finish your thoughts. He already knew — moving away only to hover over you, one forearm on the pillow by your head as the other worked to push his sweatpants away.

“I needed to prepare you,” he justified.

“I am.”

Jake laughed at that, but he didn’t reply. If anything he took himself in his hand, giving a few hard plumps before he pushed into you.

It took every ounce of you to not moan too loud, fingers dug into his back, parted lips against the skin of his neck, and tongue wringing the sound into a sup, but it only proved useless as he was the one groaning then, the whole feeling of you being too much for him.

Jake gave you both a moment, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your hips, trailing down to the back of your knee, hooking his fingers underneath as he hitched your leg to his hips, slightly changing the angle.

And when he finally moved it was slow — not with the learning of the first time, your bodies trying to understand the new shape of each other, but it was slow with nothing but the simple unhurriedness, none of you wanting to be nowhere else but here — the night where you were still together and the parting was just a possibility.

Jake pulled all the way to his tip before he pressed all in again, and when you arched to him, he took the opportunity to slide a hand over the small of your back, holding you so close to him that you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began. And you couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to cry, not again — not this time. But when Jake leaned on you, pressing a love you into your lips, you did.

“Ah, baby,” he whispered, reaching for the stream of tears as he always did in the aftermath.

“I am sorry,” you hushed. “You didn’t-”

“I know,” Jake said. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

“I can come back, right?”

“Whenever you feel like it.”

“Next summer — no matter what happens, I will be here next summer.”

“Next summer,” he concluded.

On the morning of your departure, you stood on the curb as your brother and Jake briefly bickered about the presence of the taxi.

“I could have driven you both,” Jake said as he closed the trunk.

“I know,” Jongseong agreed because it had been your idea, actually — the taxi. You couldn’t bear the thought of making Jake drive all the way back to Seogwipo alone, dragging this longer than you knew both of you could handle.

You watched as they gave that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders before Jake turned to you. The same washed jeans he had been using the whole summer, a white t-shirt, and the morning sun softly bathing over him. Only that now he got a vivid hickey on his neck, pretty much for your brother’s dismay, but although Jongseong seemed close to giving Jake another punch this morning, the bruise on the corner of his lips remained the only one.

You held your hand out at him, and he took it as if he was already waiting — wanting it, giving it a brief kiss before he brought it to the back of his neck and pulled you forward to him, the line of your bodies pressed together, your noses bumping.

“I guess that’s it then,” he whispered. And you sobbed at it because it sounded too much like the end, like a closure.

“Jake?”

“Yes, my baby?”

“Thank you for everything, I-” you started, but the words stammered and stumbled, too small for all the feelings inside of you. You had been trying the whole day not to cry, but the moment he curled his arms around you, he once again broke the thin thread keeping you from falling apart, and tears flowed through your eyes, straining your cheeks.

“Ah, Baby,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, and all of sudden you could smell him, although he wasn’t smelling like clay, it made your heart ache, that sickening sadness that felt bigger than you.

How are you supposed to step away when it feels more like home than anything in this world?

Your tears seemed endless, and it took you a while to notice it hadn’t been only your tears rushing through your face, but his.

“I am already missing you,” you confessed.

“I am already missing you too.”

“Don’t you dare accept another hopeless girl with a stray kitten,” you said.

“This is something only you could do, my Baby,” he laughed. And God — you wished you could grab the sound, place it inside that one deformed vase Jake had given you this morning, and take it away with you. “Believe in me, but even if it happens, you are my only one — you and Jeonchae are my only ones.”

Although there was a hint of entertainment in his voice, your answer was solemn, “You too,” you said. “You are my only one.”

“Your first and only,” he said, and you smiled at him. You didn’t need to confirm, both of you knew. “Next summer, right?”

“Yes. Next summer.”

From Autumn to the end of the Spring of the next year, you lived in an apartment close to your university’s campus. It was an odd thing that surely wasn’t worth the price. Although the windows caught the streams of the sun from morning to afternoon, the place never seemed to get light enough and never felt exactly warm. The air inside was always soaked with the smell of the never-changing humid weather and the chocolate cookies your door neighbor baked for extra cash.

Your father said you could find a better place and move, he could afford it — he surely could afford it. But the thing was: you knew that it wouldn’t matter. One call to Jake and you knew — this odd apartment or luxurious one, no place would ever make you feel at home like his house did.

“Soon,” Jake whispered every time. “Soon you will be back home.”

And you did. Three hundred forty-nine days later — according to Jake’s count, but you did, and Seogwipo was the same as you remembered.

Exactly one hour and seven minutes away from Jeju City, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jake’s address — the same pretty road running along the South Sea and that made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk, nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the basalt rocks.

Mrs. Choi gasped as she caught sight of you, immediately standing up from the stool placed at her bakery’s door. She rushed at you, her arms curling as she pulled you in a hug. It was weird that you had gotten closer to her after your departure, almost every other day receiving her audio messages through Jake’s phone as she stopped at his house, leaving just baked bread together with some side dishes and telling you she was taking care of your boy. She also occasionally told you about Euntaek, finally getting his life straight and entering a university on the mainland — Busan, which was not his dream goal, but he was at least closer than when you came to know him.

“Jake said you were only coming by next week!” she exclaimed then.

“I decided to surprise him.”

“You are going to give him a heart attack, he was counting the days, and telling everyone you were coming back for the summer,” she said, affectionately hitting your shoulders. “But hurry up then, I don’t want to keep you both away. Do you need help with the luggage?”

“No, it’s alright,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Just as the rest of the island, Jake’s shop remained unchanged. As you looked through the beveled glass you caught sight of the pottery pieces, the same earthy tones you had engraved on your mind, the same table and pottery wheels. There was only one difference: the canvas you had painted after switching your major, were displayed, leaning on the shelves with a tiny sign informing it wasn’t for sale although you had told him you wouldn’t mind.

“I do though,” he had said. “You painted them for me.”

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy, and pond-mud smell, taking over your senses as Jake turned to you, a polite smile playing on his lips.

Falling in love with your brother’s best friend certainly wasn't one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little shop in Seogwipo. A stray kitten in a pet carrier asking for a place to stay. And you couldn’t help but do, standing in this pocket of the universe — looking at this exact man without knowing he would become your life mark, forever branching out the before and the after.

“Baby,” he gasped, barely giving himself a moment before he rushed to you, his arms involving your waist in a familiarity that made you ache. Jake swirled you, just once — pulling you out of the ground as his nose buried at the side of your neck, as if he was trying to inhale every little detail he could before he put you back on your feet and drew himself away, just enough to encounter your gaze.

“Surprise,” you whispered.

Jake shook his head, his smile now taking his whole face. And you couldn’t help but reach for him, a single finger tracing the soft lines of his lips before you allowed it to slip to his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, summer and sunshine always stuck on him.

“Welcome home, my Baby,” Jake whispered, and the word rattled through your chest, filling you together with the scent of soap and oranges, clay and glaze. Everything about Jake — just Jake.

Yes, you surely were home.

hello, my loves! ₊˚ ⊹ thank you so much for reading until here and accompanying me through this cute little journey ♡ i hope you have enjoyed it as much as i did! don’t forget to tell me what were your thoughts upon the conclusion (if you feel like, of course!) i will love to read it!

(♡) special thanks to @jungmeowz & @miszes once again. these girls gave me the courage i didn’t have anymore :(

671 notes · View notes

w2heehoon · 18 hours ago

Text

HEESEUNG & JAEYUN 𖥻 LOVE CREAMPIES !

★ | pairing. kitty hybrids heejake x fem!reader (17+) warnings. unprotected hybrid sex, breeding breeding breeding, lots & lots of creampies obv, established poly relationship, dp, heejake r so so needy :( they’re so cute, subspace the three of them r very in love, petnames & making out, a bit mxm action cuz they’re also bfs so note. this has been sitting in my drafts since aug 7th of last year and since midnight hours have hit again i decided to write n post this before sleeping, i love hybrids if y can’t tell so goodnight!! ♡

you don’t know how you ended up in this situation.

all you remember is that jake came up to you, tail slipping between your legs while he nuzzled his nose into your neck, purring softly as he whispered something about feeling sleepy.

and then heeseung followed by, his big and gentle hands resting on your aching shoulders, the older hybrid murmured about how you’ve worked too hard today, how you deserve a good night’s rest and that whatever you’re doing now, could wait for tomorrow.

so with two big cats that cuddle and snuggle you, asking you to come back to bed to them- you can’t possibly refuse.

but then it wasn’t about sleeping, it wasn’t about resting after an exhausting day of work, suddenly it was about their insatiable need to breed you. maybe you were too late to notice how jake’s early rut triggered heeseung’s too, but now you were sandwiched between both felines, heeseung pressed against your back and jake cuddling into your chest. and most importantly, both their barbed cocks were buried in your pussy.

tears slipped freely down your eyes as jake licked all around your jaw and neck, rough tongue slipping between your collarbones gently as his ridged cock pressed against heeseung’s, both cradled between your leaking walls that pulsed around them, sucking them back, milking them, it was as if you were nursing from them.

heeseung’s arms wrapped around your waist, both hands pressing their palms under your tits, softly massaging the sensitive skin as he rutted into you slowly. “takin’ us so well mama.. your pussy’s so full but she’s still sucking both of us in.” and the feeling was absolutely overwhelming.

“feels so good baby.. wanna be inside you forever..” jake slurred from your chest, still suckling mindlessly, like he was overdriven by instinct. with the room so warm, the windows foggy and only the scent of sex and sweat drifting he could only process the idea of filling you up over and over again. nonstop.

because they both had so much to give, knots already swelling slowly around your stretched poor pussy in preparation to lock, to keep you stuffed with their potent cum that would leave your womb no choice but to accept, to welcome and to receive. and that’s what their rut ridden minds wanted. they wanted to breed their mate. so good and so well.

now jake’s hand shifted to lift your leg, settling under your knee to pull it upwards and to let both felines sink in more. their barbed lengths rubbed against one another, making their hips twitch into you, climaxes creeping in as your pussy only drooled around them.

“keep me like this please.. open n’ full.. don’t leave,” and oh once your trembling voice registered in their overstimulated minds they moaned in sync. purring and licking at your skin when jake pushed himself so deep the ridged tip of his cock brushed into your tight cervix while heeseung began to roll his hips in delicious circles in your cunt. both pairs of fluffy ears twitching wildly, tongues lolling out as their lengthy tails wrapped around each one of your legs.

heeseung whimpered, “never baby.. you’re our mate. we’ll never— fuck. we’ll never let you be empty.” his knot was tight and taut, aching to stuff and keep you locked while his body rubbed lazily against you, thrusts now feeling like they were moulding your body as his breath fanned your back. “we’ll keep you exactly like this. feeding you our cocks.. n’ loving you the whole time. you’d like that hmmm? you wanna stay open like this for us.” jake spoke breathlessly, hand still gripping your leg to let them sink in while you nodded at their words.

it was too much, too good. you weren’t fully conscious anymore, only feeling the wetness, the stickiness between your legs, the noisy squelch of heeseung pulling out and jake thrusting in. it was all too overwhelming, yet beyond addictive. you were completely drunk. taken in like their purrs were putting spells on you, and what could human you possibly do when you’re this weak and needy under them? nothing, just take it and love it.

then you started to feel it.

the twitching of their cocks when their tips are nuzzling into your cervix, the constant pressure of their knots both trying to stretch you open wider around them, heeseung’s breaths turning uneven while jake’s soft moans turned into sharp gasps, they were both close.

“ohh— fuck. i’m almost- so are you. i can feel it—“ jake groaned and he was right. he could feel the way heeseung’s ridges pulsed against his own, both barbed lengths swelling before bursting inside of you, releasing flood after flood of warm, creamy and long ropes of their release. the felines groaned loudly like parts of their souls were being sucked out of them— “t-take it baby— shit. take all of it.. still going.. still filling you up, we’ve got so much to give.” you could barely hear heeseung’s words now.

your ears were ringing, panting in their arms as your body shook at being filled, being flooded and still being stuffed. your eyes rolled back to your head when heeseung swiftly rested his fingers on your puffy clit, flicking it once, twice, before pressing his entire palm onto your stretched cunt— and then rubbing.

“f-fuck—! jus’ like that- oh my god hee!” you were shaking. fully and wholly surrendering as your hybrids kept you flooded, kept you locked with their knots pressing against one another while their cocks swelled and leaked. the sounds now were obscene, jake was sucking dark marks all around your shoulders, reaching up to your mouth not to kiss, but to nurse.

he lapped lazily, eyes half lidded and glossy. his lips puffy and numb. but he kept going, spilling all the collected saliva in his overfilled mouth to yours as his cock fed your cunt, still releasing alongside heeseung in long and slow streams. all the while heeseung’s palm never left your soaked pussy. he kept rutting into you, reaching in to lick against yours and jake’s locked mouths just enough to have his tongue get suckled between yours.

it was all to intimate, their love and devotion pouring into the deepest part of you and still going. it felt like they were overflowing and now they were determined to make you spill over. their bodies sweaty and warm, moved perfectly with yours. as if it was all built on instinct, it was in your biology to get fucked and flooded like this.

and even when their thrusts slowed down into little hip twitches, their mouths now locked onto one another as you slowly began to drift deep into slumber under them, they were still creaming you, humming as they did so. some mixed streams of arousal dripped past your legs, jake rested your lifted limb above his hip as both of their tips now latched onto your walls. still flooding, still giving.

once they grew drowsy enough, they separated. strings of spit connecting their lips as your feline boyfriends settled on each side of you. keeping themselves warm and held in your cunt, heeseung pulled the blanket above your connected bodies while jake rested his cheek above your breast. all three of you beyond content, beyond satisfied and you.. beyond bred.

and that’s what the kitties wanted, to share their loving floods filled with their all with you. stuff it inside of you and keep you locked with it. cradled in their embrace as your womb nursed from their tips that were swollen and filled.

they were elated and sleepy, slowly surrendering into slumber while still locked inside of you. their knots keeping themselves in place while they leaked continuously, with heeseung snuggling into your shoulder when he heard a soft sigh from your lips.

you then knew that even if you were to fall asleep, you would still wake up with them both inside. still flooding. and even if the thought of separating came into your head now— you didn’t want it.

not when your kitties were now purring happily into your skin, cocks now pulsing in love while they held you close. they knotted you, they filled you, they loved you.

this was your home, this was your nest. somewhere you would dream of living in till the end of times.

you wouldn’t replace this for anything else.

a,note. hai again this is not proof read cuz this was written when i was out of my mind horny n yea i need kitty heejake have a nice day orrr night :p

385 notes · View notes

w2heehoon · 18 hours ago

Note

Heyy, could you do 5 and 14 with Jake pls?

Love you work btw!!!

P: Roommate!Jake X Fem!Reader (NSFW 18+)

Warnings: Mutual Pining, Jealousy, Emotional Tension, Possessive Behavior, Unspoken Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Teasing, Sexual Tension, Dom/Sub, Wall Sex (kinda?), Touch-Starved!Jake, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up folks,) Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Degrading, Needy!Reader, Dom!Jake, Rough Sex, Munch!Jake, Oral Sex (Fem!Receiving,) Dirty Talk.

Synopsis: The tension with Jake has been building for months. You try to ignore it, to play it safe. But when another ruined date ends in a heated confrontation, the truth slips out and so do his hands. One kiss, and suddenly, pretending you don’t want him isn’t an option anymore.

5. "You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?" 14. "Just one kiss? Or are you planning to leave me wanting more?"

a/n: surpriseee! I’m actually posting smut instead of letting it rot in my docs this time.. I’ve always been a little unsure about sharing smut here, especially with all the mixed opinions on enhablr… but honestly? Fuck it. I wrote it, I liked it, and maybe you will too. so yeah. enjoy! Reblogs and commentary are appreciated!

You weren’t expecting much from your first year of university, maybe some decent lectures, too many all-nighters, and a shoebox-sized dorm that smelled vaguely of instant noodles and poor life choices. What you definitely weren’t expecting was being assigned a roommate like Jake.

And, well... you didn’t mind it.

He was cute—like, actually cute. Tall, warm smile, hair that flopped into his eyes when he laughed, and a voice just raspy enough in the mornings to make brushing your teeth in silence feel slightly inappropriate. But more importantly, Jake was easy. Easy to talk to. Easy to live with.

He made dangerously good ramen at 2 a.m., always added an egg like a chef or something, and somehow never minded sharing. He watched movies with you on quiet nights, quoting dumb lines or laughing at scenes he clearly knew by heart. And he never, ever interrupted you while studying, just quietly slid a granola bar or bottle of water onto your desk when you were too deep into your work to notice how late it had gotten.

You’d look up and catch his retreating back, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair messy from his own unfinished assignment. And maybe your heart would thump once. Maybe twice.

But it was fine. Really. He was your roommate. And you were lucky to have one who didn’t suck.

Right?

Yeah, well—he sucked when it came to the topic of boys. Or more specifically, your hopeful hookups.

It was honestly kind of ridiculous how he always seemed to know.

You weren’t careless. You had his schedule memorized—well, sort of. You both kept a shared calendar on the wall, filled with messy scribbles and color-coded classes, so it wasn’t like you were stalking him. You just... planned accordingly. You knew when he’d be gone for hours, off to some late lab or a campus event, and you took those precious windows of alone time to invite over whatever cute guy had caught your attention that week.

The pattern was always the same: drinks, music low, a little harmless flirting on your tiny couch. Maybe things would get close, hands on knees, mouths hovering, but before anything remotely good could happen, you'd hear it.

The jingle of keys. The unmistakable sound of the door unlocking.

Cue the door swinging open and Jake stepping inside, always with the same casually surprised expression. “Oh,” he’d say, as if he wasn’t ruining your entire night. “Didn’t think you’d be home.”

Your date would tense. You’d force a tight smile. And within minutes, they’d be grabbing their jacket, muttering something about having an early morning. You’d stand there, still a little breathless, lips just barely swollen with possibility, watching Jake toss his bag onto the floor like it was any other night.

And when the door shut behind your date?

You’d turn to him, crossing your arms, annoyed but trying not to show it. “Weren’t you supposed to be out until, like, ten?”

Jake would blink at you, all innocent. “Yeah. But the event got canceled.” Or, “Lab ended early.” Or, “Wasn’t really feeling it.”

Every. Damn. Time.

At first, you thought it was just bad luck. Coincidence. But after the fifth time—maybe sixth—you started wondering if it really was just that. Because Jake never seemed all that sorry. In fact, sometimes you could’ve sworn he looked almost... pleased.

So after the seventh fucking time it happened, you kind of gave up.

No more cute guys in your apartment. No more risky almosts on the couch or stealing kisses in the kitchen while Jake was supposedly gone. You adapted—started meeting people off campus or agreeing to go to their places instead.

It wasn’t ideal, but at least you would not hear the sound of Jake’s damn keys in the lock, his perfectly timed entrances sending everything crashing down.

But even then... it never stuck.

Because the guys you met? They never lasted. Maybe a few dates, maybe one night if you were lucky, but nothing ever felt solid. And it wasn’t just you being picky—it was Jake.

Somehow, without fail, they all brought him up.

“Your roommate’s kind of intense, huh?” “He stared at me the whole time like I’d killed his dog.” “Is he always that... territorial?”

Territorial.

That one stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

You always laughed it off. Said Jake was just protective, or weirdly good at making people uncomfortable without trying. But deep down, there was this annoying little voice in your head whispering things you didn’t want to hear.

Because yeah, Jake was protective. He made you ramen at 3 a.m. He knew your class schedule better than you did. He always walked on the outside of the sidewalk and handed you a jacket when you forgot yours. He never touched you in a way that crossed a line, but his presence was always there, just close enough to feel it. And now, without meaning to, you’d started adjusting your life around him.

You didn’t bring guys over anymore. Not because you didn’t want to. But because they never stood a chance. Because Jake was… someone else entirely.

Sweet in a way that wasn’t performative, he didn’t flirt with you for fun or toss compliments around just to get a reaction. He just was. Always thoughtful, always present. The kind of guy who remembered how you took your coffee without asking, who stayed up to watch your favorite comfort movie just because you’d had a bad day. He was cuddly, too, the kind of casually affectionate that ruined you. Throwing an arm around your shoulder on the couch, falling asleep too close during movie nights, letting his legs tangle with yours like it meant nothing. Like you were just that comfortable.

He was smart, too. Unfairly so. He didn’t even have to try—acing tests, explaining things to you with that patient tone that made you feel less stupid and more seen.

And, yeah. He was hot. So hot.

Stupidly hot, if you were being honest. Shirt half-ridden up while stretching, messy hair post-nap, low voice in the morning kind of hot. You used to think the attraction was harmless, just a surface-level thing. A little eye candy to make your living situation more bearable.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being funny.

Because unfortunately, Jake had managed to set your standards sky-high without even trying. The bar? Ruined. Crushed under the weight of every time he handed you a snack wordlessly, every lazy smile he threw your way, every casual brush of his fingers against yours that shouldn’t have made you feel anything—but did.

You tried to cheat around it. Tried going for guys who reminded you of him. Guys who were tall and kind and maybe wore the same kind of rings or had a similar laugh. But none of them made your heart skip the way Jake did. None of them made your skin flush just by saying your name. And eventually, you had to face the truth.

Somewhere in the mess of shared ramen, missed hookups, and one too many movie nights that ended with you biting your lip and pretending not to stare at his stupidly perfect jawline—

You’d developed a crush on Jake.

And worse? You didn’t know what to do about it.

It was supposed to be nothing. No strings, no messy feelings. Just a roommate. Just a guy.

Just a stupidly… hot guy.... Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You were mid-spiral, head buried in your laptop under the pretense of studying, when you blinked up—and instantly regretted it.

Jake had come back from his shower at some point without you noticing. Steam still clung faintly to his skin, hair wet and dripping as he towel-dried it lazily with one hand. His grey sweatpants hung loose and low around his hips, the waistband dipping just enough to make your brain short-circuit. The plain black T-shirt clung a little too well to his chest, still damp in spots, and seriously, who gave him the right?

Your mouth went dry. And the worst part? You weren’t even being dramatic. You could feel the heat bloom across your cheeks, creeping lower, settling somewhere in your stomach and spreading.

Dripping. That was the only word your brain could hold onto.

His hair was dripping.

You were dripping.

Fuck.

Jake looked up just then, catching your gaze before you could look away, and smirked faintly, like he knew exactly what was going through your head. He tossed the towel over his shoulder and crossed the room toward the kitchen, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t out here looking like a walking wet dream. “Want anything?” he asked, voice rough from the heat of the shower. “Gonna make tea.”

You blinked at him, nodded way too fast, and muttered something that vaguely resembled “Sure.”

You watched his back as he moved, broad and unfair, and tried very hard not to melt into your chair. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were not attracted to your roommate. Not at all.

Right?

…right?

You buried your face back in your textbook the moment Jake turned away, determined to focus—actually focus—on something other than the image of him shirtless and dripping wet.

Studying. You're studying. Not thirsting over your roommate.

You recited that to yourself like a mantra, highlighting a sentence you didn’t even read and pretending the words weren’t blurring on the page. You could hear him in the kitchen, casually rummaging around. The clink of a mug. The quiet hum he made when he found what he was looking for. It was so domestic it made your heart ache.

A few minutes later, you caught the familiar scent of chamomile and cinnamon before you even heard him approach.

“Here,” Jake murmured, placing a steaming mug on the desk beside you.

You looked up—and nearly forgot how to breathe.

He was close. Way too close.

One hand settled on the back of your chair, warm and solid behind your neck. The other landed on the desk right beside your arm, making the muscles in his forearm flex slightly, veins standing out beneath skin that was still flushed from the shower. His shirt stretched tight across his chest from the angle, and his damp hair hung just barely in his eyes, water still dripping occasionally onto his collarbone.

You could smell him. Clean soap, a hint of mint, and something unmistakably Jake. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he leaned in closer, voice dipping near your ear.

“What are you reading?”

You froze.

His breath brushed against your skin, hot and barely-there, and it sent a shiver straight down your spine. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry, fingers tightening slightly around your highlighter like it could anchor you to reality. “I—uh…” you started, blinking down at your page like you’d never seen words before. “Psych… something. Case study. Doesn’t matter.”

Jake hummed, low and lazy, like he was amused by your sudden brain short-circuit. He didn’t move away right away. Just lingered, casually caging you in without touching you, like he had no idea what he was doing to you. Or worse... like he did.

You refused to look at him. If you did, you weren’t sure you'd survive it.

“Your tea,” he said, finally pulling back, but not without letting his fingers brush your shoulder lightly. “Just how you like it.” And with that, he strolled back to the couch like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just turned your bones to jelly with one breath and a flex of his arm.

You stared down at your textbook, heat crawling up your neck, and wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust from pure, helpless want.

This… was getting dangerous.

You were starting to think you were losing your mind.

Because lately, something had shifted. You didn’t know how or why, but Jake… Jake had started testing you. Not in obvious ways, he wasn’t throwing out dirty pickup lines or cornering you in the hallway like some walking cliché. No. That would’ve been too easy. Too manageable.

Instead, he was teasing you. Flirting—more than usual. And not the playful, harmless kind you were used to. This was different. Suggestive. Low voice, drawn-out words, that smug smile he wore when he caught you staring too long at his hands, his mouth, him.

And he knew.

You could see it in the way his eyes flicked to your lips mid-conversation, or how he leaned just a little too close when reaching for something behind you. He’d started using your name more, saying it like a secret, like it tasted good in his mouth. It sent a weird, warm shiver down your spine every single time.

What was worse? He was getting touchier, too.

At first, it was subtle—his thigh brushing yours on the couch and staying there. His hand finding the small of your back when you passed in the narrow hallway. Then it escalated. Light fingers trailing along your arm when he walked by. Pulling you into his side during movie nights like it was second nature. Fixing the hem of your shirt when it rode up, his knuckles grazing your stomach like it meant nothing.

You’d lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember the exact tone of his voice when he whispered something stupidly innocent that somehow left your entire body buzzing.

And the he never acknowledged it. Never pushed past the edge. Never made a move that gave you permission to call it what it was. So you were stuck—trapped in this torturous middle ground where everything he did made your heart race and your thighs clench, but none of it could be labeled. You couldn’t confront him. Couldn’t risk misreading it and ruining everything.

But still... you couldn’t help but wonder:

Was he playing with you?

Or were you already too far gone to tell the difference? All you knew was that Jake kept leaving you high and dry.

Every time.

A brush of his hand here, a whispered comment there, lips inches from your skin, that stupid smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing to you—and then? Nothing. He’d walk off like it hadn’t happened. Like your pulse wasn’t still hammering in your throat and your thighs weren’t pressed tightly together under the desk.

It was maddening.

Your body would buzz for hours after. Skin hot. Mind racing. You’d sit in the quiet of your room, staring at the wall like it owed you an explanation, still breathless from nothing and everything.

So, naturally, you tried to smother the need. Drown it in distraction. You started saying yes to the flirty DMs, to late-night invites, to lingering touches from boys who looked nothing like Jake but felt safe—distant. You let them take you out, let them kiss you, sometimes more. You told yourself it helped. That maybe if someone else could make your heart race again, Jake would stop invading your head.

But they didn’t.

No matter how hard you tried, it was always the same. Their hands didn’t feel like his. Their voices didn’t curl around your name the same way. No one ever looked at you the way Jake did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You’d leave their rooms unsatisfied, unsaid, untouched in the way that mattered. Worse—sometimes, you’d come home and find Jake sprawled across the couch in nothing but sweats and a shirt, hair messy, eyes tired, and mouth tilted into that crooked, lazy smile. He’d glance up and say, “Have fun?” like it didn’t matter at all. Like he wasn’t watching you come home flushed and frustrated and wishing he was the one undoing your buttons instead.

It felt like punishment.

Or maybe a game.

Either way, you were losing.

And Jake? He was still sitting there—unbothered, untouchable—and somehow still everywhere, all at once.

You weren’t proud of it.

You hadn’t planned to let it go that far, not in the library of all places, but the guy was cute, persistent, and more importantly, a distraction. His lips were soft, eager, and his hands were already roaming beneath your sweater as he backed you into the far corner of the third floor—dead quiet, barely anyone around. Just shelves, soft fluorescent light, and the illusion of privacy.

You let yourself melt into it. Let him kiss down your jaw, hands sliding along your waist, fingers pressing just a little too high under your shirt. You closed your eyes and tried to pretend.

Tried to pretend it was someone else.

You barely heard the cough over the blood rushing in your ears.

You both froze.

And then—his hands still on your waist—you looked up to see Jake standing just a few feet away. Expression unreadable. Lips pressed together. One brow slightly raised. His eyes flicked from you to the guy—and then, calmly, to a shelf just over your shoulder. “Sorry,” Jake said coolly. “Need that book behind you.”

The silence was deafening.

Your mouth opened—no words came out. The guy stepped back quickly, awkwardly wiping his mouth like a kid caught red-handed. You were still leaning against the shelf, heat crawling up your neck, heart pounding in your chest as Jake casually stepped forward, reached around you—around you—and pulled a book from the shelf like he hadn’t just caught you mid-makeout.

He didn’t even look at you. Just nodded once, muttered, “Enjoy your study session,” and turned on his heel.

Gone.

Just like that.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, lips still tingling and whole body suddenly ice-cold, while the guy awkwardly asked if you wanted to keep going. You didn’t.

You mumbled some excuse and left a minute later, heart racing, Jake’s voice echoing in your ears. Enjoy your study session.

He hadn’t even sounded mad. But somehow, that made it worse, because something in his voice—low, clipped, polite—felt like punishment.

Like the slow tightening of a string that was about to snap.

And after that day in the library… Jake changed.

Not toward you, exactly. He still brought you tea. Still shared his ramen. Still dropped his hoodies in your lap when you complained about being cold. But something in him had gone quiet. Tense. Sharp around the edges.

It wasn’t until the next time you tried to talk to someone, just a casual conversation with a guy from your elective that you really noticed it. You were sitting on the quad, sunlight warm on your legs, smiling at something the guy had said, when Jake appeared behind you like a shadow. He didn’t say anything at first. Just hovered, arms crossed, eyes locked on the guy like he was measuring how fast he could take him down.

You introduced Jake, voice light, a little unsure. The guy offered his hand. Jake didn’t shake it. Just gave him that same polite, empty smile and said, “Didn’t know we were doing office hours out here.”

The guy left two minutes later with an awkward laugh and a mumbled excuse.

You turned to Jake, brow furrowed. “What was that?”

He just shrugged, all innocent. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You laughed it off at the time, even though it sat heavy in your chest.

But then it kept happening.

Every time a guy so much as stood too close, Jake would show up—leaning into your space, slipping an arm around your shoulder like it was second nature, voice a little too casual as he interrupted. If someone tried texting you and he happened to see it on your screen, he'd make some offhand comment like “Another one already?” with a tilt of his head and a tone that made your stomach twist.

He was never mean. Not directly. He didn’t need to be. His presence alone was enough to drive everyone else away. And you couldn’t decide what scared you more—the fact that Jake was acting like that… Or the fact that part of you liked it.

Did that make you a bad person?

No. You didn’t think so. Not after that day.

You’d been walking back from class, a little distracted, earbuds in and sun warm on your shoulders. You hadn’t even noticed the guy trailing a few steps behind you, some rando you vaguely recognized from a party weeks ago—until he caught up and said something under his breath.

At first, you didn’t catch it. Then he said it again, louder this time.

“You dress like that and expect people not to look? Come on. You’re clearly asking for attention.”

You froze, spine going rigid. Not out of fear—just disbelief. Because you were so tired of this shit. Of people thinking they could say whatever they wanted, get in your space, chip away at your confidence like it didn’t matter.

And then, like some twisted act of fate—Jake appeared.

He’d just been walking by, hands in his pockets, probably heading somewhere casual. But the second he picked up on the guy’s tone, his whole posture changed. His jaw tightened. His stride slowed, and before you could say anything, Jake was there, stepping between you and the guy with his body angled like a shield.

“The fuck did you just say?” he asked, voice calm but sharp enough to cut steel.

The guy blinked, stammered something that sounded like a backpedal. Jake didn’t flinch. Just stared him down, low and steady, as if daring him to try again. “I don’t know what kind of response you were hoping for,” Jake continued, voice dangerously smooth, “but here’s mine: don’t talk to her like that. Don’t talk to anyone like that.”

And that was it.

The guy didn’t fight back. Just scoffed, mumbled something bitter under his breath, and walked off with his pride dragging behind him.

You stood there, frozen in place, heart pounding as Jake turned back to you, the anger in his expression softening instantly. “You okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

He looked at you for a second longer before exhaling. “Don’t listen to assholes like him,” he said, voice gentler now. “Wear whatever makes you feel good. Confident. You look—” he hesitated, his gaze flickering downward for a second too long, before dragging back up to your eyes. “—you look great.”

You didn’t call him out on it.

Didn’t say a word about the way his eyes dipped again, this time lingering a little too low, lingering like maybe he wasn’t just being protective. And you definitely didn’t mention the way you liked it. Because that would make this too real. And you were still clinging to the lie that Jake was just your roommate. Just a guy. Just someone who looked out for you.

Even if everything he did lately said otherwise.

Spring came fast.

One day it was hoodies and oversized jackets, and the next, the sun was out, the windows were open, and your tiny university apartment started feeling like a sauna by midday. Naturally, your wardrobe adjusted accordingly. Shorts. Tank tops. Loose-fitting tees that barely grazed the tops of your thighs.

Nothing dramatic—just comfortable.

But you noticed it.

The shift.

At first, it was in the way his conversations got shorter. Not cold—just distracted. He’d pause mid-sentence on a call with a friend when you walked into the room, eyes flickering over your legs before snapping back up to your face like he hadn’t just looked. Like he wasn’t still thinking about it.

He started pulling at the collar of his shirt more often, mumbling something about how hot it was. You caught him watching you from across the room, the tip of his tongue resting against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.

He never said anything. Not really. But his eyes lingered now. Traced over your bare thighs, the curve of your waist, your chest. His jaw would tighten. His grip on his coffee mug would shift. Sometimes, he’d be mid-sentence and suddenly forget what he was saying.

And you noticed.

God, did you notice.

The silence would stretch just a little too long. His tongue would dart out to wet his lips when you bent over to grab something from the fridge. The air in the apartment felt heavier, like the tension had weight. Like every brush of your arm against his, every moment you shared the couch, every laugh that ended too close was leading somewhere neither of you wanted to name.

One night, you walked into the living room wearing a cropped tank and boyshorts, ready to call it a night, only to find Jake sprawled on the couch in just a pair of loose gym shorts, damp from a late workout. His skin glistened slightly under the dim light, and his hair stuck to his forehead.

He looked up at you—slowly. Quietly.

Didn’t say a word for a beat too long.

“You trying to kill me?”

You blinked. “What?”

Jake smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back, arms stretching behind his head, the motion making his muscles flex and his abs pull taut. “You can’t just walk around looking like that and expect me to concentrate.”

Your heart did a full somersault.

“I live here,” you said, trying to sound unbothered, even though your voice had gone slightly breathless. “I’m comfortable.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your legs, then dragging back up, slower this time. “I can see that.” He turned back to the TV like he hadn’t just sent a shockwave through your entire nervous system.

You swallowed hard, shifting your weight as you lowered yourself onto the far end of the couch—far, like that would somehow help. It didn’t. Not when the heat from his body practically reached you. Not when the soft sounds from the movie blurred into white noise, your attention caught on the way his chest rose and fell, the light sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

You were hyper-aware of everything. The way your thighs stuck slightly to the couch’s faux leather. The way the fabric of your shorts rode up when you crossed your legs. The way Jake’s eyes flicked over to you every few minutes, barely noticeable—except that it was every few minutes.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But then his foot brushed against yours.

It could’ve been accidental. Could’ve—if it didn’t linger just a second too long before pulling away.

You glanced at him.

He was still watching the screen. Calm. Blank-faced.

You leaned back, pretending to adjust your position, stretching your legs out until they rested next to his. You felt, more than saw, the way his jaw clenched.

Another scene passed. Quiet. Tense.

Then you felt it—his fingers, just the lightest brush, trailing over your ankle. Slow. Testing.

You looked at him again, and this time he was already looking at you, eyes darker, that playful glint nowhere to be found.

“You sure this is comfortable?” he asked, voice low. Rough around the edges.

You nodded. Slowly. “Yeah.”

Jake’s hand slid a little higher, up your shin, warm and deliberate. “Cause you’ve been squirming since you sat down.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you hated how obvious it must’ve looked. But Jake didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. He just shifted closer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him now, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and something so Jake it made your head spin.

“You always wear stuff like this to bed?” he asked, fingers ghosting over the hem of your shorts.

“Only when it’s hot,” you whispered, not trusting your voice any louder.

He hummed, eyes dropping to your legs again, but slower now. Lazier. He reached over, fingers brushing your bare thigh—light, barely-there, but so charged it made your breath hitch. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, half to himself.

Your heart was pounding now, wild and loud in your chest. And when you didn’t pull away, didn’t say stop, Jake leaned in—his palm resting against your thigh, thumb rubbing slow, hypnotic circles against your skin. “Say something,” he said quietly, voice at your ear. “Or I’m gonna keep touching you like this.”

You didn’t say a word. You just leaned into it. And his hand slid higher.

You didn’t remember what movie was playing anymore. Whatever it was, it faded completely into the background, muted voices and shifting colors on the screen, all irrelevant now compared to the slow, heavy thrum of heat building between you.

Jake’s hand stayed on your thigh, fingers moving in lazy, circling strokes. Teasing. Testing. He didn’t look at you when he spoke again, like the words weren’t really meant for you, just thoughts slipping from his lips.

“You know,” he said, thumb brushing just under the hem of your shorts, “it’s kind of unfair.”

You tilted your head, pulse racing. “What is?”

“That you walk around here looking like that and expect me to sit through a whole movie without getting distracted.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave a soft, amused hum, your legs shifting slightly beneath his hand, as if inviting him closer.

And he took the invitation.

Slowly, Jake leaned in, his body turning toward you until your knees bumped, his palm trailed further up your thigh, warm and sure, until he was cupping the curve just above your knee, thumb dragging across bare skin in rhythm with the pounding in your chest.

His other hand lifted and pushed a strand of hair away from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek as his eyes met yours—intense, unblinking, like he was trying to read you.

Still, you didn’t speak. You didn’t really need to. Your silence said enough. The way your breathing picked up. The way your fingers curled slightly against the couch cushion. The way your legs opened, just a little more, letting him settle between them.

Jake’s gaze dipped lower, and then he was moving again—leaning down, slower this time, the kind of slow that made your skin prickle in anticipation. His face hovered just above your chest, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath through your thin top.

“Comfortable still?” he murmured, lips ghosting the curve of your collarbone.

You swallowed, throat tight. “Mm-hm.”

Jake smiled against your skin, a slow, wicked thing. His hand slid higher up your thigh, palm firm now, possessive in a way that made your stomach flip. “You keep humming like that,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, “I might start thinking you like this.”

You didn’t break his gaze.You just let out another soft hum, sweet and quiet, but so full of meaning it made his eyes darken.

The room felt too hot. The air thick. Your body buzzing.

And still, neither of you moved to finish it.

It was a slow unraveling, like pulling at a thread, knowing eventually everything would come undone.

And you were letting it happen. Maybe even hoping for it.

Jake’s breath against your skin, the weight of his hand on your thigh, the way his eyes watched you like he was waiting for a green light, it was all so heavy, so close, you could barely think. His lips were just about to brush lower, his fingers tightening slightly, when—

Rrring. Rrring.

The shrill sound of your phone sliced through the tension like a knife.

You both froze.

Your body went rigid, Jake’s hand still warm against your skin, his face hovering so close to your chest you could feel the air shift as he let out a quiet, sharp breath.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, straightening up with a frustrated exhale as you reached for your phone with trembling fingers. You didn’t even check the name before answering, still breathless, your voice cracking slightly. “Hello?”

“WHERE ARE YOU?” your friend’s voice practically screamed through the speaker, making you wince. “You promised! We’re literally outside the club—do not bail on me again!”

You blinked, trying to reorient yourself. “Wait—what?”

“The club?” she repeated. “Short dress? Bad decisions? You swore you'd come tonight. Don’t make me come drag you out myself.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear for a second, glancing at the time—and then it hit you.

You had promised her.

The plan had been made days ago. A night out. Something about dancing off stress, drinking too much, maybe making out with a stranger in a dark corner, back when you were still desperately trying to exorcise your Jake problem. You glanced up, and Jake was already watching you, leaned back now, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking as he waited.

Your friend shouted your name through the phone again, snapping your attention back. “Okay, okay—I’m coming,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead, your skin still tingling from where Jake had touched it. “Give me twenty.”

“Ten!” she demanded. “You better be wearing something hot!” The call ended before you could respond.

Silence settled between you and Jake again, heavier this time. He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at you, shoulders a little tense now, his hands clasped loosely between his knees.

You shifted, suddenly too aware of your barely-there clothes, your flushed skin, and how close you’d come to letting everything snap. “I, uh…” you stood slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I forgot I made plans.”

Jake’s gaze dragged over you—slow, unreadable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I figured.” But his voice didn’t carry the same heat as before. It was quiet. Cool. Like something had shut behind his eyes. Like maybe he hated the reminder that you still had other places to be. Other people to see. Other guys who weren’t him.

You didn’t give Jake a chance to say anything.

Didn’t let yourself look at him for more than a second, because if he so much as breathed the wrong way, you already knew what would happen. You’d fold. Stay. Crawl right back onto that couch and into the dangerous gravity of his hands, his mouth, his everything.

So you bolted for your room, muttering a rushed “I’ll be quick,” before shutting the door behind you.

You moved fast. Thank God you’d already showered. No time to overthink. No time to wonder if he was still sitting on the couch with that same unreadable expression, or if he’d gotten up, pacing the room like he always did when he was trying not to say something.

You yanked open your dresser and grabbed the black dress you’d shoved in the back last week—short, slinky, barely-there. Something your friend had convinced you to buy during a “hot girl summer” phase you were now very thankful for. You slipped it on, the material hugging your skin like a second layer. It left your shoulders bare, dipped a little too low at the back, and hit mid-thigh like it had no business pretending to be modest. Next, you pulled on your comfiest heels—chunky, easy to dance in—and moved to the mirror. You did your foundation, brows, a little concealer. The rest could wait for the club bathroom. You were already running late.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you applied gloss to your lips, and not from nerves about going out. Because through the cracked door, you could feel it.

Jake’s gaze.

Heavy. Lingering. Burning into you with every shift of fabric, every bend of your body, every subtle adjustment of your dress. You didn’t even have to look to know he was still there. You could feel the tension in the air like static, the way it clung to your skin and made the hair on your arms stand up. And for a second, just a second, you almost slowed down. Almost turned around and walked back into the living room, let him pull you into his lap and finish what you’d started. But instead, you slipped in your earrings, grabbed your tiny bag, and pushed open the bedroom door like your heart wasn’t pounding in your chest.

Jake was standing by the kitchen now, hands braced against the counter, jaw tight. His eyes found you instantly.

And fuck.

He didn’t say anything, instead his gaze dragged over you like a physical touch, slow and anything but innocent. From the curve of your thighs to the way the dress clung to your waist, to the dip of your collarbone where the gloss on your lips caught the light.

You swallowed hard.

“Well?” you asked, keeping your voice light, like you weren’t moments away from completely combusting. “Do I pass the vibe check?”

Jake’s eyes didn’t move from you. “You look…” He paused, voice low and rough. “Yeah. You look dangerous.”

And God help you, you liked how that sounded coming from him way too much.

The word clung to your skin like heat, sitting heavy in your chest as Jake’s gaze burned through every layer of pretense you tried to wear with that dress. You couldn’t tell if he meant it as a compliment or a warning.

You didn’t ask, instead, you gave him a tight smile. “Don’t wait up.”

And then you were gone. Out the door, heels clicking down the hallway, pulse racing with every step like you’d just escaped something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

The air outside hit you like a shock, cooler than you expected, but it didn’t settle the warmth still simmering beneath your skin. Your phone buzzed as your friend texted again: “Hurry up, the line’s insane. I’m losing my mind.”

You typed back a quick “2 mins” and kept walking, trying to shake the feeling of Jake’s stare still clinging to your back, your hips, your thighs. You could still feel itm like his eyes had left fingerprints on your skin.

And God, how you wanted them there.

The club was loud, packed, the music pulsing through the floor and straight into your bloodstream. You were instantly swallowed by the energy of it all—colored lights flashing, bodies pressed together, the smell of sweat and perfume thick in the air.

Your friend dragged you to the dance floor with no time for drinks or second thoughts. She was glowing, already half-tipsy, and the kind of reckless that made her infectious. You let her spin you, pull you into the crowd, and for a moment, you let yourself forget.

But it didn’t last long.

Because every time someone put their hands on your waist, tried to dance close behind you, your mind flashed back to him. To Jake’s hands on your thigh. Jake’s voice in your ear. Jake’s breath against your chest.

You laughed it off. Danced harder. Drank faster.

But it was no use.

Every guy you danced with? They weren’t him.

And no amount of bass or neon lights or sweaty touches could replace the fire he left behind.

Back at the apartment, Jake hadn’t moved much.

He was still in the kitchen, still leaning against the counter, the room quiet now, save for the faint hum of the fridge. He hadn’t turned the movie back on. Hadn’t started his usual late-night routine.

He just stood there. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on the door you’d walked out of. Every part of him tense, coiled. Because the image of you in that dress was burned into his brain now. Seared. He could still see the way the fabric clung to your hips. Could still hear your voice when you said Don’t wait up—like that wasn’t the cruelest thing you could’ve said with your lips still wet from lip gloss. He didn’t know what he was more pissed about—that you looked that good, or that someone else was probably touching you by now.

Ugh. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the possessiveness curling in his gut. It didn’t stop his hands from clenching at the thought of you dancing for someone else. Letting someone else pull you close. Letting someone else taste what he hadn’t even dared ask for yet.

Not because he didn’t want to.

God, how he wanted to.

He just hadn’t let himself have you. Not fully. There was a line—an invisible one he drew the night you became his roommate, when you dropped your bags at the door and smiled at him like you didn’t have any idea what you were doing to him.

But now?

Now that line was starting to blur.

Because it wasn’t just a crush anymore. It wasn’t just stolen glances and casual touches and teasing flirtation that ended with him fisting the sheets in silence, replaying the sound of your laugh, the shape of your mouth.

No, now it was need.

And it hit harder than he expected. Hard enough that he was still pacing the kitchen floor an hour later, shirt discarded, drink untouched on the counter, your last words echoing in his head like a taunt.

Don’t wait up.

Like hell he wouldn’t.

His phone buzzed once—then again. A message from a friend about a party, another about a group meetup. He ignored them both. His attention was fixed on the clock, every minute ticking by like a warning.

Was it stupid to be this wound up? Probably. But that didn’t change the way his blood ran hotter every time he imagined someone else’s hands on your hips. Some guy’s mouth pressed against your neck, your back arching into a touch that didn’t belong to him.

You weren’t his. He knew that.

But if tonight proved anything… it was that he wanted you to be.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.

The night air was warm, sticky against your skin as you made your way back to the apartment, heels clicking quietly on the pavement. You were tipsy, just enough for your limbs to feel light and your brain pleasantly fuzzy. The club had been fine. The drinks strong. The dancing easy. But your heart hadn’t been in it.

You’d spent the night smiling too politely at hands that wandered, swaying half-heartedly to songs you normally loved. Your mind had been miles away—here, in this apartment. With him.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked the door, fumbling with the keys before finally twisting the knob and pushing inside. The lights were dim. Just the glow of the kitchen light spilling into the living room. And there he was. Jake. Sitting on the couch. Waiting.

One arm draped along the back of the couch, the other lazily holding a half-full glass of water. His hair was a little messy, his expression unreadablem but his eyes locked on you the second the door clicked shut.

You blinked, slightly startled. “You’re still up?”

Jake didn’t answer right away. His gaze dragged over you slowly, taking in the way your dress clung to your body, the way your makeup had smudged slightly, the faint sheen of sweat at your collarbone from dancing. His jaw tensed. “Wasn’t tired,” he said finally, voice low and smooth. Controlled. Too controlled.

You stepped further into the apartment, setting your keys down with a soft clink, suddenly all too aware of how quiet it was.

“How was the club?” he asked, voice still casual, but there was something in the way he asked it. A tension that didn’t quite match the words.

You shrugged, slipping off your shoes with a sigh. “Loud. Crowded.”

“Fun?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

His eyes didn’t leave you. Not once.

“Not really.”

He nodded once, slow. Took a sip of his water. Then, quietly: “Did you dance with anyone?”

Why did that question feel loaded?

“A few people,” you said carefully, watching him for a reaction.

Jake hummed. “Anyone worth remembering?” His tone was light. Teasing, almost. But his grip on the glass had tightened just enough for you to notice.

You let out a soft breath, walking toward him slowly, arms crossed under your chest, partly because you were cold, partly because your heart was beating too fast now. “Why?” you asked. “Gonna take notes?”

Jake’s eyes flicked up to meet yours again. “No,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “Just wondering if I need to remind you what it feels like when someone actually knows how to touch you.”

Your breath hitched.

The room went quiet.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.

And you—still tipsy, still buzzing from the way his voice dipped so low felt the air shift.

He set the glass down on the coffee table slowly, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, gaze still locked on you like you were something he’d been starving for.

“Come here.”

Just two words.

But they hit like a match to gasoline.

You didn’t move at first. Just stood there in the soft light, your heels discarded by the door, skin warm with heat and sweat.

Jake didn’t repeat himself. He just watched you, elbows on his knees, jaw tense, like he was holding something in his mouth he didn’t dare say.

And maybe it was the drinks, or the way your body still buzzed from the club, or the fact that his voice wrapped around your spine like a hand. But you walked over. Slowly, each step louder than it should’ve been. You stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his bare chest.

He looked up at you like he wanted to say something. Or maybe do something. But he didn’t. His hands stayed on his knees, fingers twitching slightly like he was holding them back. “Had fun teasing me all week?” he asked softly, head tilting a little. His eyes dragged over your bare thighs, up to your collarbone, slow and purposeful. “Walking around in little shorts. Tight tops. Laughing like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

Your breath caught. “I wasn’t teasing.”

He raised a brow. “No?”

You shook your head. “You’re the one who started it.”

Jake let out a quiet breath—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. His eyes dropped to your mouth for just a second, then back up. And then his hand lifted slowly, barely brushing the side of your thigh with the backs of his fingers. So light, it was more suggestion than touch.

It sent a ripple through you all the same.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours again, searching. “You going to bed?”

You licked your lips. Nodded once. “Yeah.”

Jake’s hand dropped back to his knee, just like that. His face unreadable now, voice quiet when he spoke again. “Sleep well.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.

You didn’t trust yourself to respond, so you turned and walked away, pulse racing with every step back to your room.

You didn’t look back.

And neither of you said what you were really thinking.

Okay, you were so over everything.

The tension between you and Jake had gotten unbearable—so bad that you’d started avoiding your own reflection at night, because even you could see how strung out you looked. How restless. How badly you needed something that you couldn’t have.

Nights were the worst.

You’d lay in bed, your skin flushed and hot, your body aching in ways that had nothing to do with the weather. Sheets tangled between your legs, your teeth sinking into your lip as your hand slipped beneath your waistband again, trying to quiet the frustration clawing at your chest.

It never helped.

You’d close your eyes and see him. Jake, shirtless in the kitchen. Jake, sweat-slicked and grinning post-run. Jake’s hands on your thigh, mouth ghosting against your skin, saying your name in that low, unreadable voice.

It drove you mad.

More than once, your fingers would still, your breath catching as you stared at your closed bedroom door—tempted. So tempted to just throw off the covers, march across the hall, and crawl into his bed to put an end to this sick little game once and for all.

But you didn’t.

And now it was harder than ever. Because Jake was busy. His schedule had shifted—more classes, more shifts, later nights. You barely saw him anymore. Passing each other like strangers in the hallway, awkward silences over takeout, faint smiles and tired eyes that said I’m thinking about it too, but neither of you said a damn word.

The heat between you hadn’t disappeared, it had just been buried under new routines, overbooked calendars, exhaustion. But it simmered. Lurking just under the surface, waiting for a moment alone. Waiting for one of you to finally break.

You hated how much you missed him. How often your eyes flicked to the door when you heard keys in the lock. How your heart jumped when he said your name, even casually, even half-asleep.

You were over it. Over the tension. Over the silence. Over pretending like you didn’t want to rip this thing wide open and find out what the hell it would feel like to have Jake finally touch you like you knew he wanted to.

But if Jake wasn’t going to start anything, then fine.

You’d just have to get creative.

You were done waiting. Done pacing your room like some love-struck idiot, breathless over fleeting glances and unfinished touches. So you went back to base one—teasing him.

You started small again. Soft shorts. Tank tops without a bra underneath. Bare legs propped up on the coffee table, shirts that slipped off your shoulder just right. Sometimes you’d walk past him fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body, water glistening on your skin.

And you’d catch it.

The way his jaw clenched. How his eyes lingered a moment too long. How his hand would flex around whatever he was holding—his phone, a coffee mug, a pen—like he had to physically restrain himself.

There were moments, real ones, when you swore he was about to break.

Like the time he paused behind you at the sink, his breath brushing your neck as he reached around you to grab a glass. Or when you’d dropped your phone and bent over a little too slowly, feeling his eyes drag down your spine and lower.

You would’ve bet anything on it—he wanted you just as bad.

But he never made a move. Just smirked. Threw out a teasing comment. Something harmless and loaded all at once, like, “Careful. Keep walking around like that and you’ll drive someone crazy.”

And he would say it like he wasn’t already losing his mind.

So. Fine.

If he wasn’t going to crack, you’d push harder.

Jake had been home less and less lately. Long days, late nights, crashing in bed before you even got the chance to properly torment him. The apartment felt emptier—colder, despite the heat that still lingered in the walls.

And if Jake wasn’t around to see you, to touch you, to do something about the fire he started—

Then maybe someone else would.

So the next part of your plan was simple.

You started inviting guys over again. Not the sweet, awkward ones like before. No, these ones were confident. Forward. They didn’t hesitate to flirt, to touch your knee under the table, to compliment your lips or your dress or how good you looked that night.

You didn’t do much—at first.

A drink. A few laughs. A few almosts on the couch, just enough to remind yourself what it felt like to be wanted out loud. But with every guy who leaned in too close, every hand on your waist, every whispered compliment into your ear, there was always one thought in the back of your mind: This isn’t Jake.

And no matter how much you smiled, no matter how close you let them get... It was never enough. Because they weren’t him.

Their hands didn’t make your skin tingle. Their voices didn’t sink into your bones the way Jake’s did. You let them touch, let them talk, let them get close, but it was always a performance. A game you were playing for someone else, even if he wasn’t in the room.

Until one night, he was.

You were in the living room, low music playing from your speaker, the soft hum of city noise leaking in from the cracked window. The guy was cute—tall, smooth-talking, a little too confident for his own good, but he served his purpose. He made you laugh just enough. Said the right things. Touched your knee like he wanted more.

And at some point, you ended up straddling his lap on the couch. His hands resting on your thighs. Your arms lazily looped around his neck. His lips hovering just a breath from yours.

You weren’t even really listening to what he was saying. You were too focused on the phantom thrum beneath your skin. That part of you screaming that this wasn’t right. That it was too soft. Too staged.

That it wasn’t Jake.

And then—

Click.

The sound of the front door unlocking.

Your heart stopped.

The guy didn’t notice it at first, not until your body went a little too still in his lap, your fingers pausing mid-movement on his shoulder.

The door opened slowly. Jake stepped inside and froze.

His eyes landed on you in an instant. Then dropped to the guy’s hands on your thighs. The way your dress was bunched slightly around your hips. The angle of your body pressed against someone else’s. And for a second—just one second—he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. But his eyes… his eyes burned.

The guy beneath you tensed, sensing the shift in the air. “Uh… hey, man,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Jake didn’t respond. He just closed the door behind him, and then he turned his eyes to you. Not angry. Not confused. Just controlled—so tightly wound it sent a jolt straight through your chest. “Didn’t know we were having company,” he said, voice flat.

You swallowed. “You’re home early.”

Jake’s jaw flexed. “Clearly.” And then, without another word, he walked past you. Not a glance back. Not even a pause. But the air he left in his wake? Suffocating.

The guy under you cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… should I go?”

You didn’t answer right away, you just stared at the hallway Jake disappeared into, every nerve in your body lit like a fuse.

You couldn’t sleep—not that you really tried. Your thoughts were too loud, looping around the same moment again and again: Jake’s face when he walked in. The tension in his shoulders. The way he hadn’t even looked at you when he passed.

You sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, a bag of chips crinkled between your hands and a random video playing quietly on your phone. Something dumb. Pointless. Background noise to drown out the silence.

The light above the stove cast a soft yellow glow across the room, just enough to keep you grounded.

You were wearing nothing but a big, oversized t-shirt—Jake’s, actually. One you’d stolen weeks ago and never gave back. It hung just long enough to cover your thighs, but not by much.

And you didn’t hear him coming. Not until he was right there.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

You looked up, startled, and there he was standing in the doorway, barefoot, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of dark gray sweatpants that hung just a little too low on his hips. His hair was messy, his voice hoarse with sleep, and there was something heavy in his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t turn my brain off.”

Jake nodded once, his eyes dragging over you slowly, the way the shirt barely covered your legs, the familiarsight of his own shirt stretched across your chest. His jaw tensed.

“Didn’t hear you come out,” you added, trying to sound normal. Trying to pretend like your body wasn’t humming just from the sight of him in low light, all muscle and shadows and tension.

“I saw the light.” He leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossing over his chest. “Didn’t expect to see you still up.”

You gave a weak smile. “Guess I’m a little wound up.”

Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “That why you had someone over earlier? To help you unwind?”

The words hit sharp and fast. Not loud. But laced with something bitter underneath. “Jake…”

He pushed off the counter slowly, stepping forward. “You can spare me the explanation,” he said, voice low, calm. “You don’t owe me one.”

“Then why bring it up?” you asked softly.

Jake stopped in front of you, close enough that your knees could brush if you shifted. His gaze dipped to your thighs, bare against the counter’s edge, then back up to your face. “Because,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you keep playing games.”

“I’m not,” you said, but it came out too fast. Too defensive.

“Aren’t you?” he asked, eyes locked on yours. “You walk around in barely anything. You touch me. You look at me like you’re begging me to do something about it—and then you invite some guy over and climb into his lap like none of it meant anything?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

Jake stepped even closer, between your legs now, hands braced on either side of the counter beside your thighs. His body heat pressed into you, and suddenly you couldn’t hear your video anymore. Couldn’t feel anything except him.

He let out a short, breathless laugh, like he couldn’t believe any of this, like he was shocked at his own breaking point. His voice was rough, low, edged with something dangerous as he looked down at you. “You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll stop pretending like I don’t want it too.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his eyes boring into yours like he already knew the answer. But he wouldn’t move. Not until you said it.

You stared at him, heart thudding hard against your ribs, mouth dry.

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Tried again.

“I didn’t…” Your voice faltered. “I didn’t bring him over because I wanted him.”

Jake didn’t move, but his jaw flexed like he was forcing himself to stay still.

You exhaled shakily. “I—I thought maybe if I let someone else touch me, I’d stop thinking about you every time I was alone.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth. His fingers curled against the counter.

You shifted slightly, knees brushing his thighs, and he stepped in closer like it was instinct, like he needed that space filled just as much as you did. You parted your legs without thinking, making room for him to stand between them.

The second he did, your breath caught.

He was so close now you could smell the warmth of his skin. See the tension in his shoulders. His hands stayed put, but his whole body was strung tight, like he was one word away from losing control.

You swallowed hard and pushed yourself to keep going. “I couldn’t sleep tonight because… I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to his chest before dragging back up to meet his gaze. “About how you look at me. About how you don’t touch me, even when I want you to.”

Jake leaned in just a little, breath brushing your cheek, his voice low and rough. “Then say it.”

You blinked up at him. “Say what?”

“What you want.” His stare never wavered. Unblinking. Unmoving. Like you were the only thing he could see in the world right now.

And you were trembling now—just slightly—but not from fear. From finally letting it crack. “I want you,” you breathed. “I want it to be you. It’s only ever been you.”

Jake exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for months. His hand lifted, slow, and brushed a thumb over your cheek, like he still wasn’t sure this was real. His other hand hovered at your thigh, not touching yet, but so close it made your whole body ache. “Say that again,” he whispered, like he needed to hear it.

You met his eyes—wild and dark and so full of something that made your knees weak. “It’s only ever been you, Jake.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. And then he moved. No hesitation this time. No teasing, no pulling back. Just heat—pure, crashing heat—as Jake surged forward and kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate, full of months of pent-up want and frustration and all the words neither of you had said. His mouth crashed against yours, open, greedy, like he’d been dying to do it and finally stopped giving a damn about holding back.

You gasped into it, breath catching as his hands gripped your hips—firm, grounding, possessive. He pulled you forward on the counter, bringing you flush against him, like he needed to feel all of you to believe this was happening.

Your arms flew up around his neck, hands diving into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. His lips parted yours deeper, tongue brushing yours, slow and hot, tasting you like he’d dreamed about this a thousand times.

You kissed him like you’d been starving. Because you had.

His thumbs dug into the sides of your hips as your legs wrapped loosely around him, dragging him impossibly closer, and his body slotted perfectly between yours like it was meant to be there.

The kiss didn’t slow. It just burned. Over and over again, like you were trying to memorize each other through touch alone. Like he didn’t know where to start.

Your breath stuttered as you pulled back just a fraction, foreheads touching, your lips still brushing against his, swollen and warm. “You’ve been driving me insane,” you whispered.

Jake laughed softly, breathless. “Yeah? Good.” And then he kissed you again.

Deeper this time. Slower. Like now that he had you, he was going to take his time.

He kissed you slower now, but no less deep. His mouth moved over yours with a kind of reverence, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted, the way you sighed when his tongue slid over yours, the way you melted against him without hesitation.

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer until your hips were pressed to his, the friction making your whole body thrum. He groaned into your mouth, fingers flexing against your skin before they slipped beneath the hem of his shirt you wore—his shirt—and pushed it up inch by inch.

“Take this off,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, raw.

You nodded, dazed, and raised your arms.

He pulled the fabric over your head in one swift motion, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes dropped, lingering on your bare skin, the soft curve of your chest, the way you sat open for him on the counter, already breathless and flushed. “Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself, brushing his thumb gently along your ribcage. “You’re so…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

You reached for him again, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers brushing the skin just above it, and his breath hitched in response. His hands found your thighs again, sliding up, gripping tighter now, leaving heat in their wake, as he leaned in, kissing your jaw, then down your neck—slow, hot, dragging his mouth across your skin like he was trying to brand you.

You gasped when his teeth grazed just beneath your ear, one hand slipping up to cup your breast, thumb circling over your nipple until you arched into him. “Jake…” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you then, eyes dark, wild, so full of something you’d never seen in him before—need, adoration, hunger. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted, his voice nothing more than a rasp. “I wanted you since the first night you walked out of your room in one of my shirts.”

You smiled, soft and shy despite everything, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Then take me.”

Jake didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in another deep, aching kiss—this one rougher, messier, full of tension. His hands were everywhere, sliding over your bare back, gripping your thighs as your legs locked tighter around his hips, when he suddenly pressed you back against the counter, mouth trailing down your throat as his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you just enough to reposition you—right at the edge, legs parted around his waist. The cool counter beneath you clashed deliciously with the heat spreading through your skin.

Jake kissed down the slope of your chest, slow and lingering, and you gasped when his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue flicking just enough to make your back arch. His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as you rocked against him, the thin fabric of your panties doing nothing to hide how needy you’d become.

“You have no idea,” he muttered against your skin, “how many times I’ve imagined this. Right here. Just like this.”

You whimpered, fingers tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. “Then stop imagining.”

that was all it took for Jake to pin you against the kitchen counter, his body pressing firmly against yours, the cool marble at your back a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. His hands roamed possessively over your curves, tracing the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips. You could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, against your thigh.

Jake's hands grew more urgent, his touch becoming almost desperate as he explored your body, his fingers digging into your flesh. He ground against you, his hard length pressing into your thigh, the thin fabric of his sweatpants doing little to hide his need. You could feel the heat of him, the throb of his arousal, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

His mouth crashed down on yours again, his lips hungry and demanding. You parted your lips for him, your tongue meeting his in a desperate dance. Jake moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, sending waves of desire crashing over you. You gripped his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his flesh, holding him close, urging him on.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with lust. "Fuck, I need you," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "I need to feel you, taste you, be inside you." His hands roamed lower, cupping your ass, squeezing and kneading, pulling you harder against him. You could feel his cock, hot and hard, pressing against your core, the friction of his movements sending sparks of pleasure through you. You rocked your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, your body aching with need.

Pulling back slightly, his eyes met yours, dark with desire that made your heart race. In that moment, you caught a glimpse of the wet spot on his sweatpants, a testament to his arousal, and it sent a thrill of anticipation through you.

Before you could even gasp, Jake's hands were on your waist, pulling you down from the kitchen counter with a swift, fluid motion. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your bodies pressing tightly together as he kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervor that left you dizzy.

He guided you out of the kitchen, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body possessively. You could feel the heat of his desire, the urgency in his touch, and it matched your own need, your own desperation for him.

The journey to the bedroom was cut short when Jake suddenly slammed you against the wall of the hallway, his body pressing firmly against yours. His kiss deepened, becoming more desperate. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. When he pulled back, a thin string of saliva stretched between your lips. "Fuck, I need to taste you now," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire.

Before you could even form a question, Jake dropped to his knees, his hands hooking into the waistband of your panties. With a swift, fluid motion, he pulled them down, the fabric tearing slightly in his haste. He threw the panties over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.

He then propped your leg over his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. And then, without hesitation, he dove in, his mouth finding your most intimate place, his tongue exploring, licking, devouring you like a man starved.

You cried out, your back arching, your hands fisting in his hair, holding him to you. Jake's tongue swirled and flicked, his movements urgent, desperate, as if he were trying to memorize every inch of you. He groaned against you, the vibration sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, your body trembling.

Jake's tongue kept swirling and licking, exploring every inch of you with a fervor that left you gasping for breath. He groaned into you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, each lick, each suck, each nip pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Jake!" you cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "Oh god, Jake, I'm coming!" Your body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing over you, your inner muscles clenching and releasing. Jake groaned against you, the sound muffled but intense, as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening with your juices, a sight that sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you.

You wobbled slightly, your legs trembling from the intensity of your release, but Jake was there, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. He guided you into his bedroom, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body possessively.

As he laid you down on his bed, you could feel the cool sheets against your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Jake crawled between your legs, his eyes dark with lust, his breath ragged with desire.

"Jake," you started, your voice breathless, "I need a minute—"

But he cut you off, his hands spreading your thighs wide, holding you open for him. "Sorry baby... I need another taste," he moaned, his voice hoarse with need.

And with that, he dove back in without hesitation, his nose bumping against your clit, his tongue exploring, licking, devouring you once more.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets. Jake's tongue was relentless, his movements urgent, desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of you. He groaned into you, the vibrations sending fresh waves of pleasure through your body, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Jake," you moaned, your voice breathless, your body trembling.

After a while, Jake added another finger, his movements slow and deliberate, opening you up, preparing you for more. You cried out, your body tensing, your nails digging into his scalp, your hips bucking against his hand, his mouth.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "I'm so close... I'm so close..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust, his mouth glistening with your wetness. "Come for me," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. "Let me feel you come all over my fingers, my tongue."

With that, he dove back in, his tongue finding your clit, rubbing and circling, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that sweet spot, pushing you over the edge.

"Jake!" you screamed, your body convulsing, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers, your juices gushing out, coating his hand, his mouth.

He groaned into you, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, drawing out your orgasm, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body.

When you finally came down from your high, your body still trembling, gasps tumbling out of your mouth, Jake pulled back, his chin and fingers glistening with your juices. He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I could eat you out all day."

You lay there, your body slack and sated, your breath slowly returning to normal, your eyes locked on Jake's as he crawled up your body, his hands roaming over your curves, his mouth finding yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, his tongue, and it only served to heighten your arousal, to push you further into the abyss of pleasure.

Jake slowly pulled off his sweatpants, revealing his hard cock, red and angry, precum dripping and soaking it. He gave himself a few jerks, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and husky, his hand still moving slowly up and down his shaft. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking wet for me. You know, none of the other men you've been with could ever compete with me. I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, who can make you come this hard."

You whimpered, your body responding to his words, your inner muscles clenching with need. Jake leaned down, his mouth finding your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I'm going to fill you up so nicely, baby," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I'm going to stretch you out, shape your pussy to my cock. You're going to think about me every time you move, every time you sit down." With that, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock rubbing against your lips, spreading your wetness, teasing you, driving you wild. You could feel the heat of him, the throb of his arousal. "Please," you whispered, your voice breathless, your body aching with need. "Please, Jake. I need you inside me. I need you to fill me up."

Jake paused, his cock poised at your entrance, his eyes dark with a mix of lust and something more intense. "I'm not fully convinced," he murmured, his voice low. "You've been acting like such a slut, going around with other guys, letting them touch you, fuck you. How do I know you're not just using me for my cock?"

His words stung, bringing tears to your eyes, but they also sent a thrill of dark pleasure through you. "Jake," you begged, your voice hoarse with emotion. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I need you. Only you. I love you. Please, fuck me. Show me I'm yours. Show me I'm yours alone."

Something in your words, in your tears, in your desperate plea, seemed to snap something in him. With a low groan, Jake thrust into you, filling you completely, stretching you out, shaping you to him. You cried out, your back arching, your nails scraping along his naked back, holding him close, urging him deeper.

He stayed inside you for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his presence, his heat. You could feel every inch of him, the throb of his arousal, the power of his body, and it sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. Slowly, you began to clench around him, your inner muscles milking him, drawing him deeper.

Jake choked, a low gutteral sound that vibrated through you, his body tensing, his grip on your waist tightening. You did it again, clenching and releasing, squeezing him, and he pulled back slightly, his hips thrusting forward, filling you once more.

You gasped, your back arching, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Again," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please, Jake. Do it again."

With a low moan, Jake complied, his hips moving in a steady rhythm, each thrust driving you higher and higher. Slowly, his pace picked up, his movements becoming rougher, more urgent, more desperate. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving marks, claiming you, marking you as his. The wet sounds of your connection filled the room, the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of your juices, the low moans, groans, and whines of pleasure.

Jake leaned down, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You know, I had to hold myself back so many times," he grunted. "I wanted to bend you over right there in front of your dates, show them who you really belong to. I wanted to fuck you so hard, so deep, that you'd never forget who owns this pussy."

You whimpered, your body responding to his words, clenching around him, drawing him deeper. Jake's pace quickened, his hips thrusting in a steady, relentless rhythm, each stroke driving you higher and higher.

"Remember that time I walked in on you kissing that guy in the campus library?" he continued, his voice a low rumble. "I wanted to punish you so badly. I wanted to throw you over that table, hike up your skirt, and fuck you right there, make you scream my name so loud everyone in the library would hear. Wanted to make you beg... make you forget every other man but me."

You were too far gone to respond, overstimulated and hot, your body trembling with each thrust, each stroke. You looked up at Jake, your eyes glazed with pleasure, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Jake chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Aww, baby, already cock drunk?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. "You can't even form words, can you? You're so far gone, so lost in pleasure."

With that, he reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing and circling, pushing you over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing, clenching around him as you came, coating his his cock and his fingers.

You twitched slightly as he stilled, stopping his thrusts, instead opting to grind against you, his hips rolling, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, sending aftershocks of pleasure crashing over you.

You whimpered, your body oversensitive, your mind a haze of pleasure and need. Jake only shushed you, his voice low and soothing, his hands gentle on your skin. "Shh, baby, I've got you." With that, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty, your body aching with need. Before you could protest, he flipped you over, his hands grabbing your hips, positioning you on your hands and knees, your ass up, your pussy exposed and glistening.

The sudden feeling of Jake's mouth on your pussy again made you cry out, your body tensing with need. You tried to get out of his grip, your body too sensitive, your mind too far gone, but Jake only slapped your ass hard, the sound echoing in the room, the sting sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. "Jake," you moaned, your voice breathless, your eyes glazed with desire. "Oh god, Jake, please."

But Jake only continued, his mouth driving you wild. You didn't know if you were coming anymore, the pleasure and pain mashed together in a beautiful, chaotic mess. Your body was his to command, his to use, his to devour, and you were powerless to stop him, not that you wanted to.

When you tried to pull away, your body too sensitive, your mind too far gone, Jake only whined, and pulled you back to his mouth, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as he feasted. "Fuck... Jake, I can't take anymore. It's too much. It's too intense."

As if in response to your plea, Jake's mouth suddenly shifted, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue flicking and swirling. With one big suck, he pulled your clit into his mouth, and you exploded. Your body shook violently, a scream tearing from your throat, as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and boneless, collapsing onto the bed, your body trembled with the aftershocks of your orgasm, your mind a haze of pleasure and exhaustion. For a long moment, you lay there, your chest heaving, your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath.

Eventually, you opened your eyes, your gaze drifting down to where Jake still sat and your eyes widened as you took in the sight of him. His eyes were fully focused on your pussy, his gaze hazy and hypnotized, as if he were in a trance, completely entranced by the sight and taste of you. His jaw, chin, and chest were dripping wet with your juices, glistening in the low light of the room. The realization hit you belatedly, and you gasped, your eyes widening in surprise. Jake had come, untouched, just from eating you out.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling. "Jake," you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion, your eyes locked on his. "Oh my god, Jake. You... you came?"

Jake looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something more intense, as a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "Mmm," he murmured, his voice low and husky, a note of pride in his tone. "You taste so fucking good, baby. I couldn't help myself. You made me lose control." With that, Jake flipped you over onto your back again, his movements swift and sure. He spread your legs, his cock already hardening again, ready for more. You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and lingering desire, your body still tingling from your previous orgasms.

"Think you can you give me one more, baby?"

You shook your head, your voice breathless and hoarse. "I don't think I have any more, Jake. I'm spent..."

Jake only smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Then I'll have to take one more, won't I?" he said, his voice a low rumble, a promise of pleasure and possession.

Before you could respond, Jake thrust into you, filling you completely, his body covering yours, his weight a welcome pressure. You gasped, your back arching. "Jake!" you cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "Oh god, it's too much!"

But Jake only growled, his hips moving in a fast rhythm, each stroke driving you higher and higher, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once more. "You can take it, baby," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "You're so strong. You're so fucking perfect. Give me one more. Give me everything." As he spoke, Jake's mouth trailed down your neck, his lips and tongue leaving a path of fire in their wake. He sucked and nipped at your collarbone, marking you, claiming you, his teeth grazing your skin, his tongue soothing the sting, leaving dark marks.

You were only grabbing on, your hands fisting in the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric, your moans filling the room.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, his words slurred with lust and need. "So tight. So wet. So fucking perfect. I never want to leave your pussy. I want to fuck you every moment of every day. I'll never be satiated. I'll always be here when you want someone to fuck. I'll block every guy on your phone so I'll be the only one. The only one who can make you feel this good. The only one who can make you come this hard."

You whined, your body oversensitive, your mind a haze of pleasure and need, your voice a breathless, hoarse whisper. "Jake," you moaned, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise.

"Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes locked on yours, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. "Let me feel you come all over my cock. Let me feel you milk me dry."

With a final, powerful thrust, Jake pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing weakly, your inner muscles clenching around him in a spasmodic, exhausted release. You cried out, your voice hoarse with pleasure, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm, but it was a weak, spent release, your body too far gone to give more.

Jake, luckily followed you over the edge, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing inside you as he found his own release. He moaned and whimpered, his eyes rolling up, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. You could feel him filling you up, his hot seed spilling deep inside you, marking you, claiming you.

For a long moment, you laid there, your bodies entwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal, the sounds of your pleasure still echoing in the room. Jake collapsed against you, his breath hot on your neck, his heart pounding in time with yours.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his body still shaking with the aftershocks of his pleasure. "So beautiful. So mine."

a/n: yeah.. so if this goes good, ill write more smut.

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w2heehoon · 19 hours ago

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 ! (p.sh)

PAIRING: ex-husband!sunghoon x ex-wife!reader (f)

SUMMARY: sick and tired of their parents always arguing whenever one of them comes to pick ‘em up, yohan and haneul (or haneul and yohan, per haneul’s request) decide to organize a mission and make you and sunghoon fall in love again.

WARNINGS: starring JIHOON (reader’s new bf), fluff, divorced parents, shared custody, mentions of hickeys, insults, anger, fights, making out (jihoon & reader - later hoon & reader), memories, suggestive (barely by the end), mentions of pregnancy, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 15th July 2025

WC: 7.9k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14 @mintchocoddeonut @lostgirlysstuff

NOW PLAYING: Keep on Loving You by Cigarettes After Sex & The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift

a/n: honestly i had so much fun writing this! i’ve been a little all over the place so sorry if i took some time to finish it 💔💔 please LIKE & REBLOG to spread 🩷 i’m proud of this, the writing course i took in april is paying off me thinks.

You stepped from the elevator onto the thirty-ninth floor, stilettos clicking over marble, so glossy it caught the overhead lights and flung them back in shards of silver.

The corridor outside Sunghoon’s penthouse still smelled faintly of the cedar-and-bergamot diffuser he favored, familiar, irritating and annoyingly comforting.

Your blouse was perfectly ironed, hair swept into a high ponytail, makeup soft but immaculate.

Beneath the collar your scarf hid the blooming marks Jihoon’s mouth had painted along your throat last nighjt, the silk wrapped delicately each time you swallowed, a secret reminder of how fast you’d already moved on.

You rang the bell. The custom steel door whispered open, and there he was: Park Sunghoon, ex-husband, ex-golden boy, barefoot in a charcoal cashmere sweater and sweatpants that draped too casually on a body still honed like a fencer’s blade.

which was unfair, since you had to hit the gym so much to get your body back after pregnancy.

A crooked half-smile lifted one corner of his lips, the exact smile that used to undo you, and still threatened to annoy you into irrationality.

“Two minutes late,” he said, leaning a shoulder to the jamb. “Color me shocked, you’re slipping.”

“Traffic was charitable,” you answered, gliding past him. “Or perhaps the universe felt sorry for me, knowing I’d be dealing with you.”

He gave a low, appreciative hum while closing the door. “Biting already. I Haven’t even offered you coffee yet.”

“God forbid,” you muttered. “Caffeine brewed by your hands might revert me to our marriage counseling days, and we both know how that ended.”

“Explosively.” His eyes flicked to the silk tucked at your neck, lingered just a second too long. The bastard had always been sharp. “New accessory? Striking choice for July.”

You lifted your chin. “Fashion, Sunghoon. Look it up sometime instead of living in sweatpants.”

He laughed under his breath and motioned toward the sun-drenched living room where floor-to-ceiling windows gave Seoul’s skyline center stage.

Lego castles sprawled across the rug, watercolor palettes lay open on the coffee table, brushes soaking in mismatched mugs.

Voices floated from the hallway: one soft and uncertain, the other bright and commanding.

“Haneul, put that down, you’ll spill!” Yohan fretted.

“It’s fine, dummy,” Haneul declared. “I’m strong.”

You couldn’t help smiling. They were your perfect halves, as contrasting and complementary as moonlight and flame.

The moment they spotted you, four small feet thundered over the hardwood.

“Mommy!” Haneul launched herself first, fierce as always, burrowing under your blouse in search of a hug.

She smelled like finger paint and the strawberry shampoo you’d chosen for her at six months old. Yohan arrived a breath later, slower, shy, but his arms slipped around your waist with a familiar sigh of relief.

“Hey, my loves,” you murmured, kissing each silky head. “Did you behave for Daddy?”

“They over-behaved,” Sunghoon said, folding arms across his chest. “I’m thinking of renting them out as examples to other children.”

Haneul stuck out her tongue at him. “We’re only good because we’re awesome,” she announced.

Yohan tightened his grip on your wrist, “We made you pictures,” he said, voice so small you bent to hear it. “I painted a galaxy.”

“And I drew a tiger eating a monster truck,” Haneul added proudly.

“My little artists,” you praised, gathering both creations. Yohan’s painting was good, while you werent really sure which one was the car and which one was the tigér in Haneul’s “These are masterpieces. They’re going on the fridge.”

Sunghoon’s gaze moved from the paintings to your face. “The kids have packed, everything’s by the door. I labeled the medicine for Yohan’s cough.”

A pause, then with exaggerated politeness he said “Should I also forward their pediatrician records to your… new friend? You know, in case of emergencies between making hickey art?”

Heat pricked your ears, but you smirked “Jihoon’s a doctor, actually, I think we’ll manage.”

“A doctor,” Sunghoon repeated, tilting his head “Good choice, someone has to keep you in one piece after you trip over your own pride.”

You arched a brow “Funny, that’s exactly what he said about you, except with more medical terminology.”

Haneul, oblivious, tugged your wrist “Mommy, can we bake cookies tonight? The really gooey ones?”

“Absolutely. Yohan, you’ll help too, right?”

He nodded shyly. “If I can stir.”

“Stirring is essential,” you assured him.

Sunghoon cleared his throat “Hang on,” he said, and vanished down the hallway. The twins scampered into the foyer to collect tiny backpacks, one blue and one purple.

You waited, fingers tracing the ridges of your wedding band’s phantom imprint— gone nearly a year now, yet some days it felt freshly removed.

He returned with two plushies, Yohan’s weathered penguin, Haneul’s stuffed phoenix, plus a zipped folder “Their latest school forms,” he said, pressing the folder into your free hand. “And Yohan’s reading log. He’s ahead of level again.”

You met his eyes, a reluctant swell of pride shared between adversaries “Thank you.”

An awkward beat.

The kind that used to end with a kiss back when the pauses held gravity, not distance.

He broke it first, voice low “They’re good kids because of you.”

“And you,” you granted softly. It was a truth neither of you enjoyed admitting.

Across the room the twins argued about who would press the elevator button.

Their little voices echoed like bells, filling corners once haunted by adult shouting. Your throat tightened, but hadn’t walked into this ivory tower to cry, so you blinked the tears back.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked, more gently than expected.

You blinked “Peachy.”

He studied you, the way he once did across candlelit tables, conviction that he could read every flicker of thought.

His gaze drifted again to the scarf, and his lips curved, bittersweet “I don’t regret us,” he murmured. “Even if we’re better like this.”

“Better is relative,” you said, checking the time. “And you still owe me half the orthodontist fund.”

“Invoice me, I’ll pay promptly, unlike your boyfriend.” The playful barb slipped out before he could help it. You rolled your eyes.

Haneul appeared between you with the decisive stomp of a warrior princess. “Daddy, hug.”

He knelt, catching her in strong arms.

Yohan edged closer, and Sunghoon embraced him too, kisses pressed to raven hair. “Be good for Mom,” he said, and they nodded. Then his gaze lifted to you. “Text when you get home?”

“I will,” you answered.

This new civility was fragile; you weren’t about to break it.

At the door you paused, adjusting scarf and handbags while the elevator dinged. Sunghoon hovered in the threshold like a man thinking of unsaying things already said.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

“You too.” You hesitated, then added, “Try sleeping before three a.m. for once.”

“Doctor’s orders, I suppose.” He flashed that maddening crooked smile.

The elevator doors slid open, you shepherded the twins inside.

As the doors closed, Sunghoon raised two fingers in a casual salute. You answered with a small, wry wave.

The elevator began its silent descent. Haneul bounced on her heels “Mommy, can we call Uncle Jihoon on the way?”

“Maybe after dinner,” you said, smoothing her hair.

Yohan tugged your coat, whispering, “Will Daddy be lonely?”

Your chest tightened again, but you kept your voice steady Daddy has lots of things that keep him occupied, he’ll be fine.”

The numbers ticked downward.

You inhaled, catching faint traces of cedar that clung even here, and let them pass.

☆.

Jihoon’s mouth had trailed from the hollow behind your ear to the curve of your collarbone, each slow kiss coaxing a sigh you scarcely recognized as your own.

The loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows framed the late-afternoon light, dusty and gold, and the silk shirt you had worn for brunch lay discarded over the arm of the couch.

Jihoon’s hands explored beneath the lace edge of your bra, thumbs stroking the faint bruises his lips had left the night before.

When he murmured your name you arched into him, fingers threading through his soft brown hair.

“You taste like espresso.” he teased, breath warm against your shoulder.

“You made it too strong.” you whispered, nipping his lower lip.

His chuckle vibrated through both of you. “I make everything strong.”

The slow, building pressure of his body against yours blurred whatever fragile sense of time you’d carried in.

He nudged your knees apart, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your sternum, and you tugged at his belt with impatient fingers. He braced an arm beside your head, gaze glossy with heat. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need—” The sentence dissolved when his hips rolled, and you gasped, half laugh, half moan. “Jihoon, don’t—”

A faint buzz rattled somewhere to the left.

Phone? Table? Call? You ignored it, lifting to meet his mouth again. The buzz returned, more insistent, followed by a muffled ping.

Then another.

Jihoon pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling into his eyes. “Want me to toss it onto the obalcony?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Might be the hospital.”

“Fine.” He leaned, snagged his phone, squinted. “It’s yours.” he said when he found no missed call on his.

You frowned.

Your own phone lay face-down on the coffee table, screen pulsing with notification after notification.

When you flipped it, the lock screen lit with Sunghoon’s name… eight missed calls, two voicemails, half a dozen texts.

The last message read at 3:47 PM

Sunghoon: WHERE ARE YOU?

Blood drained from your face.

Pickup was three-thirty.

A twenty-minute cross-city drive in Friday traffic stood between you and the twins.

“Oh God,” you breathed. “I’m late. Jihoon, I’m late.”

He sat back instantly. “What— how late?”

“Half an hour, maybe more if we hit jams.” You shoved into your blouse, fumbling buttons wrong, then right, hand shaking.

The twins had never waited alone— Sunghoon’s anger was one thing, but Yohan’s shy heart twisted at schedule changes, and Haneul’s fierce bravado evaporated when she sensed tension.

Jihoon steadied your wrists. “I’ll drive,

give me the keys.”

“You have a shift—”

“Not till seven, come on.”

You stuffed rumpled hair into a claw clip, found your heels, and snatched your back before quickly bolting out of the house.

While Jihoon locked up, you hit call back. Sunghoon answered on the first ring; the controlled ice in his voice froze your spine.

“It’s four o’clock,” he said, no greeting. “You were due at three-thirty.”

“I know. Traffic—”

“Don’t you dare lie.” A hard exhale. “The twins have been sitting in the lobby with the doorman for twenty minutes because I have a meeting I can’t move.”

Guilt slammed like a wave. “I’m on my way! twenty-five minutes.”

“You should’ve been on your way an hour ago.” The line clicked deadk

Your stomach churned.

In the elevator Jihoon squeezed your hand, lips pressed to your temple. “Focus on breathing. We’ll make every light.”

You half-ran to his car.

jihoon wove through side streets, one palm steady on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in silent reassurance.

You replayed the last four years in the windshield: the final shouting match with Sunghoon, ink drying on divorce papers, the fragile truce of shared custody.

You’d kept promises; pickups, drop-offs, parent-teacher nights— a flawless record until now. Your eyes stung. Jihoon squeezed again. “They’ll be okay, Sunghoon too.”

“Sunghoon doesn’t do ‘okay., he does perfect schedules and synchronized watches.”

“He can survive twenty minutes of imperfection.”

“He’ll make sure I don’t.”

Jihoon hit the horn, merged ruthlessly. “He’ll snarl, you’ll snarl back, then you’ll take the kids home. That’s it.”

The GPS ticked minutes downward while the sun slid west.

At 4:24PM the logo over Sunghoon’s building loomed like a herald of judgement. You leapt from the car before Jihoon had fully stopped.

Inside, the concierge recognized you and your panic, and gestured toward a leather bench.

Yohan sat small-shouldered, backpack clutched to his chest. Haneul swung her legs defiantly, scowling at every adult in range. The instant they spotted you, mixed relief and hurt flooded their faces.

You knelt. “I’m so sorry, babies.” You wrapped them both close. “Traffic swallowed me whole.”

Sunghoon approached from the elevators, suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows, jaw tight. His presence alone thickened the air.

“Thank Mr. Seo for babysitting,” he told the twins, nodding to the concierge. They murmured thanks.

Then his eyes skewered you. “My office lost a forty-million-won client because I had to sprint downstairs.” His tone remained low, but fury simmered beneath. “You didn’t answer until the tenth call.”

“I was— occupied,” you admitted, heat crawling up your throat.

“With Doctor Perfect.” His gaze flicked to the slight smudge of your lipstick above Jihoon’s collar. “How responsible.”

Jihoon entered then, purposeful but calm.

He offered a slight bow. “Afternoon, Mr. Park. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, the delay was my fault.”

Sunghoon laughed once, sharp. “Chivalry? Cute. It doesn’t un-delay my schedule.” He turned back to you. “If you can’t honor the pickup window, you need to let me know, they sat with strangers.”

“Mr. Seo isn’t a stranger,” you argued, but your shoulders drooped. “I know it’s my fault.”

“Damn right,” he snapped, then seemed to remember the children’s wide eyes and moderated his voice. “From now on, if you’ll be late, call at least half an our ahead.”

Jihoon stepped forward. “We’ll set extra alarms. She truly—”

Sunghoon’s palm lifted, silencing him. “This is between their mother and me.”

Haneul spoke up, fierce loyalty flashing. “Daddy, Mommy said sorry. Let it go.”

Sunghoon regarded his daughter, pride and frustration warring.

Yohan’s hand slipped into yours; his small fingers trembled. You tucked him under your arm.

“I’ll make it up,” you promised, meeting Sunghoon’s gaze. “I’ll take them also tomorrow, feed them, homework, baths. Drop them at school in the morning.”

“We already have plans,” he said. “But go now. I have work.” He crouched to the twins’ level, anger vanishing behind tenderness. “Love you both. Be good, buckle up.”

They hugged him tight. When they stepped back he straightened, facing you again, expression calmer but still flinty. “One slip, fine. Don’t let it become a pattern.”

“It won’t,” you said.

Jihoon touched the small of your back— steady warmth. Sunghoon’s eyes tracked the gesture, but he only nodded once, curt, and strode toward the second bank of elevators, phone already to ear.

In the car, silence settled until Haneul blurted, “Mommy, you’re never late.”

You winced. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”

Yohan leaned against you. “We forgave you already.”

Your chest ached. Jihoon glanced in the mirror. “Cookies and extra sprinkles tonight?”

Haneul brightened. “Bear shaped!”

“And maybe a penguin one for Yohan,” you added.

Promise of sugar thawed the tension.

As Jihoon eased into traffic, his hand sought yours again. You squeezed, grateful.

You texted Sunghoon

You: Home safe. Thanks for waiting.

The read receipt appeared instantly, yet no reply came.

Perhaps it wouldn’t tonight. You would face him again at soccer practice on Sunday, armed with punctuality and contrition.

For now you had twins chattering about cookie shapes and a man beside you who smelled of hand sanitizer and steadfast patience.

But it didn’t quite soothe you as Sunghoon’s cedar scent did.

☆.

You had tucked Yohan beneath his rocket-printed duvet at nine-thirty sharp, smoothing the fringe from his lashes while he whispered requests for “just one more chapter.”

Haneul occupied the opposite bunk across the room, arms folded in protest because her brother’s galaxy comforter looked “cooler than boring princess swirls.”

You compromised: two pages more of Tangled for them both and a promise of pancakes at dawn, then a good-night kiss to each forehead.

When you eased the door nearly shut, lwaving a narrow sliver left open so hallway light could chase away nightmares, you heard nothing but the hush of their synchronized breathing and, somewhere deeper in the apartment, the distant drip of the kitchen faucet you still forgot to call the landlord about.

In your bedroom you exchanged slacks for an oversized tee, idly scrolling through Sunghoon’s terse email about next week’s parent–teacher conference: concise bullet points, no greeting, no sign-off, just times and an attachment.

You answered with equal brevity: noted, see you there, and hit send before second-guessing tone.

Jihoon’s name flashed in a new message immediately after.

Hoon 🩷: Miss you already. ER’s a madhouse tonight. Sleep soon?

You smiled at the screen, typed back quickly

You: pancake duty at sunrise but I’ll try.

and set the phone facedown.

The apartment settled into its nocturnal symphony: refrigerator humming, street traffic, a soft river flowing some feet away, and you let eyelids flutter shut unaware of the quiet rebellion brewing down the hall.

Haneul waited until the hallway light dimmed on the smart timer, ten-fifteen, then kicked off her blanket.

She tiptoed across cool laminate, clutching her phoenix plush like a talisman.

Yohan was already half-propped on elbows, eyes wide behind the milky glow of the small astronaut night-lamp.

“You‘re awake too?,” he whispered, voice feather-soft so it wouldn’t carry.

“Mission time,” she declared, clambering onto the mattress beside him.

The springs squeaked; both froze, listening.

No footsteps. No Mommy. Safe.

Yohan scooted to make room, pulling up his notebook, the one with planetary rings on the cover and TOP SECRET scribbled in bubble letters.

Inside, colored-pencil schematics sprawled across pages: stick-figure Mommy and Daddy separated by a jagged thunderbolt, arrows leading to a giant red heart.

Haneul grabbed a purple crayon. “Step one, we need a plan that makes them talk without all the blah blah fight stuff.”

Yohan nodded solemnly, pencil poised. “Like a peace treaty.”

“Treaties are boring. We need… a trap.” She drew a square labelled family patch HQ and, under that, two stick grown-ups with startled eyebrows.

He frowned. “Daddy doesn’t like when we surprise him, and mommy gets scared when daddy is mad.”

“Fine,” she allowed, tapping the page. “Then we make them do something happy together. What do they both like?”

Yohan’s brow furrowed, deep in six-year-old contemplation. “Coffee?” he suggested.

“They’ll just drink and talk about bills.” Haneul rolled her eyes. “Think bigger.”

“Skating!” he blurted. “Daddy took us to the frozen fountain last winter. Mommy laughed a lot that day.”

Haneul’s grin flashed feral. “Yes. Ice. But how do we get them there at the same time?”

They fell into hushed deliberation, heads bent, plush phoenix wedged like a conference mascot between them.

Yohan proposed forged invitations to a “special parents’ night” at the rink.

Haneul countered with a surprise picnic in the middle of the ice, blankets, cocoa, maybe glitter bombs. Yohan worried about glitter in skates; Haneul insisted glitter fixed everything.

They compromised: glitter only on the thermos.

Haneul flipped to a fresh page. “Backup plan in case they can’t pic nic: make them watch old wedding videos.”

Yohan’s eyes widened. “Do we have those?”

“Grandma does. We can ask but pretend it’s for school.”

“I don’t like fibbing.”

“It’s not fibbing,” she soothed. “It’s… diplomacy.” She’d heard Sunghoon use the word during a heated phone call and liked how it rolled off the tongue.

They listed supplies: colored paper, cocoa packets, marshmallows shaped like stars (non-negotiable), enough allowance coins to bribe the rink guard, and Sunghoon’s spare keycard if pick-up shuttling required infiltration of his apartment.

Haneul promised she could swipe it from the crystal bowl by his door.

Yohan fretted about fingerprints, but she waved him off “Daddy is a CEO, not an FBI agent.”

When strategies tired their brains, Yohan yawned cavernously.

Haneul fished a flashlight from under the pillow, clicked it on beneath a shared blanket, and they whispered final oaths of secrecy— not a peep to grown-ups, especially not Jihoon, because doctors asked too many questions.

They spat on palms with theatrical disgust, then sealed the pact with a sticky handshake that made them giggle until Yohan clapped both hands over his mouth.

Haneul switched off the flashlight. She nestled beside her twin brother, fingers intertwined.

“Mommy and Daddy will be happy again,” she murmured into darkness, more a statement than a wish.

Yohan swallowed. “Even if they don’t get married again… maybe they’ll laugh.”

She nudged him with an elbow. “They’ll laugh. And then we won’t have to pack bags every other weekend like ping-pong balls.”

He considered this, then nodded. “Mission: family patch!” he recited, sleep thickening his voice. “Operation commence tomorrow at oh-six-hundred.”

Haneul had no idea what hour that was, but Yohan liked numbers, so she agreed and commanded the phoenix plush to stand lookout.

By the time its stitched wings drooped against the pillow, both children drifted under, breathing in unison, dreaming of twirling ice and microscopic glitter storms, of coffee steam curling between two grown-ups who once loved each other enough to make a galaxy-painting boy and a tiger-riding girl.

Down the hall, you lay unaware, one arm flung over your eyes, pondering whether to email Sunghoon a proper apology for last week’s tardy scramble.

You debated phrasing until thoughts blurred, eventually you decided morning clarity would serve better.

Had you risen to peek in on the twins, like you usually did before sleeping, you might have noticed the double rise and fall beneath Yohan’s quilt or the faint scent of purple crayon still hanging in the air.

☆.

You spent Saturday morning lost in the weekend routine: laundry tumbling in the washer, a precarious tower of receipts on the dining table begging to be categorized, too distracted to notice the unnatural hush in the twins’ room and ghe sudden disappearance of your phone.

Sunghoon, the next day, somewhere across the river, sat in his high-rise office final-polishing a pitch deck, blissfully ignorant that Yohan and Haneul were toggling between his unlocked laptop.

While you counted vitamins into a plastic day-pill container, they sent your mother a text requiring your wedding videos for a school project. She dropped a USB driver when you were busy hanging out the clothes.

Then, they plundered the external drive labeled ARCHIVE— DO NOT DELETE on Sunghoon’s computer.

Up popped camcorder footage: you six months pregnant, satin wedding dress tailored around your belly; Sunghoon in a dove-gray suit, gaze locked on you like earth’s true north.

The twins giggled at their own embryonic cameos— your wobbling walk down the aisle, Sunghoon’s trembling hands when he kissed your knuckles, your joint vows whispered over the soundtrack of distant seagulls.

Haneul clipped segments without mercy, Yohan layering transitions that blinked neon pink and comic-sans captions: LOOK HOW MUCH THEY LOVED EACH OTHER! A royalty-free harp arpeggio looped beneath every frame, jerky and too loud..

Yohan handled logistics. He typed on Sunghoon’s email: “Client call moved. I’ll be offlain after noon.”

Haneul commandeered your phone when you left it charging beside the toaster. Her thumbs flew: “Running errands.” even if she didn’t really know what it meant “Taking kids skating at Star Rink tomorrow, can you grab them at four? :) Grab your skates, maybe they wanna stay longer”

The smiley looked nothing like your usual punctuation and everything like six-year-old exuberance, but they trusted adult obliviousness.

Next they texted you from his own work chat window, Yohan’s idea, so a parallel message pinged onto your lock screen: “I’ll drop twins at rink 3:30. You pick ’em up? Thanks. Bring your skates in case they want to stay longer.”

Then they deleted the threads, archiving proof deep in message trash where no one ever scrolled.

Grandma arrived at noon.

Your mother thought the surprise visit was your idea; you didn’t know that neither Sunghoon nor you were aware of their secret mission.

By three-thirty you shoved your skates into a canvas tote, wondering why Sunghoon had promised the twins ice on a weekend so crammed.

Still, a commitment was a commitment, and guilt over last week’s tardy pickup nipped your conscience.

You arrived to Star Rink’s gleaming atrium just after three-fifty, breath fogging in the artificially cooled air, muttering apologies you’d craft for tiny ears.

The rink looked unusually empty, just a few teenagers practicing spins, no sign of your children skating with your ex husband.

Then a familiar voice echoed across the polished concrete. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Sunghoon strode from the opposite entrance, coat unfastened, skates slung over one shoulder.

His surprise mirrored yours so perfectly it might have been choreographed— which, unknown to either of you, it had.

“You said to be here at four,” he accused.

You blinked. “No— you said i’d grab them at four.”

He frowned. “I have the text.” He dug for his phone, scrolling with brows knit. You mirrored him, finding nothing but your past conversations.

“Where are the twins?” you asked, throat tightening.

“Probably hiding behind a pillar laughing at us.” He scanned the rink. “Come on, rascals, out!”

No answer.

Only the squeak of rental skates and the distant crunch of blades carving ice.

You and Sunghoon shared a look that bridged the chasm of months— parental telepathy laced with worry.

A rink attendant in a blue windbreaker approached, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Park? Ms. L/N?”

“Yes,” you both answered, then glared at each other for saying it in unison.

The attendant smiled like someone who’d been tipped off. “Your children dropped off a USB this morning. Asked us to play it at four sharp. They said you might… need context.” She gestured toward the suspended Jumbotron above center ice.

Its four screens currently looped skate sponsors.

You opened your mouth— closed it. Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed.

“They told us to inform you they are at their Grandma’s, safe and sound.” She made air quotes.

Haneul’s grin flashed in your memory, wicked and gap-toothed. Yohan’s shy collusion behind it. You dragged a hand over your face. “Demons.”

The attendant glanced at the wall clock. 3:58. “We were also told to insist you both ‘get on the ice first so the magic works.’ Their words.”

Sunghoon pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed. “Fine. Humor us.”

You laced skates side by side on a bench, trying not to notice how his forearm brushed yours when he tugged his bootstrings, how the slice of his jaw looked less severe up close, how the citrus-cedar cologne you once bought him still anchored memories.

When you stood, wobbling, he offered a reflexive hand, not the poised businessman, just the competitive skater who’d coached you through a thousand laps in winter courting days.

Muscle memory overruled pride, you let him steady you onto the ice.

The rink felt cavernous without the twins’ chatter. Fluorescent lights struck the frozen surface in blue shivers. You pushed off cautiously, lungs filling with cold whisper-clean air.

Sunghoon glided backward, assessing your form. “Knees bent,” he murmured, in instinctive coach mode.

“I remember,” you said, managing a credible curve. Across the ice, teen couples twirled; pop music thumped overhead. That familiarity, him skating circles until your confidence caught, stirred warmth you tried to quell.

At exactly four-o-one the music cut, replaced by a jarring harp trill booming through loudspeakers.

The Jumbotron flickered snowflakes, then a shaky camcorder frame: you in pearls, belly round under ivory silk, Sunghoon at the altar, eyes glossy.

Your skate edges wobbled. “Oh, my God.”

He looked up, jaw slack.

The audio crackled— your voice in 720p, laughing, telling the officiant a twins joke mid-vow and everyone roaring. Caption bubbles popped: THEY WERE SO CUTE! :’) Glitter GIFs rained down pixelated gold across the screen.

The edit jumped, janky cross-fade to the first dance where Sunghoon’s hands rested protectively on your curve.

A subtitle shouted: LOOK HOW DADDY STARED AT MOMMY!

A collective “awww” rose from rink spectators. Your cheeks burned.

Then the too loud music started, deafening everyone around.

Sunghoon skated closer, voice low. “Where did they even get this?”

“Your archive drive? My mother had a backup too.”

He winced. “I locked that folder.”

“They hacked you.” A short, incredulous laugh escaped. “Our six-year-olds hacked you.”

Onscreen footage shifted to the hospital delivery room, your mother must’ve filmed it, Sunghoon pressing lips to your brow while monitors beeped.

Then a freeze-frame zoom-in on both newborns, overlay text in rainbow font: MISSION FAMILY PATCH: ACTIVEIGHT.

Mutters of delight filtered from onlookers.

You swayed slightly, Sunghoon caught your elbow. For a long heartbeat neither of you moved, riveted by the stumble-through montage, first bath, stroller race, your exhausted faces side by side on the couch.

The amateur edit felt like a love letter scrawled in crayon, messy yet searingly sincere.

When the screen faded to white with a final flourish, PLEASE LOVE AGAIN, silence thawed into soft arena applause. The attendant cut the feed and awkwardly restarted the playlist.

You exhaled, a shudder that misted the chilly air. “They went to Grandma’s so we’d be forced to… reconnect.”

“Tiny criminals,” he murmured, but his voice wasn’t angry. just overwhelmed. And guilty.

You eased back, studying him. Ice crystals peppered his hair where condensation had settled.

He looked suddenly tired, the rapid-fire CEO shutters pulled open to something vulnerable.

“They miss the way we used to laugh,” you said, throat tight.

“Do you?” he asked, earnestness slipping out before he could clothe it in sarcasm.

“Yes,” you admitted, quiet, surprising even yourself. “I miss when we were on the same team.”

He nodded, gaze drifting to your scarf, today a soft gray, no hickeys to hide, “We’re still parents. That team never dissolved.”

“You’re right. We just… forgot how to play.”

He released a breathy chuckle. “Leave it to our kids to schedule a remedial practice.”

You managed a tentative smile. The playlist shifted to a mellow jazz instrumental. Without thinking you extended a hand. “One lap? For old times.”

He took it gently, palm warm through your glove.

Together you pushed off, synchronizing lengths like gear teeth meshing.

The glide settled into familiar rhythm— your left, his right, bodies leaning, inside edges kissing ice.

He matched speed to yours, never showboating. Halfway around, muscle memory took over and you attempted a cautious crossover.

He guided your hips with featherlight fingertips, murmuring corrections the way he had when teaching you to skate backwards: “Weight over the heel, trust the blade.”

Trust.

That had been the fragile axis after divorce, trust in schedules, trust in boundaries, but not in closeness.

Yet here, under fluorescent hum and cinnamon-cocoa rink air, your body remembered what your mind had shelved, you trusted him to keep you upright on ice.

He trusted you with the beating hearts of his children.

When you completed the circuit, neither of you let go immediately.

You drifted near the boards, hearts thudding louder than rental pop. Finally he cleared his throat. “We should call them. Let them know mission accomplished… partially.”

You laughed softly. “They’ll demand proof.”

“Let’s take a picture then, to show them.”

“Alright.” You murmured, taking your phone out of your jeans and handing it to him.

He took it, a shy quirk on an otherwise confident man. “Say cheese.”

His hand rested on the small of your back, so familiar it was almost painful.

Heat jolted through your body, and he must have felt it too because his own shifted closer.

“Cheese.” You breathed out and he took the selfie before giving you your phone back.

A comfortable hush settled.

You studied his profile, the slope of cheekbone, faint crease where laughter used to live.

Something gentle stirred beneath ribs, not romantic lightning, but a warm tide of possibility.

“If we’re going to be ambushed by our own offspring,” you said, “maybe we should carve out time to talk, really talk, before they escalate.”

“Dinner?” he offered, simple as breathing. “Somewhere public. Neutral ground.”

You lifted a brow. “Supervised by waitstaff instead of kindergarteners.”

“Exactly.” His smile warmed. “Next Thursday? I’ll book at that Italian place you like.”i

“Email me the details.” You squeezed his arm once before stepping back. “And… thanks for catching me earlier.”

“Always.” The word hovered in the cool air, sincere and unvarnished.

You skated toward the exit, heart lighter.

Behind you, Sunghoon called after with playful edge, “Try not to be late this time.”

You looked over a shoulder, grin spreading. “Set a reminder for me, tech genius.”

He laughed, unrestrained, head tipped, and the sound echoed like silver bells across the rink.

You carried it with you off the ice, past the attendant who winked knowingly, past teenagers still buzzing about the cutest video ever, all the way to the lobby where your phone buzzed with a photo from your mother: twins on her sofa, popcorn bowl between them, thumbs-up so wide it nearly cracked the frame.

You texted back: Nice try, tiny masterminds. We’ll talk when you’re home. Love you.

You opened Sunghoon's chat:

You: They’re officially grounded from espionage… but I’m glad they tried. See you Thursday.

Three dots pulsed. His reply came shortly after

Sunghoon: I’m glad too. Good night, Y/N

You slipped the phone away, realizing your cheeks still ached from smiling.

Outside, dusk mellowed the skyline into lavender and rose.

You inhaled the bite of winter air the rink expelled each time doors opened and thought maybe patchwork didn’t have to recreate an old quilt; it could stitch something new— imperfect seams, frayed threads, surprisingly strong.

And thanks to two relentless six-year-olds, the first patch was already in place.

☆.

You sat across from Jihoon in the hospital’s rooftop garden, wind tugging faintly at the corners of the pale-blue picnic blanket he’d spread on a lunch break more rushed than he admitted.

A single thermos of his too-strong espresso steamed between you, the scent mingling with oregano from planters that volunteers kept for the pediatric wing.

His eyes, steady, kind and edged with fatigue from a sixteen-hour shift, searched your face while you traced invisible constellations on the blanket’s plaid.

He smiled, soft. “You’re quiet today. That usually means your brain’s ten paragraphs ahead of your mouth.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Guilty.”

“Talk to me.”

The ease in his invitation nearly unstitched your resolve.

You folded your hands, thumbs fidgeting. “Jihoon… I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how to do it without sounding ungrateful.”

He uncapped the thermos, poured you half. “Just say it.”

You met his gaze, the gentle brown that had steadied you through late-night panics and blues, and felt the first sharp twist of regret. “I care about you so much. You know that, right?”

“I know.” A faint line appeared between his brows. “And?”

“And I’ve loved how safe I feel with you, how easy things are.” You wrapped cold fingers around the paper cup. “But after what the twins pulled at the rink… I realized easy isn’t the same as… a spark.” The last word trembled in the air.

He swallowed, intake of breath small but audible. “You mean Sunghoon.”

“I mean the life I had with him. The mess, the fire.” You exhaled. “I don’t want to hurt you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.”

Jihoon’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded once, firm and deliberate. “Feelings aren’t crimes, they just… happen.” He scanned the skyline, blinking hard. “We both knew from the start your heart was still boarded up with ‘handle fragile’ stickers.”

“I thought time would change that, and maybe it could have. But when I stood on that ice and saw the way he steadied me—” Your voice cracked. “I felt something snap back into alignment and I can’t pretend I didn’t.”

Jihoon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you going back to him?”

“I’m going to ask if we can try, slowly. i don’t even know if he wants that.”

He gave a rueful smile. “He’d be a fool not to.” Then, softer, “Do you love him?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then whispered, “Yes.”

Silence hung, broken only by the flap of pigeons and distant ambulance sirens.

Jihoon inhaled and squared his shoulders like a surgeon scrubbing in. “Then you owe it to yourself, and to the twins, to see. And I owe it to myself to not be someone’s gentle detour.”

Tears blurred your vision. “You deserve someone who blazes for you.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone light but eyes wet, “I intend to find her.” He leaned forward, brushed a thumb beneath your cheekbone. “Thank you for being honest before resentment set roots. That takes guts.”

You laughed shakily. “Feels more like cowardice.”

“Honesty’s never cowardice.” He squeezed your hand, then released it. “Go tell him, before I change my mind and keep you here for selfish reasons.”

You rose, tucking the cup near the planter. “I’ll always be grateful of you, Jihoon.”

“Just remember me when the twins need free check-ups. I can still be their uncle Jihoon.” His chuckle chased you to the elevator, bittersweet but genuine.

☆.

Clouds brooded violet over the Han River by the time you stepped from a taxi at Sunghoon’s building.

You forced a breath, rode the elevator thirty-nine floors, and stared at the steel door, heartbeat ricocheting.

Before you could knock, it slid open, sunghoon stood framed in warm lamplight, phone pressed to ear, expression surprised.

He was about to head somewhere, but he ended the call anyways. “Did we schedule something I forgot?”

“No,” you said, voice thin. “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, bare feet on oak planks, the apartment scented faintly of roasted sesame, maybe early lunch abandoned.

He waited until the door shut, then folded arms. “Is everything okay with the kids?”

“They’re fine. At Mom’s till tomorrow.” You swallowed. “I needed to talk… without small ears.”

His eyes softened, wariness mingled with curiosity. He gestured toward the sofa where plushies still lounged from last custody swap.

You both sat, leaving a cushion of space that pulsed with old familiarity and new tension.

You braced elbows on knees. “After the rink video, I’ve been… rethinking a lot.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tensed. “Thought we agreed not to scare them with false hope.”

“This isn’t about false hope.” You looked up, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s about real hope, but only if you want it too.”

His breath caught. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.” Words tumbled out, halting at first, then fluid. “I miss the way you used to leave notes in my pockets, how you’d call from the taxi just to hear me breathe.

you gulped, laying down the cards alongside uour heart “I miss us arguing about which tea to drink and making up before the kettle boiled. I don’t miss the screaming matches or the silence afterwards, but I believe we’ve grown. The twins forced us to see we can still be a team.” You exhaled. “So I broke things off with Jihoon this afternoon.”

Shock flickered across his features, surprise, then something almost like relief.

He reached for you, stopped, lowered his hand. “I don’t want you to choose me if being with him made you happy.”

“I know,” you murmured. “And lord, he was amazing.”

You looked up at him, emotions flickering on your face “But he wasn’t you.”

Silence pooled, thick but gentle. Finally he asked, “What does ‘try again’ look like to you?”

“Coffee on Sunday mornings, just us, talking about anything except bills. Shared therapy if we fall into old traps. Dates, real ones, ending in separate apartments if pace matters. Honesty every step.”

“And what if the spark still scorches us?” His voice husky.

“Then we keep ice buckets nearby,” you teased, then sobered. “I’m not promising a fairytale, just the chance to rebuild.”

He stood, paced to the window where Seoul glittered like scattered gemstones.

Reflection haloed him in citylight. “I never stopped loving you,” he said, quiet, raw. “I just stopped believing love was enough.”

You rose, walked until you stood an arm’s length away. “Love isn’t enough. But love and work, and two pint-sized spies, might be.”

He laughed softly, turned, and took your hands. “Okay,” he breathed. “Slowly.”

“Slowly,” you echoed. The warmth of his palms radiated up your arms, familiar and electric.

He drew you into an embrace— tentative at first, then securing, his chin atop your head, your ear over his heart.

The rhythm there felt both new and remembered. You closed your eyes, inhaling cedar and a hint of sesame, and let your muscles melt into a shape they’d once known by instinct.

Minutes or hours might have passed, until finally Sunghoon pulled back a fraction, eyes shining. “Stay for dinner? I burned the sesame oil but I can salvage the soup.”

You smiled through wet lashes. “I’ll chop scallions.”

His lips curved, softness where they’d once been rigid with pride. “And after we eat, we’ll draft a co-parenting treaty version two. The kind with glitter.”

“All treaties should have glitter,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you moved toward the kitchen, steps slow, hearts quicker.

Behind you the plush phoenix slumped against the penguin on the couch, as if exhausted from orchestrating fate.

The sizzle of rekindled soup and the gentle scrape of knives against cutting board marked the beginning, not of going back, but of beginning again, eyes open, promises tempered, sparks tended, slow and deliberate as the first stroke of a painter restoring a treasured canvas.

☆.

The slow-burn weeks unfolded like pages warmed by sunlight:

Thursday pasta in your kitchen where Yohan grated parmesan with the gravity of a jeweler cutting diamonds and Haneul dirtied the whole table with tomato sauce.

Saturday mornings on Sunghoon’s cavernous couch, your sock-clad feet tucked under a shared blanket while Haneul narrated every plot twist.

Sunday morning pancake (very poor) art, followed by polite squabbles over syrup real estate.

Between those orchestrated family moments lived quieter, riskier hours, you and Sunghoon trading texts about who’d forgotten the dental forms, a lingering brush of knuckles while rinsing dishes, the way his gaze tracked you when he thought the twins weren’t looking.

No lightning strike, no fireworks, just kindling stacking itself, breath by breath, until even a whisper could set it alight.

The spark finally caught on a drizzly Friday café run.

You’d slipped into his apartment with take-out bulgogi and a box of those “unnecessarily cute” star-shaped macarons that made the twins squeal.

Post-dinner they demanded a pillow-fort marathon of Spirited Away, then conked out before Chihiro met Haku.

You and Sunghoon carried them, limp with sleep, to the joined rooms they had, the very first room you had used.

When you straightened, Sunghoon’s hand stayed at the small of your back a fraction longer than necessary, you turned, breath hitching at how near his lips had drifted.

No audience. No distractions. Just you, him, a hush weighted by weeks of restraint.

“You’re wearing the honey lipstick again,” he murmured, thumb ghosting the corner of your mouth.

You swallowed. “Maybe I remember it’s your favorite.”

His laugh rumbled low, intimate. “Flattery, or a tactical move?”

“Depends,” you whispered, pulse hammering.

He leaned in, tentative once, then confidence flooded as your mouths met, soft and searching, the air swelling with the musk of his cologne and rain on windowpanes.

The first kiss tasted of nostalgia, salt-sweet like melted macarons; the second tasted of now, your tongue sliding against his, a hungry sigh you’d forgotten your body could make.

His palm cupped your jaw, thumb tracing your pulse, the heat where he touched felt almost unbearable.

When he drew back, breathing ragged, he whispered your name the way it used to fall in the quiet just before dawn: reverent, claiming, achingly gentle.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, forehead resting against yours. “If it’s too fast—”

“Don’t stop,” you answered, fingers fisting in the collar of his henley. “Please.”

Walls you’d rebuilt brick by brick tumbled with shocking softness.

He nudged you against the hallway wall, kisses deepening, teeth grazing your lower lip.

Dirty words slipped from his mouth, pet names soaked in promise, in memory of every night you’d once mapped each other’s bodies, and you answered with a breathy moan that made him curse softly.

His hands found the hem of your dress, palms warm against your thighs, but he slowed, seeking permission, you guided his wrists higher.

Fabric rustled, buttons surrendered, you pressed close, reveling in the feel of his broad back under your roaming hands, the ripple of muscle tightening as he lifted you slightly to fit knees between your legs.

Desire pooled, insistent yet exquisitely familiar, as though this dance had only paused, never ended.

“Bedroom,” he managed, voice gravel.

You nodded, mouths colliding again as he half-walked, half-carried you down the hall.

And you collided in bed, sheets tangled around your forms dancing a tango you had forgotten was so familiar with him.

Morning sunlight shone through the curtains Sunghoon had forgotten to open the prior night.

You stirred first, disoriented, then aware of every muscle pleasantly overworked.

Sunghoon’s arm lay across your waist, his hand splayed over your stomach. You tilted to watch him sleep, lashes fanning his cheeks, lips parted.

Sheer peace... well, a peace that shattered with the stampede of four small feet.

The bedroom door crashed open, squeals ricocheted off walls.

“Attack!” Haneul shrieked, launching herself onto the mattress.

“Dad, wake up!” Yohan followed, slightly less feral but equally determined, penguin plush waving like a flag of conquest.

Sunghoon woke with a strangled grunt just before twenty-five kilos of enthusiasm landed on his rib cage. You fumbled to pull the duvet higher— too late. Haneul’s eyes went huge.

“Mommy’s wearing Daddy’s shirt!” she crowed, triumphant as a detective cracking a cold case.

Yohan grinned. “Mission success?”

You gaped, cheeks flaming, while Sunghoon scrubbed a hand over his face, half mortified, half amused. “Guys, personal space?”

“It’s dawn,” Haneul reasoned. “Cartoons await!”

“I think it’s barely seven.” Your voice rasped embarrassingly. “Can’t cartoons wait till coffee?”

Yohan shook his head with solemn conviction. “Cartoons fuel creativity.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Your bedtime documentaries are paying off.” He sat up, duvet after all staying mercifully in place, and hauled both kids into his lap, pressing kisses to disheveled hair.

His eyes slid to you, warm, just a hint of mischief. “What do you say we make pancakes? Mommy and I can supervise from the couch.”

“With syrup rivers!” Haneul insisted.

“sprinkles too,” Yohan added.

“Deal,” you said, laughter bubbling. You squeezed their ankles affectionately. “But maybe let Mommy find pants first?”

They scampered off, shouting about mixing bowls. You sagged back, exhaling a near-hysterical giggle while Sunghoon tipped his forehead to yours.

“Well,” he murmured, “that escalated quickly.”

You smacked his chest lightly. “You know they’ll brag about this for years.”

“Probably.” He threaded fingers through yours. “Worth it.”

Your smile softened. “Yeah, worth it.”

Down the hall cupboards slammed, utensils clanged, and a shriek informed you a measuring cup had become airborne.

You swung your legs over the edge, tee skimming thighs, and stood. Sunghoon caught your wrist, pressing a tender kiss to the inside.

“Round two tonight,” he teased, voice low. “Kid curfew enforced.”

Heat curled in your belly even as you rolled eyes. “We’ll see if Chef Daddy survives breakfast first.”

1K notes · View notes

w2heehoon · 19 hours ago

Text

Your Best Friend’s Brother - N.RK

— -> 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ::: Your best friend warned you about her older brother: Nishimura Riki. College dropout, cocky, reckless. Home for the summer and already making trouble. You didn’t expect him to be so hot. Or so impossible to ignore. 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ::: fem reader x Bestie’s older brother!riki 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 : Forbidden attraction, Best friend’s older brother, Forbidden desire, height kink, mutual teasing, hand-over-mouth, first time tension, slow burn → rough, desperate sex. ( silly billy- wrap your willy. ) Master-list! <- —

———————— ◮ ◮ ◮ ◮ ————————

It starts with a towel.

That’s all he’s wearing when you step out of the hallway bathroom—hair wet, tank top clinging to your chest, phone in hand.

And he’s standing right across the hall. Towering. Shirtless. Fresh out of the shower. Water dripping from his collarbone. Towel low. Too low.

Riki.

Your best friend’s older brother. The one she warned you about.

“Don’t even look at him like that,” she said, half-laughing. “He’ll ruin you.”

You never intended to look. Not until now.

You freeze—your breath catches. He doesn’t. His lips twitch instead, slow and cocky, like he knows exactly where your eyes are lingering.

“You good?” he murmurs.

Your mouth goes dry. You nod too fast. “Yeah—yeah, sorry. I didn’t know you were—”

“Naked?”

Your eyes dart back up. Big mistake. He’s smirking now, and you can’t look away from the water rolling down the line of his abs.

“Didn’t mean to make you nervous,” he teases.

“I’m not nervous.”

He leans in, just slightly. “Your voice says that. But your eyes?”

You flush so hot you could melt through the carpet. And then he turns—walking back into his room like he didn’t just shatter your spine.

You don’t breathe again until his door clicks shut.

The tension only gets worse.

He lingers in the kitchen when you come down for snacks. Sits shirtless in the living room after the gym, towel around his neck, sweat on his skin. You catch him watching you stretch on the porch, earphones in but eyes sharp.

And you should leave it alone.

But you wear shorter shorts. Squeeze past him when you don’t need to. Bend over slower when picking something up.

You’re playing with fire.

And Riki is gasoline.

It’s one of those summer nights—humid, quiet, with everyone asleep upstairs. You’re in the kitchen in your tank top and sleep shorts, sipping water when you feel it.

A presence.

You look up—and there he is again.

Shirtless. Grey sweats. Hair damp from another late-night shower. He moves to the fridge without a word, gets a water bottle, and leans back on the counter. His eyes drop to your thighs.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Too hot.”

He smirks. “Yeah. You look like it.”

You try not to choke. “Is that a line?”

“Not unless you want it to be.”

You snort. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He steps closer. His voice drops. “Maybe. But you haven’t stopped staring.”

You back up until your lower back hits the sink. He follows. Stops inches from you. His hand brushes your hip.

“Say the word,” he says lowly, “and I’ll go.”

You’re not thinking. Not breathing.

You don’t say the word.

His mouth crashes into yours.

It’s filthy—messy—tongue and teeth and years of silent build-up. His hand grabs your waist. Yours fist into his hair. You gasp, and he takes it as permission—licking deeper, dragging his palm up your spine, pressing his body into yours.

His other hand cups your jaw. Tilts you where he wants you.

You moan into his mouth.

He pulls back just enough to pant, “Been thinking about this every damn night since you got here.”

You look up, dazed. “Riki…”

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, “and I swear I will.”

You grab his face. Pull him back in.

He lifts you onto the counter like it’s nothing. Hands slide up your thighs. The cold marble kisses your skin, but his palms burn. He’s all over you—pulling your tank top down to expose your chest, mouth sucking a nipple hard, then switching sides, lips and tongue devouring you like he’s starved.

You arch. Cry out.

His hand claps over your mouth.

He looks up at you with his head still buried in your chest. “You’re gonna wake the whole house,” he breathes.

You nod under his hand.

He kisses your stomach. Lowers your shorts. Your panties go with them. He parts your legs with both hands, kneeling in front of you.

And then his mouth is on you.

You jolt.

Tongue dragging slowly through your folds, teasing your clit, then sucking it between his lips. He flattens his tongue—flicks. Moans into you like he’s addicted.

Your hands grab his hair. Your hips twitch.

He hooks one arm around your thigh to pin you open.

You’re seconds from cumming—and then he stops.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Why did you—?”

“I wanna be inside you when you fall apart,” he says, standing.

You blink up at him, flushed and needy.

He drops his sweats.

No boxers.

He’s already hard—thick and flushed and heavy in his hand. Your breath hitches.

“Scared?” he teases.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He laughs, low and sharp. Then lifts you off the counter, carrying you to the hallway bathroom.

“Riki—what if someone hears—?”

“We’ll lock the door.” He kicks it shut. The lock clicks. “And I’ll keep you quiet.”

He sets you on the edge of the bathroom sink. The mirror behind you reflects both of you—his taller frame towering over yours, your skin flushed, his dick pressing against your thigh.

“You sure?” he says softly.

You nod.

He slides two fingers between your legs, tests your wetness, and groans. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“Wonder why,” you bite back.

He smirks, guiding himself to your entrance. The first push is slow—stretching. Big.

You grip the counter.

He watches your face in the mirror. “That’s it. Good girl. Take it.”

Your eyes roll back. The stretch is overwhelming—hot, deep.

When he bottoms out, his hand flies to your mouth again. “Shh, baby. Can’t be loud.”

You nod, trembling. He begins to move.

Each thrust knocks breath out of you—his hand tight over your lips, his hips slapping into yours.

“Been thinking about this for years,” he growls into your neck. “You walking around in little dresses… acting like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You moan under his palm.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You like being used like this, huh? Getting fucked in your best friend’s bathroom?”

You nod desperately. Eyes glossy. Hands scrambling for his shoulders.

He pulls out, spins you around, and bends you over the sink. Your face pressed to the cool mirror. He slides back in—harder.

“Watch yourself,” he pants. “Watch how good I fuck you.”

You cry out—he claps his hand back over your mouth.

The rhythm gets rougher. Meaner.

His free hand wraps around your throat, pulling you back into him.

You see everything in the mirror. Your flushed cheeks. His gritted teeth. The glistening slide of your bodies joining.

You’re going to break.

“Gonna cum?” he pants. “Let me feel it.”

You clench around him.

And then you’re cumming—shaking, mouth open under his palm, muffled whines pouring out as your legs nearly give out.

He groans, pulling out—stroking his cock once, twice—

And then he’s cumming all over your back. Hot, messy, breathless.

The silence after is heavy. Breathing ragged.

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Fuck… that was insane.”

You slowly lift your head, still bent over. “You’re gonna clean me up, right?”

He laughs. “You’re spoiled.”

“And sore.”

“Good.”

He wipes you gently with tissues. Hands still soft even after everything. Helps you into your shorts. Kisses your neck again.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers.

You look up. “In your bed?”

He smirks. “Under the covers this time.”

“And what if your sister finds out?”

He tilts your chin. Kisses you again—slower, sweeter.

“She won’t,” he says. “Unless you scream next time.”

———————— ◮ ◮ ◮ ◮ ————————

©svgarz

544 notes · View notes

w2heehoon · 19 hours ago

Text

[would it scare you?] - yang jungwon

genre: smut / angst/comfort

description: for six years, jungwon has been your best friend. he hides his aching obsession from you, however, too afraid you'd just cut all ties with him if you ever found out how deep that obsession ran. eventually, jungwon has had enough - enough of hearing about your dates, enough of the relentless teasing from his friends, and enough of pretending he could ever be content with calling you his best friend for the rest of his life. contains obsessed best friend jungwon x fem reader ft. heeseung, jay, and sunghoon, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), marking, blood (implied), bruising, some violence, protectiveness, possessiveness, won is a perv, panty stealing, cockwarming, biting, fingering, nipple sucking, cum eating, almost half of this is smut

length: 14.6k words a/n: this is my CHILD. thank you to @venomhee for supporting me and giving my needy ass praise while i wrote this and @intromortal for reading it first and hyping me up and reassuring me that it's not ass :D i'm currently in a post-drunk haze and my vision is blurry it's a miracle i'm typing this goognight. i hope u all enjoy and thank you so much for being patient with me in posting this!!

throughout the course of the past six years, yang jungwon has learned to battle the ferocious beast that shreds his insides, aching to escape, whenever he’s not soothed by your presence. he knows it’s strange – the violent feeling that stews inside of him when he’s overstayed his welcome to the point of it no longer being normal, and he has to part ways with you. parting ways with you; sure, easy enough. at least such an action would be easy if his life garnered any other purpose, aside from saturating all of his senses in anything related to you. unfortunately, and as mockingly apparent as it was, jungwon’s life garnered no other purpose. therefore, it was never easy.

when it came to you, jungwon was so hyperaware. a hyperawareness which stemmed into every physical reaction of yours, every mannerism, and every emotion it alluded to. he knew everything about you, all of everything, things that you probably couldn’t ever learn about yourself. all your sides, all the things which bring you happiness, anger, sadness. all your secrets, all the things you’ll never share with anyone else because of the fear of their reaction. you never had to fear jungwon’s reaction, though. jungwon was never repulsed by you, and nothing about you ever made him want to distance himself from you. gosh, that’s such a silly thought to him. he only ever wanted more. that’s all he could ever feel for you, was a constant loop, and ache for more. an ache which far surpasses the regards anyone holds towards their best friend, but for the time being, he’s happy to have at least earned that title from you.

“peas, yuck.”

the sound of your voice captures his attention, and he would say it made him divert his gaze to you – but who is he kidding, he was already looking at you. was there somewhere else he could be looking, anyway? however, this information was new to him. you don’t like peas? jot that down, he thinks.

he’s at your place, ever the usual, sitting at your counter and observing the sight of you in your kitchen, scrolling through the board of recipes you’ve gathered on pinterest. that’s all he ever wants to willingly partake in; watching you and whichever activity you’ve decided has seized your interest that day.

oh, if watching you wasn’t rewarding. delicious. you’re bent over the counter, phone in hand, but he’s far from concerned with your phone; not when you’re putting all his favorite goodies on display. if they could understand him, he would easily say ‘thank you’ to the soft shorts you donned, simply for disclosing the smooth flesh of your thighs and framing the plush swell of your ass so perfectly. your body, fuck, if that’s not something he really loved about you. over the years, he’s created a detailed map, captured detailed memories of every inch of skin your clothing has allowed him to see even a brief peak of. all the beautiful traits surrounding you, the kindness and grace of your soul, and nothing short of a smokeshow of a body to pair with it. holy fuck, you’re an angel if they’ve ever existed.

he clears his throat, the dryness of it evident in the rasp it creates. his thoughts were beginning to carry him away, much like they always do when he’s around you. it irritates him to no end, merely for the possibility of missing out on any form of any sound your breath might escape you in.

“what are you looking at, babydoll?” he asks, his voice soft, still with a hint of the rasp he earned from his shameless distraction. the pet name always slips out when he talks to you. the first time it happened, you were a bit taken aback, but it’s not like you ever said anything in protest. you’ve grown pleasantly accustomed to it now, though, and you’re not sure of the last time he’s ever called you by your real name. that delights him to no end, since it makes him feel more like he owns you. which he does, you just don’t know it yet.

“just some pasta recipes. but after seeing all these peas, i think i’d rather bake something instead,” you tell him, straightening your position from the counter – a tragic loss for the perverted little goblin inside of jungwon – and moving to gather all the tools necessary for your mentioned activity.

his eyes follow you, almost as though they were tracking devices programmed with auto-targeting precision to lock aim upon you. shameless, greedy in his gaze, more-than-admiring the ratio from your shoulders, to your waist, then your hips. to him, the importance and significance just bloomed from every perceivably minor feature that aided in creating you. the subtly visible blemishes on your shoulders, the way each tendril of your hair spilled over your neck, the way your flesh rippled and jiggled from your thighs up to your ass as you walked. as might be expected, no different from all the other times hes ever spent in your presence, the blood began rushing to visit him in his cock. he’s having such a hard time, in such a vast array of ways. fortunately for jungwon, you always seemed to be distracted in some way– something he learned to love about you. because, well, it’s you, and because he’s yet to be caught solid and poking through his pants in front of you.

“you really like baking, huh?” he inquires, the soft tone of his voice bleeding into the soft smile settling on his face. his voice was always ironically casual in a way that never betrayed his thoughts which were anything but. after all, six years is plenty of time to reign control over those things.

you flash him a soft, natural smile which he doesn’t miss. however, he also doesn’t miss the way your tits bounce slightly after your heels touch the ground, having elevated yourself on your toes to reach for a bowl. under absolutely no circumstances would jungwon miss that. as if it aided the situation for him at all, more blood rushes to visit his awakening cock.

“yea, i do. i love the decorating part too.”

“i know you do.” of course he fucking knows.

with the same autonomous instincts as always, his eyes attach themselves to the way a radiant smile decorates your face as you read the notification lighting up your phone screen. what’s this, he thinks. what was making you so damn happy, and why wasn’t that smile directed towards him? something as beautiful as a smile you create should only ever be directed towards him.

“oh, yea!” you start, striding to stand directly across from the counter where he sat, phone still in your clutch. it’s apparent to him from the blazing excitement in your tone, for something he wasn’t responsible for, he wasn’t going to like this one bit.

“i didn’t tell you about the date i’m going on tomorrow.”

for a moment, the world seems to halt in it’s rotation – jungwon’s world, at least, which so shamelessly, obviously revolved around you. any syllable following the word ‘date’ seemed to drift into a languid murmur as that single, treacherous word blared echoes throughout his vacant mind. the possessiveness spreads over his rational thoughts like an infection. the air surrounding him sinks into his chest like cinderblocks. the pressure constricts his throat, as if the words you spoke placed a hand there. no, not this, he thinks. anything but this.

managing enough self-control to present himself normally – normal for him, at least – he schools his expression. his front teeth sink into his tongue, his cheekbones even more prominent for a moment before he mutters, “what date?”

you knew jungwon felt an intense protectiveness towards you, it was nothing new. one that translated into the way he demanded every trivial detail of any endeavor you participated in which didn’t involve his company, not just dates. going to the doctor? he wants to research him. seeing your family? he wants you to text him. planning a girls day? he wants to know how long you’ve known them.

a date, however, was an entirely different arena.

your expression softens into fond resignation, your mind preparing to quell the queries you know are pending behind the protective gleam in jungwon’s eyes.

“he’s a guy i met recently. he’s a friend of a friend, he asked me for my phone number when she introduced us.”

that wasn’t enough to subdue your best friend.

“describe him.”

oh, here he goes. the manner in which his words travel to you, the command they carry with them, makes you falter subtly – a certain sensation fills your chest, a sudden sense of apprehension, hardly apparent, but apparent nonetheless, melds with the fondness expanding within you. what was jungwon planning on doing with that kind of information?

you comply, however, listing off the attributes of the man – the man whom you only planned to get a harmless cup of coffee with – like you were filing a police report.

“does that make you feel better?” you ask your best friend, a sense of amusement with his antics betraying itself in the laugh laced with your question, and the tone in your voice that almost tells him ‘you’re being ridiculous.’

jungwon knew he was being ridiculous, but it’s not like that would ever stop him. he’s never been reluctant to question you in his superabundant way, nor will he ever. even if you think his reactions are undue, he just wants to be absolutely certain you’re safe, protected with every waking moment. the only issue is, he’s only ever convinced of your safety when you’re with him.

a laugh escapes him in a breath through his nose. no, actually. his tension isn’t eased at all. he can’t tell you that, though. he can’t tell you that he wants to camouflage himself in a bush near the window of the coffee shop you’ll be taken to. that’ll just make you run away, he thinks.

“a little better. just– share your location with me. even if you think you don’t need to,” he reminds, gluing his gaze to yours to be sure his conviction sticks with you.

“okay, okay. i will, jungwon. you don’t need to go all ‘hitman’ on me. now come help me choose what i’m going to wear.”

before he could muster a facade of neutrality for that, though, jungwon needed to gather his composure. he slips away from you, muttering a ‘be right back,’ and rests his back against the shut door behind him as he arrives to your bathroom. it was almost a temporary oasis, since it allows him to reel his thoughts in without your presence – a presence he loves, but only serves to further complicate his turmoil, currently. he shuts his eyes, smushing his eyelids together as he draws in a long breath, allowing it to escape him once he’s confident the tension will escape, too. once he opens his eyes, reabsorbing his surroundings, grounding himself, his eyes drift to the pile of clothing you left in the bathroom – forgotten after you shower, he’s sure. with his curiosity consuming him, and his morality leaving him, he rummages through the pile until he’s met with the lacy cloth he aimed to find – your panties. he brings the thin fabric to his nose, allowing your scent to fill his nostrils with a hearty sniff. before he allows himself to drift too far into arousal, he simply pockets your lace thong – you won’t notice just one pair missing, right? without a single drop of regret swimming in his body, he exits the bathroom, and approaches your awaiting figure in the kitchen.

none the wiser, how cute.

in tandem, the two of you file into your bedroom. jungwon isn’t exactly wild about the idea of helping you to choose the outfit you’ll be wearing for a man who isn’t him. perhaps, he can convince you to wear something of his – drowning your figure and proving his claim on you, all at once. but who is he kidding.

“okay. i was thinking,” you start, heading into your closet as you speak to him, laying the three outfits you’ve indecisively cycled through onto your bed. “maybe the dress would be the best option.”

dress? oh, absolutely not, he thinks. even if he was left with only one ounce of energy in his body, he would use it to snatch the dress away from you, and prevent you from ever presenting yourself to that man in it. his mind led him down a path of various scenarios – one being the fact that this man would likely receive the pleasure of seeing your snail trail once you stood up from your seat, if he encouraged your decision to wear it. fucking bastard, he thinks, at the mere image, mere possibility of this unfolding. he wouldn’t even consider the man lucky, only ungrateful, in all honesty, because he probably wouldn’t even lean down and sniff it.

he must sway your convictions elsewhere.

“no,” he responds plainly, scanning over the other options you all-too-eagerly laid out on your bed. “this one’s better,” he fibs, extending his arm to gesture toward the flattering top and pants laying humbly among the other two options. “i think it’ll really suit you. plus you love those pants, right?” in actuality, he knew the dress would snatch away anyone’s breath who saw you in it, but the selfish part of him only wanted you to look appealing to such an extent for him.

much to jungwon’s dismay, the dress called, and called you, drawing your attention as though it grew arms and began to wave them in the air. “ugh, but… a dress would be better for a date, right?” you lift the dress from the bed by it’s hanger, holding it against your body. he knew this would happen, he knew you wouldn’t actually take his advice, but the thought of your date seeing the legs he staked an imaginary claim on was simply unbearable. “i want to really look nice. besides, it’s been a little while since i wore those pants, i’m not even sure if i would look good in them anym–”

speaking of unbearable. the thought of you finishing that sentence was every facet of that word.

“don’t,” he intrudes, his voice carrying a bit more force than he intended. he coaxed the dress from your grasp, uncurling your already loosening fingers from the hanger with ease, and placed the pants there instead. “don’t even say that. you’re all kinds of perfect. so i’m serious, don’t say that again.”

you, not looking good in something? he could almost laugh at the thought, if it didn’t irritate him so much. it was so ridiculous and outlandish, he wanted to kick the thought from your brain, and into the trashcan.

you fondle with the pants jungwon placed in your grasp, averting your eyes for just a moment as you attempt to regather the composure he stole from you. it was no secret to you that he found you pretty, since he reminded you nearly as frequently as daily. those words, however, being spoken to you with such honesty and conviction, was a brand new territory – inviting butterflies into your stomach that you had no idea how to care for.

you clear your throat, though there was nothing obstructing it. then, you tuck your hair behind you ear, though it was already there. distractions, little fruitless movements you always completed on autopilot to cope with the fluttering feelings erupting in your system. jungwon began to discover the reason for these actions over the course of your friendship, studying each motion and the reason behind it’s dawn. jungwon could describe how you were feeling, even if you never said a word. that’s how he’s grown to be, with you. all the same, an almost pleasant feeling visited him at your current disoriented state.

“well… thank you, won,” you tell him, which he found endlessly endearing. you couldn’t ever let a compliment reach your ears without an expression of gratitude leaving your lips. “but it’s just… i was already kinda set on the dress,” you admit, a playfully sheepish smile spreading it’s way across your face as your gaze ascends to his. “it feels right.”

jungwon chuckles, almost bitter, but it still dances with the same level of friskiness you send to him. “why did you even ask for my advice if you already knew what you wanted to wear,” he grills, a very rational question highlighting the very irrational course of action you just subjected him to. his question only earns a giggle from you, one he pockets in his brain like gold as you toss the pants back to him.

“oops,” you shrug exaggeratedly, an equally exaggerated expression meeting your features. “i guess it just helped me to confirm things. that, and it was fun.”

his endearment possesses him to shake his head at your answer, though he was never truly perturbed by the time he found himself spending with you. “yeah, wear your dress, then, but i hope you remember the false sense of influence you just gave me,” he jokes, but he also began to prepare for the impending loss of sanity he’d experience as the time for your date rolled around.

farewell to any chance of you wearing those pants, he thinks.

in coalition with the day of your date, jungwon planned to meet with the group of friends he’d developed beyond the separate realm of delirium he created for you. regardless of his constant stubborn refusal to be anywhere that you weren’t, he still found the time to see them. in fact, sunghoon was the entire reason why he even found the opportunity to spend each of his waking moments thinking about you – see, sunghoon met you first, and gradually developed a bond with you once you began tutoring his sister. one specific day, sunghoon invited his buddies over to his house during a tutoring session of yours, one of which happened to be your soon-to-be secret – albeit unhealthy – admirer. when jungwon laid his eyes upon you, his mind was overcome with cliches which he never imagined he’d experience; the dreamily windblown hair, and a sequence of slow motion which only seemed to be visible for him. needless to say, once you caught his eyes, the friendship between the two of you bloomed and flourished rapidly – after jungwon received a bit of nudging from sunghoon and the others, of course. in the same sense, jungwon beared endless gratitude toward sunghoon for introducing the two of you, although sunghoon would never allow that fact to slip his mind, for that matter.

“dude, she’s on a date? i bet you’re fucking pissed,” heeseung teases, taking another sip from his beer, the pink tint on his cheeks making it clear that this wasn’t his first.

of course he was fucking pissed, he thinks. even if he’d lived through this before, endured the duration of your dates on other occasions, it never seemed to pass any easier for him.

jungwon’s shoulders tensed slightly, and despite his relaxed posture against his chair, his hand clenched into a fist upon the table where it rested. his knuckles worked, fingers dancing faintly as he attempted to calm himself. “yea, i’m pissed. but it’s not like she hasn’t been on other dates before. it might not even end up meaning anything,” he responds, his words only as hopeful as they could possibly be, amid the tumultuous images of you, being charmed and swayed as he sat dormant in this restaurant – the restaurant he often found himself retreating to on occasions similar to the current one.

a chuckle resounded through the cozy tenor of the restaurant, then came jay’s turn to pile on the punishment, as he piped up from his seat beside jungwon.

“you keep hoping it doesn’t. but what are you gonna do if it works out this time?” he plops his hand onto the base of jungwon’s neck in a mockingly comforting gesture, giving him a shake that says ‘snap out of it.’

a sigh drifts from jungwon’s lips as his knuckles continue to dance. gosh, he doesn’t even want to think about that. it was hardly imaginable, the possibility of your usual doomed relationships and flings blooming into something which will truly keep you intangible.

“i-i don’t know. i just… i don’t feel like i can tell her how i feel. i don’t wanna… scare her away,” his eyes remain planted onto the half empty glass of beer in front of him.

this time, sunghoon chimes in, his lips curling amusedly, though not enough to reveal his sharp canines – he did hold sympathy for his friend, after all. “jungwon, come on. it’s been years. if you were gonna scare her away, i think you would’ve already done it,” he pokes, allowing jungwon to remember that his behavior still isn’t quite normal enough to maintain a best friend level, even with his attempts to hide himself.

another sigh leaves jungwon, as though that’s all he can will himself to do. “you don’t get it, man–”

jay interjects, letting out a laugh akin to a scoff, as though he already knows the words that are going to tumble from jungwon’s mouth – in all honesty, he does, and he’s growing weary of the tiptoe routine his friend is performing. “nah, we ‘get it’ just fine. she didn’t pick up on all your telepathic signals, now you look like an idiot all because you won’t shoot your shot,” he leans closer to jungwon for a moment to stress his point further. sunghoon and heeseung laugh, only providing more of a grating sensation on jungwon’s nerves.

heeseung nudges jungwon’s foot under the table, his smile still broad from his laughter. “i can’t blame you for wanting to be careful, though. if you weren’t so obsessed with her, i’d be all over that, i mean, goddamn…”

jungwon’s brows knit, and his teeth just might crack with how tightly he’s clenching his jaw. “what?”

sunghoon nods, a smirk finding his features as he admits to his concurrence with heeseung’s crude revelation. “yea, that body, man… jungwon, if you let her stay single for too long i might just have to make a move on her myself,” his canines glinted on full display as his words pumped a nearly irrepressible fury through jungwon’s blood.

they’re just messing around, they’re just messing around, they’re just messing around. he urges his mind to repeat the words, hoping that the attempts of self-regulation alone will prove sufficient against the wrath bubbling within him. a familiar possessiveness travels through his veins as though he’d been bitten.

as jungwon shuts his eyes, jaw taut and knuckles equally so, heeseung permits another jeer to spill from his throat. “i swear, man, if you don’t hurry up, maybe i’ll just fuck her. i’ll have her bent over something quicker than–”

it took every grain of his willpower to repress the possessiveness, the ferocity, but those words snatch all control away from him. his eyes fly open, and his chair falls helplessly behind him as he leaps up, grasping heeseung’s collar across the length of the table, hauling the taller man from his chair.

“watch what the fuck you say about her, heeseung,” he seethes, his eyes manic, his words struggling to project past the anger in his throat – akin to the way heeseung struggled to breathe as his shirt collar dug into his neck. in every form, jungwon was livid, features betraying every trace of it, his veins pulsing through his forearms as he tightened his clutch on heeseung’s collar. when it came to you, his instinct to protect sharply surpassed any regard he held for anyone.

without a moment to spare, observing jungwon’s ravening emotional state, jay and sunghoon rise to their feet, prepared to aid the situation – the efficiency coming to them so quickly granted they’ve lived this reality before. jay begins to pry jungwon from heeseung, providing him with placating words as though he were a brutish predator. “jungwon! jungwon, calm down, man,” jay eases, his concern steadily dissipating as he notices the tension leaving jungwon’s shoulders, unwinding from his fingers, and lifting from his knitted brows. in spite of it all, jungwon’s eyes still simmer with his rage, stubbornly refusing to tear away from heeseung’s form. “i’m not kidding,” he states further, wanting to be certain that heeseung understands his seriousness, his conviction in his claim that you were strictly off limits.

heeseung adjusts his shirt, giving jungwon a light, yet chiding push which earns a glare from both sunghoon and jay, who only wish to see the end of this situation. “chill, jungwon. i was just kidding,” a subtle chuckle erupts from his chest as the rigidity begins to melt from their discussion. “i mean, why are you only getting mad at me like sunghoon wasn’t talking shit, too,” he points to sunghoon with his thumb, a nudge from the mentioned finding it’s way into his shoulder soon after. “you’re just gonna throw me under the bus?” sunghoon bites back, his expression exaggeratedly incredulous, though there was not a trace of any true bite within his words.

jungwon looks away, a sheepish smile discovering his features as his friends’ bickering persists, unveiling a gentle trace of his dimple. he felt a little silly now – he knew he exploded, allowed himself to get riled up like a child. it was about you, though, and in that moment he just couldn’t navigate the ability to gather his impulses. jay’s hand slinks from his shoulder, a breath leaving him in relief. “fuck, man,” he murmurs. “don’t do this in public again.”

the afternoon following your date, jungwon found himself on your sofa, listening intently as you blathered about how disappointing it was – it took a certain level of resolve to prevent himself from whooping in glee, reveling in the relief that he could still cling to his false sense of ownership over you. nonetheless, he listened with concern.

“it’s just… he was very… strange,” you admit with reluctance, placing the folded shorts you held on the sofa beside you, and reaching into the laundry basket to grab another item of clothing.

jungwon’s eyes trace each of your movements, his mind blooming with images of you, sitting across from a man whom he had scarce knowledge of – merely his appearance and the fact that he’s strange.

“strange how?” he takes a moment to blink as his mind threatens to fantasize about your figure in the skirt you were currently folding.

“just… he had a strange way of ‘getting to know me.’ i don’t think he was actually concerned with that at all,” the dismissive lilt in your voice signals your dismay as the skirt in your grasp plops amongst the pile beside you.

jungwon absorbs your expression — he knows every overtone of that expression, as he does the rest of them. “what kinds of things did he say?”

your shoulders deflate, a hefty sigh fleeing from your chest soon afterward. the reluctance in your eyes renews the curious vigilance already dancing behind jungwon’s, and the next words leaving your tongue would prove difficult for him to absorb, he was certain.

“well… he—” you pause in search of the courage to tell jungwon, the most tactful way to form the sentence, wary of the manner your words would reach him. “he kept asking if he could take photos of me.”

the sheer crudity of the words that man spoke to you led him to inhale crisply, though the sight of the faint bruise wrapping around your wrist catches the air in his throat. how had he missed that before?

jungwon leans forward from his lounging position on the couch, his elbows adjusting to rest on his knees. the familiar protective glare glinted once again, his hands wringing so furiously that the sound of his skin rubbing together could be heard in the burdened silence of the room. he didn’t meet your eyes – his eyes only bore focus onto the discoloration marring your beautiful skin, attributable to only one specific person, he was certain. the tightness of the atmosphere hugged your body, and the stable pause from jungwon stretched into nearly an entire minute, offering you no consolation.

“tell me what he did.”

“jungwon–”

“tell me what he did,” his eyes finally capture yours, the demand blazing behind them piercing you enough to pin you to the cushions of the sofa. he extends his hand to lay hold of your wrist, the subtlety, the tenderness of his fingers against your skin contradicting the rigidity of his words. he would never hurt you, beyond any trace of about, no matter the intensity of his anger.

“he… he did this when i was getting out of the car, after he dropped me off. he grabbed me because i told him i wasn’t interested in seeing him again. then he… he looked like he realized what he was doing, and he stopped. tried to make it seem like it was just a joke,” the tears tickle your eyelids before you can even will them away, and the genuine terror you felt from last night began to swell in the center of your chest.

the terror was accompanied ruthlessly by guilt – guilt stemming from the way you planned to withhold this experience from jungwon, in an attempt to prevent any pain he would be subjected to by extension. you knew how it would hurt him, you’ve seen it on boundless occasions in the past. even a small bump into the wall would have jungwon ready to send a sledgehammer straight through it. the gravity of the treatment you received from the man you saw last night could only brew an unfathomable feeling of him, one you never wished to seem him suffer from. it couldn’t be comfortable for him, battling a rage which could only subside partially from acting upon the mercilessly brutal images in his mind.

“why weren’t you going to tell me?” the agony sailing within his voice pushes the tears down your face – you hadn’t anticipated the fact that his misery would only increase tenfold upon the discovery that you were going to try and hide your pain from him. gosh, he could read you so well. the soft chuckles you make when you divert your attention to the joke you hear from the tv, the giggles that erupt when you’re promptly reminded of something you found funny months ago, and the way your lip quivers, the way you seem to try to still it with a clamp of your teeth, when you’re hesitant to tell him something. harboring an emotion he can only detect as shame, though he can’t imagine why you would ever ferment such a feeling when you’re with him, swaddled by the safety of him – reassuring, endlessly understanding him. the man you never felt judged by, in the slightest.

“i… i didn’t want you to be hurt or stressed by it, won. i knew you would be angry… i just… i didn’t want it tormenting you. i’m sorry, i–”

jungwon gently silences you, soothes you with a hand through your hair, guiding you to lay your head easily in his lap.

“hey… babydoll,” an exhale leaves him with such heavy tenor, the firmness buried within his eyes only softening as he engrosses himself in the sight of your tears. he caresses your head, his nails providing a tender scratch that always dispels any burdens you carry, urging you to just let it all out, without saying the words. “you know i’m not mad at you, right? it’s okay… just… please… don’t feel like you have to hide anything like this from me. i want to protect you, from anything. i want to know, so i can,” his voice holds a devastatingly unimposing, quiet conviction that slows the rapidness of your pulse, reminding you that he welcomes you, completely transparent.

“i will, won… i… i’m sorry,” the final streams of your tears sink into the fabric of his pants, darkening tiny spots within it.

his hand slips from your hair, only for a moment to embark on yet another journey of comfort, coasting his thumb along the slipperiness of your cheek, easing the gush of your tears. “you don’t need to keep saying that, alright? you don’t even need to feel that. you just didn’t want to hurt me, and that’s so precious. just… that’s just not something you need to even think about. the only thing that could hurt me, is not being able to protect you.”

jungwon truly did love the way you seemed to want to protect him, too, from all the situations you knew would awaken the fury within him – just as he loved all of your traits. in the same sense, he grieved at the thought of you hiding a part of yourself from him, something which caused you pain, for the sole sake of sparing him. his existence revolved around shielding you from all pain, and all the forms it may attempt to reach you in. he longs to protect your light, your happiness, though he doesn’t feel as though he’s done a very fine job in fulfilling that purpose – not after that man hurt you, and he wasn’t there.

your head burrows further into the comfort of his thigh, your hand resting limply among the same space. “i… thank you won. i love you. from now on, i’ll be better. i promise.”

and there it is, for the hundredth time. the sincere, though perceivably platonic manner in which those words tumble from your mouth. the absence of any deeper, romantic undercurrents almost carved a pit into his chest, everytime. though in all honesty, he could never will himself to complain about any trace of affection he received from you, no matter how friendly it may come. your proximity only sent him into a further spiral – when you’re this close to him, it proves marginally more difficult to stop himself from just smothering you with his love, revealing to you every extensive, intricate layer, every steadily developed line of the oh-so-painfully complex emotions he carries for you, throughout every waking and dreaming moment of his life. his life that would feel so futile, if not to be spent orbiting you, and he’s not even sure that the word ‘emotion’ will suffice to describe what ignited in his body as he came to know you.

“i… i love you too,” i love you more than the word love will allow, he wishes he could say. “and… and don’t say that. you don’t need to change at all. you don’t need to be anything more than the beautiful person that you already are. do you understand?”

you shift your eyes to lock with his, a feathery smile discovering your lips. you couldn’t ignore the new tears that nearly blurred the sight of jungwon in front of you, his words washing over you, stunning you like a tide. so consistently, jungwon makes you feel so needed, like such a necessary presence in his life. you’ve never experienced that before, with anyone else. “yea, won. i understand.”

his gaze does not avert, his eyes remaining present with yours as though a string of glue kept them connected, prohibiting them from straying.

“what? you look like you wanna say something,” your words puncture the brief silence, tossing a bucket of realization and restraint onto jungwon.

he does want to say something, so many things for that matter. he almost hates just how perceptive you are, the only thing stopping him being the fact that he cannot hate anything about you. alas, he cannot seem to hide things from you; you’ve known him for equally as long as he’s known you, and you’ve grown to learn his mind, his mannerisms, his habits. well, in better terms, he can’t hide the fact that he’s hiding something, because he can damn sure hide things from you – he’s been doing it for years.

“nothing, just… i hate seeing you cry. are you alright?” his words were fully, wholly true, though there was a plethora of confessions hidden beneath him which he could not allow himself to reveal to you.

“mhm, i’m fine. i am now, because you’re here,” you allow a deep breath to run through you, your chest swelling with the cozy affection you held towards him. your instincts warn you that he’s shrouding something else, though you decide not to pry. not now, at least. nonetheless, your words brighten jungwon’s eyes, a warm light filling them as he allows them to dive into each crevice of his brain, emitting dopamine through each of their travels.

his hand finds solace in your hair again, ruffling the tendrils in a subtle shake, ‘so sweet,’ leaving his lips to fill the air in an almost inaudible timbre.

“oh yea, i couldn’t find one of my thongs while i was folding my laundry. i wonder if the dryer ate it,” you allow the information to settle casually, sobering from the solemn spell cast upon the both of you.

“hm? yea, dryer probably ate it,” he feigned innocence, pretending as though he were none the wiser, when he knows all too well they’re laying blissfully among the surface of his nightstand.

his gaze persists upon your form, his smile, his eyes unveiling the feelings you stir within him. every detail of you is so charming to him, everything surrounding you and the world he seemed to step into whenever in your presence. he’s seen it all, watched it all, fell indescribably enamored with it all.

‘let me take you shopping, get your mind off things.’ jungwon allowed those words to visit you the morning after he offered you bundles of comfort, during the phone call you typically receive from him every morning – he tends to call you, if not already in your presence, with the intentions of ‘checking up on you,’ and ‘wondering what you’re up to.’ in all fairness, both of those desires are true, though he also just loves to hear your voice. by this point in your relationship with jungwon, you’ve grown accustomed to having him by your side at all times, it would be strange if he wasn’t there.

“i wanna try and find some new skirts today,” the sound of your voice seems to mirror the grace of the wispy clouds in the sky today, at least to jungwon. the two of you travel the sidewalk of the tranquil shopping strip, the presence of others scarce at the time of day you both chose – jungwon knew you would prefer the nature of these conditions, and he would too, because it meant more of his focus was reserved by you.

the sun blared warm, bright, in such nourishing rays today. all thanks to you for being alive and giving it light, he thinks.

the smile so graciously splitting your face seemed to be fed by the bright day, and by the various trinkets and collectibles glinting in your eyes. clearly, you enjoy shopping, though he cannot pretend as though that’s something he hasn’t already gathered awareness of – his entire mind is dedicated to storing your interests, after all.

he trailed beside you as you entered the next store you were drawn to, itching to browse. his presence loomed over you as though he were a protective shadow, the reminder of his protection placed in the subtle hand on your lower back. as silly as it may seem, he was never unprepared to send glares in the direction of any man who dare even glance at you with a flicker of interest or curiosity. you were his, after all.

he watched you, admired you, basking in the way you always seemed to be illuminated – you were shining, even underneath the draining fluorescents of the store. it was almost as though a spotlight followed you everywhere, but the way you shined under his gaze did more than any hollow light ever could even dream.

“this one’s pretty,” your words snatch his attention, and his eyes avert to the dress held in your grasp, dangling from the clear hanger. “don’t you think so?”

though his eyes only skate over the fabric for a brief moment before returning to your beautiful face, he still answers, “yea, it’s pretty.”

with a small shake of his head, hoping to shake up the thoughts residing there as well, he allows a small laugh to leave him in a breath. “i thought you were looking for skirts?” he bathes in your presence fondly.

“i am, but that was before i saw this,” the dress persists in your hold, a signal to jungwon that you wanted to buy it – though jungwon certainly would not let you pay for it, just as he prohibited you from spending money on any of the items resting in the safety of the bags he held for you.

“i’ll pay for this one, though, won–”

before you can even complete your tedious sentence, jungwon intercepts with “i already told you, don’t worry about it,” his expression mimicking the candor of his words. the grimace you send him is not accompanied by any true annoyance, just an affectionate taunt.

“alright, have it your way. i’m gonna go try this on,” you further your playful derision as your tongue pokes out in his direction, the dress donning your figure swaying in a manner similar to the one in your grasp as you walk away.

his eyes remain bound to your figure as you descend further into the direction of the fitting room, not faltering until hem of your dress disappears behind the door.

awaiting your return, jungwon settles upon busying himself by sifting through a rack of clothing in search of pieces he yearns to see you draped in. then, upon your anticipated return, the compliment begging to erupt becomes lodged in jungwon’s throat – he notices him, a man flawlessly befitting the description you provided him with before your date occurred, approaching you with purposed steps that shriek in confirmation of his suspicions.

it’s almost as though an inexplicable, phantom force seeps into his bones, his flesh, assuming control and steering every action from this moment forward – a force created by him, birthed by his possessiveness, rearing it’s head and jumping into his skin. kill him, kill him, kill him, choruses through his mind, but he’s certain he’s going to make him suffer a fate much more harrowing than death. the memory of the bruise on your delicate wrist revisits his mind, touring every wrinkle and rewriting each one as a vessel for vengeance. he knows, he’s going to kill him.

your focus never left jungwon as you stepped out of the fitting room, gleefully oblivious – you hadn’t yet garnered notice of the familiar man approaching you, though the sight of jungwon’s eyes veering pointedly away from you roused an air of foreboding within your stomach. the moment you follow his quickening movements, however, a sudden understanding rings an alarm within you.

jungwon breaches the distance separating him and the man before you can penetrate your frozen stupor. his hands fasten around the collar of the man’s shirt, ramming him into the adjacent wall with such a horrific thud that the decorative pieces tremble and slip to the floor.

“you touched her,” the focus he carries in effort of bringing suffering to this man seeps into his features, his eyebrows dragging towards one another, a crinkle sprouting in his expression. the air surrounding jungwon almost blackens with the intensity of his all-encompassing resentment, his wrath, cloaked by a dire promise of punishment.

you’ve never heard such a voice from jungwon, not throughout the entire duration of your time together. sure, he’s been protective, and sure, he’s gotten angry with you when you put yourself in dangerous situations. this, however, was so unfamiliar. panic clutching your heart, you hurry forward, placing a quivering hand on jungwon’s shoulder.

“jungwon! it’s okay! jungwon!”

your words don’t reach him, akin to the lack of reaction he gives to the sensation of your hand against him. although, even if he found the ability to steer focus toward anything aside from the man in front of him, he certainly wouldn’t agree with your words – in his mind, it was far from ‘okay.’ the vision of this man bringing fear and dread to your heart, the sight of the bruise he left to wrap around your precious skin was in stark contrast with ‘okay.’ the man hurt you, therefore he needed to suffer, and that was the only sensible conclusion jungwon could reach.

“you thought you could just get away with it, didn’t you? she’s mine. you don’t get to even look at her, and you damn sure don’t get to hurt her,” the steadiness, the ease of his words only further enhance the illusive dark air around him. jungwon demands eye contact with the man as though a spell forcing submission was laced within his pupils.

as the hunger to inflict pain on this man persistently pulses through the taut veins of his forearms, jungwon yanks him forward, slamming him back against the wall once more with enough force to cause his head to bounce sickeningly against it.

“don’t come near her again, or so help me god, i will kill you.”

the unease, the distress filling you at the sight of jungwon in such a manic state only peaks in severity. you renew your vigor, tugging against jungwon’s shoulder with both hands in an attempt to separate him from the man, to reach him and pierce the haze he’s trapped in.

“jungwon! that’s enough! please, let’s just leave!”

in an instant, he turns to face you. the tension in his brows lessens as he studies the worry littering your entire demeanor – eyes nearly trembling, chest heaving, hands clinging to the fabric of his shirt with such quivering force. the words you shouted in your dismay sounded almost distant, as though he was in a glass enclosement and your voice could only narrowly reach him. now, however, everything seems much clearer.

he releases the man, unconcerned with his condition, his eyes persistent in the glow of your frame as though you were guiding him from a dim chamber of imprisonment. without a second of hesitation, he catches hold of your hand, and leads you back to the dressing room.

once you preserve enough control over your shakiness to change, jungwon guides you out of the store in silence.

the door to his place closing behind you almost seems to commence the pending conversation between the two of you.

she’s mine.

the words revisit you relentlessly, along with the memory of the devotion, the determination he held in protecting you. although jungwon’s protectiveness was no secret to you, the sight of him undertaking a complete transformation, moving as though he were possessed, was something you couldn’t have ever prepared yourself for. the feelings concocting within you, the concern, the unease, the subtle intrigue – you were entirely unprepared for those, too.

“won, are you alright?”

your gentle voice fills his senses, as a sharp inhale fills his lungs. he turns to face you, battling reluctance in meeting your jumbled expression, and he pauses, observing for a moment as you stand in his entryway.

“i… yea. yea. i’m sorry, babydoll,” his steps guide him closer to you, eliminating the space as though you were magnetized. “i’m so sorry, i just… i saw him, and i… god, i lost control,” his hands ascend to rest in the comfort of your cheeks, thumbs cascading along the skin with evidence of previous tears. “are you okay?”

your mind made the question much more challenging than it should be.

“i… why did you do that to him, won?”

jungwon could sense where you were taking this conversation, he knew you were confused, but he was unsure just how much he could reveal to you without making you run far away from him.

his hands slip from your face, landing among your shoulders instead.

“i would do anything for you, you know that,” the words reach you so casually, yet you knew they were shielding a goldmine of much more, and you were not going to stop until you struck it. sure, it was true, but the intensity of his wrath stemmed from much more than a loyal friendship, and that much was certain.

“i know you would, won. but that’s not what i mean. you wanted to kill him. you told him i was yours. what did you mean by that?”

the sofa to jungwon’s right side suddenly became very interesting. he couldn’t will himself to look you in the eye, not with the weight of the secrets he’s withheld from you for the past six years.

“it… it doesn’t matter. i just don’t like seeing you get hurt, alright?”

you brush his hands off your shoulder, though only with gentle intentions. moving to stand in front of him, yearning to meet his eyes and catch a glimpse of even a portion of the emotions concealing themselves behind them, you demand his eye contact akin to the manner he usually does with you.

“no jungwon, that’s just not it. why can’t you tell me how you feel? we’ve always been honest with each other, at least i thought–”

“yea, sure. we’ve always been honest with each other. but would you still want to be around me if i told you even half the things i think about, everytime i see you?”

the raise of his voice, the tumultuous fire blazing within his eyes as he finally drills them into yours both serve to weaken your stance as shock harrows through you.

“what… what do you mean jungwon? maybe i’ll surprise you.”

there it is. there’s the leverage of hope you give him to cling to with your reassuring words. every fiber of his muscles, his flesh his bones, howl a pleading chorus to just tell you, to finally free himself from the self-invented prison he’s been rotting in for years. the fear, however, grips the key with such daunting force – jungwon would move everest if it meant you would realize the how he felt for you, how heavenly the relationship between the two of you could potentially be. the only issue he’s ever faced, is the danger of shoving you away from him with his admission, and facing the cruel reality of never standing in your presence again.

“it… it’s not that simple. i’m willing to bet you’d be a little scared of me if you knew how i really felt about you.”

you grasp hold of his hand, hanging onto it with both of yours. “jungwon… it is that simple. please. i’m asking you, just tell me.”

your eyes, those treacherous orbs which always seemed to hold the ability to shatter any sense of reluctance he ever held. now, he knows – this is the moment, this is when it happens. his feelings will finally leave his mind, and crawl into his actions instead.

with the grip you initiated through both of your hands, he yanks your figure to meld against his as his lips meld with yours. his lips meet yours with the intensity of every answer to your question – he’s unleashing it all, everything he kept hidden in the locked box inside of his brain, all the fantasies, all the reactions he could never share. he’s unleashing it all, right now, in this moment with you, and he’ll never put the lid back on.

his free hand cascades along the expanse of your back, the curve of your waist as is descends to the swell of your ass, where it decides to settle. the other hand soon follows, freeing itself from your loosening grasp as it caresses the same path of your body through your dress, burying itself into your pillowy flesh. though as quickly as they land there, spending a moment to revel in the flesh he’s ogled for years, his hands slink along the lines of your waist once more, sliding along your arms as he guides them to rest around his neck. he’s in complete control, painting your body with his demanding desire as he hoists you up, his sly smirk curling against your lips as your legs wind around him with no inquiry for instruction.

jungwon treks the journey through his house to his bedroom, the sounds of his impatient footsteps, his lips smacking against yours, the sounds of your pleasured breaths passing into his mouth all fading into the tension-filled air as he finally, after much time to contemplate exactly how he’d treat you here, lays you onto the tender surface of his bed.

once your body sinks within the plush of his blanket, he separates himself from you, merely enough to provide space for his hand to clasp onto your jaw, his lips still feathering against yours. jungwon presses his fingers into your cheeks, a subtle “open” dancing from his lips to caress against yours as he urges your mouth to relax, stretch wide. the sight your mouth provided him with forced his cock to press into your clothed pussy harder, reminding you of the extent of the intensity he held towards devoting himself to every inch of your body. your saliva was so thick as you opened wide for him that it sprawled from your tongue to the roof of your mouth, creating a wall for his tongue to pass through upon entry – a wall which served only to invite him, rather than prevent him. for a moment, he wonders if your pussy will be wet enough to do the same, once he’s granted the honor of laying his eyes upon her, the sweet girl. though who is he kidding, the desperation crawled over your expression, mirroring his own, so of course you were wet enough for that.

his tongue pushes into your mouth, moving through your saliva with reverence, and he traces, cherishes every slimy crevice of your tongue with heed. your sounds, your moans only spur him to kiss you harder, press into you harder, cranking up the intensity of his fervor. he’s searching for you, for all of you, anything related to you. he needed more, more, more, of every delicious bit of you.

warring with reluctance, the pulls his lips from the kiss, though he presses one, two, three slippery pecks against your dilated, pouty lips. your chest heaves from the vigor he pumped into every second of the kiss, your eyes burying themselves under the gaze he pins you with.

the gaze is quick to wane, as his lips embark a journey along your jaw, slopping kisses onto each bit of skin he can find there. layering praises into each press of his lips against your skin, he murmurs, “fuck… good, so fucking good, babydoll,” in fragments, the pressure of his breath puffing against the skin of your jaw as his breathing grows huskier, more taxing from the contact of your body and his own. he’s so, torturously aware of every point of contact in which his body meets yours, he can hardly restrain the ache to rut against your clothed warmth.

in a languid descent, he drags the tip of his nose along the skin underneath your jaw, tickling the surface as he lands upon your neck. gliding up the familiar course of your waist, his hand skips as it skates along the sweat beginning to bloom on your neck, his thumb aiding him in tilting your head back – a larger expanse of your neck presenting itself tauntingly to him.

he inhales, deep and uninhibited, your scent diffusing through his lungs and permeating his senses in the utmost delectable aroma he’s ever smelled. as his eyes roll back, his mouth quickly presses into your neck, slipping open as he he sucks an utterly greedy amount of skin. his teeth soon follow, sure to leave indentations – he wanted to be sure you knew who owned you once he made you pass out on his bed.

the cry that flees past your lips has him leaning away from your neck, boring into your eyes. “don’t whine, babydoll. i need to mark you.”

his mouth pursues his mutilation of your skin, painting your neck in his saliva and an intense indigo of bruises created to remain with you incessantly. then, as he cascades along the fabric of your dress, reaching them hem, he asks, “are you ready for what happens when this dress comes off?”

though your nod grants him the permission he so feverishly craves, it’s simply not enough.

his thumbnail digs into the flesh of your thigh, leaving an indentation which will soon be followed by others. “say you’re ready babydoll. i need your words.”

your gentle whimper, and reflexive twitch of your leg precede your reply of, “i’m ready, won.”

once the words fall from your lips, his fingers brush against the straps of your dress, urging them to dangle defenselessly against your shoulder as his lips latch onto your clavicle. while all-but-swallowing the skin there, he tugs your dress along your skin in a tender scrape, revealing parts of your body he’s yet to explore as the dress traverses the paths he’ll soon cross. only parting when he must pull your dress down the expanse of your legs, he draws the dress from your body like a breath, lifting it with reverence.

as your dress plunks down onto the floor, jungwon allows himself a moment to simply stare, absorbing, collecting, finally viewing every visible portion of your body, the body he’s been abstained from for so, so long.

then, his gaze climbs your body and rises to your eyes, basking in the sheer neediness he discovers there – neediness blossoming from the mere proximity of your bodies, the sensation of your lips moulding, the submission of donning his marks. you have absolutely no idea how beautiful your desire looks on you, he thinks.

“you look fucking beautiful, just as desperate as i am, huh?” he lifts your wrist to his mouth, his fingers breezily wrapped around it, inhaling your divine scent once more. “you have no idea how good you smell, or taste. i’m gonna devour you, you know that?” the breath laced within each of his words whisk along the skin of your arm, and his lips follow quickly behind their trail, pressing into your skin with worship, exploration.

jungwon kisses you again, your lips merging only briefly until they land upon your shoulder, his hands guiding you to lean forward as he unclasps your bra deftly, lifting it from your body to accompany your dress.

he allows the sight in front of him to completely submerge him – the disbelief, the surreality of your tits displayed before him when he’s only ever found the good fortune to leer at them through your clothing. “oh my fucking god,” the adoring whisper erupts from his throat as he leans down, scattering damp kisses along the valley of your breasts, the swell, the temperate quiver of his lips only sending goosebumps along your skin and further hardening your nipples.

of course, jungwon notices – just as he’s nimble in noticing any development gracing your body or mood. his tongue slithers from his mouth, flowing along your skin until he meets your nipple, leaving a trail of slimy saliva in his travels. in spite of the vicinity, he doesn’t provide any kind of contact – he planned to keep you waiting, for certain. not as punishment, but reverence. it was impressive honestly, the patience he presented, considering the strict abstinence he placed on himself from indulging in you. though now that you’re spread beneath him, he’s going to take his time unwrapping every bit of the gift that you are to him.

jungwon’s tongue circles, swirls the skin surrounding your nipple, though he entirely avoids it – he can’t just slurp it into his mouth as he wants to, as he knows you want him to, he must wander the vast island of your beautiful body that he’s been graced with. shutting his mouth, he gathers his saliva, allowing it to pool onto his tongue, rolling his tongue out and observing wickedly as it coats your nipple, gliding along the bud in a warm glaze.

a stuttered gasp escapes you convulsively, and your body attempts to retreat further into the mattress as your fingers cling to the fabric of his shirt. the sight causes jungwon’s cock to leap against you, weighing heavier against your heat – the heat concealed only by the lace of your panties.

“w-won, please!”

the chuckle rising from his amused arousal breezes directly along your agitated nipple, a truly strategic move by him. his hand squishes against the plush of your breast, only urging your nipple closer to his mouth as he speaks. “what’s the matter, babydoll? you know i need to take my time,” his lips caress your nipple as he utters the devious words to you.

“i-i know, but… but god, i can feel you,” your hips twitch from the symptoms of the torturous restraint they’ve only scarcely clung to, until he presses them further into the mattress with his own, the heft of his cock only encouraging another surge of your arousal, drenching the lacy tendrils of your thong – how sweet, the sight of your desperation building with his own.

“oh, i know babydoll… fuck i can feel you too. you’re making me so fucking hard,” he knew you could feel him, the fabric of his pants expanding to accommodate his sprouting length, the magnitude of the stretch almost concerning.

cracking his narrowly held restraint, jungwon encompasses your nipple with his mouth, sucking, swirling, and flicking his tongue around the hardened bud. when your hands entangle themselves in the tendrils of his hair, he hums, and moans, sending vibrations though your already quivering body which pull a jolt from you. jungwon only follows your body as you attempt to retreat further into the mattress, attempting to escape the flutters of harrowing pleasure that his warm, brutally slick tongue pours onto you.

your hips push against his heft with newfound resistance, your hands willing his head to stay in place and wishing to push him away all the same – though your indecision when faced with such pleasure encourages jungwon to slide his tongue along the valley of your breasts in search of your other nipple, providing a surge of the same treatment onto it.

the sound of your moans dwindling into silence don’t signal a lack of enjoyment to him – with a glance upwards, taking in the sight of your flickering eyelids and your slackened jaw, he knows you’re merely facing such an overload of sensation that sound can no longer spring from your throat.

jungwon pulls his lips from your nipple, languid in each movement, still clinging to the feeling of such a sensitive part of you gliding along his tongue, and savoring each response you gifted to him.

with a final taunting bite to your nipple, and two kisses traced with praise and awe, he completely separates his mouth from your tits. “look at me.”

your eyes haul open, gathering your scattered focus and landing upon the man resting just above your torso. his mouth still carrying the sliminess of his encounter with your tits, his chest prodding against your torso with each inhale, and his own eyes muddled and dim, a peek into the havoc of his mind.

“my little babydoll, already so worn out,” he leans forward to seize your fluffy lips again, his nose running along the skin of your cheek as he continues. “you’re adorable, you know that? i just wanna keep making you feel this good, but it’s so hard not to just–” he inhales heavily, the fragrance of you reminding him to slow down, to delight in the feast of your body without a hurry.

“won, i’m so sticky.”

jungwon is racked by a physical pain as you mutter those words, so tender, so sweet, his sweet, sweet baby. for a moment, he’s immobilized, the weight of the blood in his cock becoming nearly too burdening to sustain.

“mhm… i know, babydoll. i know you are,” his lips feather along your cheek before he adjusts himself to rest on his heels, gripping your ankle as he basks in the luxury of your tender, seemingly intangible pussy by the torturous masquerade he shackled himself in for ages.

“i’m getting there, i promise, i just need to taste you,” he lifts your foot as his grip persists on your ankle, and sweeps his lips over the bottom of your foot in a reverent kiss. “all over,” then, his tongue presses into the top of your foot, coasting along, tickling your smooth skin until he meets the base of your knee. “you’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

as you tug your leg back in an involuntary yank, jungwon’s grasp only tightens, fingers constricting around your joint. “you’ll let me do that, won’t you?” he repeats. “you’ll be still, and let me have my way?”

“y-yes, won…” your thigh ripples from the sensitive throbs of your restless pussy – and as if it’s a pattern sewn into his bones, he notices.

“god, she’s so impatient. she’s so mad at me for denying her, isn’t she?” his eyes maintain focus of the grandeur between your thighs, and he stutters an exhale at the way your panties cling to the eager flesh of your pussy. god, you really are sticky. though the way his boxers cling to the damp head of his cock proves his eagerness in a manner mirroring yours.

“but she’s so happy that i’m gonna take care of her after all this time, isn’t she?” he embarks upon a journey of kisses to the plush of your thigh, still refusing to make contact with the subject of his conversation. “yea? i’m happy too. you have no idea how fucking happy i am.”

jungwon’s hands skate forward once more, refusing to leave your legs as he inches closer to the seams of your thong.

he runs his fingers along the lines as though he were tracing a careful mold for permanence – his fingers glide along each edge, beginning his course on the seam nearest your thighs, then running above the seam between your hips, along your torso. the butterflies flap shamelessly just below the skin his fingers dance along.

a brief smile appears in it’s subtlety as your torso jumps and stutters, and he leans down to lick the sweat dewing in the valley of your breasts, transitioning seamlessly into faint kisses down the path to your belly button, circling his tongue in the surrounding space, a trail of his saliva painting you in yet another patch of skin.

“w-won… please just take them off,” as you speak, jungwon’s hands shift to pin down your wrists, stiffening your arms for even the mere possibility of you removing your panties yourself.

“i am, babydoll. you’re just so beautiful when you’re needy.”

he releases your wrists, and his fingers slink beneath the fabric of your thong – he tugs, the lace bunching and squeezing against the flesh of his fingers as he splits it, the fabric weeping in distress as each tendril detaches under the heedless display of jungwon’s greed. after battling meager exertion, he allows the shredded lace to join your other clothing among the floor beside his bed.

your mangled underwear doesn’t perturb you in the slightest, not when you could see the veins in jungwon’s hands, his forearms, pulsing as he tore them apart with ease.

“oh, there she is. there’s my girl,” he adjusts his position, leaning down and lowering his face to your awaiting pussy, greeting the flesh with a prodding, lasting press from his lips.

your hips stutter in response to the thirst of his greeting, providing yourself with the friction of his lips skimming along your lips in tandem. “won!”

his breath breezes onto your pussy, visiting your clit in a faint tickle as he presses his hands further into your thighs to still your twitching, the flesh cushioning around his fingers. “did you like that babydoll? she’s so sweet, you know. sweet as you,” and he bites the visible plush of your ass with the fervor to pull a chunk out, another chuckle passing his lips as you whimper.

your opening meets his tongue first, and he drags your juices between your lips to meet your clit, circling your most reactive nerve and smearing the evidence of the pleasure you received from him onto the bundle. his eyes flutter, roll into the depths of his skull as he relishes in the taste, the lavish flavor of your pussy for the first time – god, his fantasies were cowering in shame as your honey seeped into his tastebuds. dewy, sugary, slimy. everything he could’ve ever dreamed of and more.

“fuck, you have no idea how good you taste. i can show you, though,” his lips still maintain a wispy contact with your pussy as he speaks directly into the flesh.

with every facet of the word ‘show,’ he keeps his promise. his mouth delves into your pussy with such intention, such ardor joining his movements – behaviors possessing his tongue with a spirit that only the flavor of something truly delicious could summon. his tongue nudges your glistening entrance, drenched so generously he can no longer differentiate his saliva from the slipperiness of your arousal. his tongue swirls within the creaminess surrounding him, the silkiness of your walls, stretching as far as the limitations of his muscle would allow. he slurps, sucking your wetness into his mouth and swallowing unhurriedly, the exhale that succeeds puffing blissfully against your pulsating lips. jungwon feasted, swaying his head side to side as he urged his tongue deeper, scooting closer to your warmth as he willed every thread of his mind, his body to stumble further into the hypnosis you cast upon him with the addictive taste of your honey.

his thumb pushes into your clit, and he moans as your entrance constricts around his tongue, only strengthening his need to continue exploring your slimy palace. as his thumb circles your clit, pressing into you with a flawless balance of brutal and tender, your hands leave their solace in the soft blanket to burrow into his hair, punishing the strands beyond your willful knowledge, because the boundless sensations hurtling through you seem to numb your ability to discern the fervor behind your actions.

rapidly, unrestrainedly, in hopes of freeing yourself from the tension, the pleasure, you flee towards an orgasm that will only bring you so much more. jungwon feels you, he senses your impending eruption, and the blaring cries you’re entertaining him with only induce him into making your bliss even sweeter.

his tongue slops from your entrance, though his thumb still winds your clit, and his lips further coat themselves in your honey as he speaks. “mmm, thats it. let me know how good i make you fucking feel. you gonna cum? gonna be all mine when you do,” he kisses your entrance, his words drifting through the air in a blabbered haze.

with every intention of chasing you towards your peak, jungwon’s tongue replaces his thumb on your clit, his mouth wrapping around the space to hug you in tandem, a compressing suction joining the spirals his tongue creates. the flesh of your pussy pillows around his lips, his nose meeting the skin just above your clit as he drives his face impossibly closer to you. his tongue pulses against your clit, and your pussy throbs against him in response to each pulse – a rhythmic push and pull of throbbing and jolting.

as you heave breaths of delight, whines emitting between each pump of your chest, jungwon’s fingers dive into your entrance, the sight of your ecstasy prodding him to set his pace hard, fast, mimicking the cadence of your breaths.

your walls welcome his fingers with passion, clinging, fastening to them as he wars with the snug fit you enclose him in. “fuck, babydoll… you gonna suck my cock in like this?” though he carries no doubt that you will.

the words send you tumbling, then ascending to the orgasm you’ve feared and longed for from the moment he removed your dress. the pitch and tempo of your cries increase on kindred paths, your fingers pull against his hair in a punishing drag, and your pussy swallows his fingers with faltering pulses as a sea of rapture engulfs you.

“oh… god, won,” you pant, the flesh of your thighs and torso still navigating the ripples of your orgasm.

jungwon’s fingers gloop out of your opening, and he lifts the flooded digits to his nose, inhaling with a heavy breath before closing his mouth around them. as he pulls his fingers from his mouth, the only moisture glistening against them is his saliva, all traces of your creamy arousal now sliding down his throat in a satiated gulp.

“you were beautiful, babydoll. you’re so fucking beautiful. god, you’re just spilling all over my bed, like the sexy little flower you are.”

a flower. his flower, in his secret garden, never to be traversed by another from this day onward.

he leaves the bed to rid himself of the burden, the barrier of his own clothing, a certain irritation now coursing through him towards the fabric – it’s the only thing preventing him from plunging into the offering you’re proving him with, all sprawled out on his bed after he’s tallied the days he’s spent without claiming you as though he was in a prison cell awaiting his dear release.

he’s efficient with each item of clothing he drops, allowing them to plop to the floor with no regard for their destination. now entirely bare, he returns to his bed, crawling over your spread figure with restrained longing embedded in each of his movements.

his eyes fall into yours, observing the way you observe him. the fascination, the craving your eyes held as they trailed over his body, over his aching cock without an inkling of shame – it almost had his arms buckling in their effort of holding himself above you.

“hey, you ready?”

the sound of his voice, gentle as the blanket beneath you, softened your lust for a moment as you inhaled with a faint gasp, willing the words of reassurance from your exhausted throat. you find yourself distracted by his length, the size and heft of it, as it stood so painfully erect before you, almost reaching out to you in it’s yearning. though your gaze climbs back to his eyes, discovering a subtle amusement within them.

“yea, i’m ready. as i possibly can be.”

his cheeks tug his lips into a delicate smile, and his thumb nuzzles your cheek to lavish you in his fond admiration. “you promise? i’m gonna make you understand exactly how i’ve felt for the past six years. are you ready for that?”

“won, i promise.”

your promise carries a staggering conviction that compels a groan from jungwon’s throat, though he battles it’s full emergence. his hand coasts from your cheek, fingers feathering along your neck as he settles in a velvety grip on your thigh.

he basks in the sight beneath him, and it’s layered with a fiercer significance than merely you beneath him – you’re laid out for him, your body pleading for him, providing for him in ways his fantasies couldn’t have ever hoped to mimic. you grace him with the privilege of pleasing you, and you return the sentiments of his pure admiration – each second of this reality seems too ambitious, and he’s almost afraid he’ll wake from a dream. though the sincerity of your touch, your eyes, anchors him with the with the weight that this is real, and you’re truly here.

his eyes sail to your pussy, nearly growling in appreciation of the sight – your arousal pours out of you, flowing plentifully onto the plush of his blanket with a current akin to a waterfall. though it was your waterfall, streaming for him, all for him and the surreality was overwhelming.

“beautiful, wet fucking mess,” he whispers the praise as his hand curls around his ample girth, resting the weight of his cock between your folds as he rolls his hips, reveling in the bounds of your wetness without yet invading your entrance. his moan is gravelly, awestruck, intertwining with the breathless gasp that floats from your lips. as your hand travels along the planes of his torso muttering “fuck, won,” it almost does him in – his restraint nearly cracks, gracing him with half a mind to just ram inside of you, though his devotion to your comfort holds him back, even narrowly.

as a drop of his precum drips onto your clit, rolling down to join the waters of your arousal, he unravels.

“need you to look at me,” his voice is enshrouded in a shattering honesty, and he awaits your returned gaze, powerless until you grant him the certainty within your needy eyes. as you peer at him, the head of his cock prods your entrance, swirling in the wet, slipperiness pooling there, because of him.

“there’s my babydoll,” and now you are his babydoll, fully and truly as he pushes into you, staring into your eyes as though he could read your mind. his hips press further, and further, maintaining eye contact with you, even as they roll into the depths of your skull.

“fuck, i… goddamn, baby,” he’s entirely sheathed in you, the velvety depths of you that even his imagination couldn’t muster the euphoria of. breathless curses are all he can manage as he attempts to regain the bearings he lost with each inch he planted within your warmth. so, so deviously wet, and almost nourishing as the pleasure blossoming within you causes you to flutter around his length – he doesn’t want to mention it, for the fear that you’ll stop doing it.

he wanted, needed, longed to share the swelling flame kindling in his chest with you. he needed to share this feeling, this ache, he needed you to know it, and return it so the two of you could become engulfed in a suffocating warmth together. though now, you were.

his shoulders caged you in, imprisoning you, though you were completely safe, completely at ease in his protection. he showered you in ecstasy with each roll of his hips, digging, driving his cock into you as though he were searching for some kind of treasure – the confirmation that you belonged exclusively to him. he kisses you, sliding his lips down to the solace of your neck and reminding you in between long presses of his lips, “you’re mine, you’re mine,” without even fully withdrawing from the kiss – how could he ever remove any part of himself from you?

your volume, the unbridled bliss clawing underneath the sounds of your pleasure, only spurs his hips into moving faster, pump, pump, pumping into you as your feeble walls can only squelch in submission. the pleasure radiating from you was so loud, molten in the air, he’s almost convinced he can hear voices emitting from your pussy. either you’re that wet or he’s just insane, but both have proven to be true.

with a familiar inhale, he pulls away from your neck to train his eyes in their rightful position upon yours. “whose pussy is this?” he still pumps into you, driving through your moisture and thumping his hips against your pillowy flesh, almost in defiance of just how good you make him feel.

“y-yours…”

the whiny intonation of your voice cutting through your blaring wails draws a growl from his chest. “whose?”

“yours, won! a-all yours…” the words only narrowly manage to flee from your throat, the quaking force of his cock driving through you causing each of your sounds to stutter.

“mmm… yea, i’m the one touching you. i’m the, fuck, i’m the one taking care of you. my babydoll.”

jungwon leans up, boundless shoulders still enclosing you, and leads your thighs closer to your chest, a subtle tenderness and control laced in the gesture. ceaseless in his thrusts, his movements only gaining momentum now, he heaves, “i own this body. tell me i own this perfect body. tell me you know.”

the relentless piles of euphoria were beginning to reach an overwhelming degree, and you felt overstimulated though you hadn’t even drenched his cock in your cum yet. although for jungwon, it almost seemed as though you had – with such ease, he slid along your dewy walls, the endless cascade of your wetness continuing to smother him, devouring every ridge of his cock in a flood powerful enough to drown him.

“i-i know! body’s yours…”

your brain hardly comprehends the words before they spill out, running solely on the aspiration to bow to jungwon’s commands, too muddled by the crushing ecstasy to conjure much more. jungwon understands, though – he hears every facet of your responses, decoding each syllable, clinging to every drop of agreeance he can squeeze out of you.

all the time he’s spent in your presence, and now he can see you like this. all this time, and you’ve longed for more, too. “mhm, mine. all of this,” his thrusts drill into you heavier, faster, “belongs to me.”

jungwon kisses you once more, pouring his newfound ownership into the movements of his tongue, and his hips. the sound of your wails progressing into airy sobs alerts him of the looming arrival of your orgasm, and oh, if he’s not ecstatic about being enraptured by that sight. he ingests your sounds, your delight, threading them into his own breaths, and the grumble of the groans flowing from his chest into your mouth in return. as he withdraws his lips, a trail of spit strings between the two of you, connecting you – it almost resembles the thin, silver chain decorating jungwon’s neck, and he wishes he could wear a mold of the shared saliva instead.

“fuck… come on, babydoll. cum all over me. show me you’re all mine, i know you can do it.”

the immobilizing echoes of his thrusts, the graze of his torso along your clit – the sensations shudder through you, pushing and pushing you to untangle, to float in the electrifying pool of indescribable bliss that jungwon poured for you, only ever you. as you cum, now surging his cock with the downpour of your creamy arousal, you almost swell, your torso and thighs rippling as the pleasure courses through every imaginable crevice of you, every stream of your blood. as he observes, he’s enchanted, bound by the wordless spell you sprinkle him with – a chorus of angels should kneel in shame of being compared to the beautiful sounds you cry as you cum. your body, your untethered writhes, your twitches and throbs as your pussy hugs him in gratitude of the pleasure – he could attest to seeing, feeling, tasting heaven, thanks to you.

as your wails subside, leaving breathless whines in their absence, jungwon’s brows crinkle – his own signal of an almost palpable orgasm.

“i– fuck, oh god,” his hips jerk, spasm, push into you in his chase of final pumps. each spurt of his delicious cum fills you with his devotion, staining you with the reminder that he wasn’t in control of his actions anymore, only you. his heartbeat thrums against his eardrums, the sensation of making your tummy swell with his cum, the woman he’s craved with his every will, was almost hallucinatory. his fingers gripped, squeezed your thighs, mirroring the manner your pussy squeezed him, and his nails dug into your skin with a pressure ensuring indentations, further marks of his possession.

his chest expands, panting heavily with the labors of his exhaustion. he slips from your pussy, steady, no semblance of hurry leading his movements at all. a final gush of his cum spills onto your tummy as he flops his cock against the flesh, bumping it there once, twice, to ensure he gives you every pearly drop. his fingers scoop the liquid, sliding them past your weary, obedient lips and smearing it onto your tongue. as you swallow, jungwon’s breath escapes him with a smile.

he kisses your shoulder, skims his lips along your clavicle, then kisses your lips with adoration dripping from his own. then he settles beside you, tugging your spent body to drift closer to his own, only ceasing when you nestle into the safety of his chest. his hand sails to your thigh, lifting it with heed as his softening cock parts you again, slinking into you in search of solace. now that you knew every layer, now that he owned you, he wouldn’t allow a moment for connection to pass him again.

“don’t you get tired? fucking me that fast…” the words tumble from your compliant lips, tickling his chest with your breath.

his hand skates along the expanse of your back, treating even your blemishes with reverence. “are you kidding? i could go again right now if you wanted,” a gentle chuckle leaves him, the rumble of his chest lulling you further into the drowsiness you battled to listen to his words.

“has it been hard?”

he knew exactly what your words referred to – he was expectant of your curiosity toward the torment he endured to hide his obsession from you, though he was almost amused.

“no, it.. it hasn’t been hard at all. i would do it again, and again, if it meant i got you at the end.”

never in your life had you fallen into a mere contemplation of a feeling anywhere close to being so cherished. you almost want to erase the memories you hold of other men, wanting to reserve every slot in your brain for your jungwon. every moment you spent without experiencing the display of affection beyond love that jungwon showers you in seems so trivial now. though, that’s exactly what jungwon wants – he wants to engulf you, absorb you until your satisfaction is centered around only what he does for you.

as you sleep against him, he holds a brief consideration to snap a photo of the marks he left on you to show his friends, especially heeseung, but he quickly dismisses the thought – he doesn’t want anyone else to even imagine a single inch of your body.

the morning follows and cradles the two of you in utter contentment, the memories resurfacing with surreality for jungwon. so it wasn’t a dream, he thinks.

as your bleary eyes adjust to the haze of sunlight saturating the room, you discover a familiar bundle of lace resting proudly upon the surface of his bedside table. with fond annoyance, you shake your head, your hair skimming his chest. so that’s where they went. of course you failed to notice them yesterday, given the way he was mutilating you with his hefty cock.

you begin to lean up, though jungwon’s hand snaps to your arm before your warmth could leave him. “and where do you think you’re going?”

“hm? i was just gonna shower,” his ability to sense your departure even in his sleep almost startles you, but it pleases you all the same.

his head dances, swaying side to side. “not without me. you don’t do anything without me anymore.”

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