#just please for the love of god let her be her own PERSON

[xylatox]

iced americano season, I finally have some uninterrupted time (mostly) and I'm so excited to get into it I absolutely love a Jay fic; a man after my heart. The amount I write in response to fics always surprises me

My heart clenches at their first interaction, Jay is so cute and pocket-sized and him being a regular at the café reader works at is so cute. I love to that there seems to be mutual interest between the 2, Jay being a regular and reader, despite her clearly being known to be a busy person knew of the game and asked about his well-being and giving him the goodie bag AWWWWW :((

Let's take a moment to appreciate reader and Han's friendship like thats so cute what the hell. Jay's not so subtle way of saying he's interested in reader #mewhen , that's so attractive of him especially since he did it after getting confirmation that she and Hannie aren't together. Jay being jealous is so valid to me (it's probably the scorpio in me) but I'd def be super jealous if I'm interested in someone and people who know if them think that they're with someone else because of the kind of relationship they have.

"Dude, Han’s so deep in the friend zone it’s practically a different zip code.” Oh my God this line, it absolutely eats but damn, that sucks (but is true) and Yeonjun adding to it oh my gosh I'm going to throw up this is amazing.

As a multistan, I always love Enha, TXT, Stray Kids crumbs so I'm living for these friendships. The pretty girl statement??? Jay I'll have to ask for your hand in marriage. Like reader a shot or 2 of confidence is definitely needed to kiss Jay, she's so real for that.

Ngl Han caught me OFF GUARD like, obviously it reeks with jealously but omg, I genuinely feel like throwing up hearing that, like I would've immediately stopped talking to Han because that's insane, he doesn't get to say that about reader because he's habouring 1 sided romantic feelings.

I love that despite how tired reader is, she still leaves him a message to text her with her number :((

The flirting, Jay bringing the food, the relationship is blossoming into something to cute. More and more flirting between the 2, I am living for it.

I love that reader makes the effort to go to the party and the moment they shared when she was tipsy was so so cute ugh. I appreciate how much Jay is looking out for her, it shows how much he cares for her wellbeing as well and his hesitancy in letting her walk back home on her own speaks volumes. THE CHEEK KISS AHHHHHHHH OH MY GODD, that entire moment is so cute what.

THE MENTION OF COACHES DAUGHTER AHHHH!!! Giggling like an idiot LOL. Him bringing her the coffee the day after :(((( I'll throw up and pass out this is so cute. I love too that reader is considerate of Jay and felt bad with the whole story thing. I love their bonding moment over Japanese music, and her dad and just ugh, it's so cute.

Had to take a moment to say I love whenever I see a P1H member mention? I love my boys and I loved seeing Intak mentioned (if this wasn't P1H and another Intak please ignore this for my sake <3)

I love Yudai :( I want a sibling wth this is so cute, and his girlfriend is cute too. Jay kissing her om the cheek awww, I am never going to get over this. The permission to kiss her😭😭😭 JAY the man you are I'm fangirling over this so bad. Ik Hannie is the "bad guy" but he is pissing me off what. It does break my heart that he said the things that he did but I appreciate Jay's reaction to the scene (and not causing a fight) and Chan and Minho also stepping in; it does hurt that a friendship is potentially over because of this.

Jay staying with her the night after all that is so sweet as well :(( Like it's super sad but comforting and sweet. I love every moment they spent together after but I love seeing reader and how she dealt with the situation

Ngl I didn't expect those hate comments like it caught me so off guard but again, the constant reassurance from Jay is so sweet. The moment between Jay and his dad :(( I absolutely love that and I love that Jay also reached out. Jay being angry on the rink (hot), reaching out to her brother (also hot), he's just so in love with her

Niki and Taki are so cute I wanna keep them in my pocket. I love that Jay also respects and gives her space, waiting for her to open up even she's ready. I also love Jay being with the boys and her, super cute. I love that he panics seeing Hannie and her but Jake reassuring him that is okay based on body language is super cute too. I am glad they talked tho, I hope the friendship could be salvaged

And reader finally breaks:( poor baby, and Jay being the good boyfriend and listening and reassuring. Coach Choi no😞😞😞 bestie why did you imply that. I love that it's reader's turn to reassure him :((( I love the supportive Dad and his team :((

I love the end, from reader going back to her friends and meeting Jay's parents, it's all super sweet and makes so so,happy.

Patty, I really do love your work, it's always a pleasure to read

iced americano season ˗ˏˋ☕ˎˊ˗

⭑.ᐟ Strangers to lovers - Park Jongseong part 2 of 'the hockey diaries' series ˗ˏˋseries masterlistˎˊ˗

A simple iced americano is about to ruin Jay’s entire season. Falling for the cute barista at his favorite café means free coffee, but it also comes with unexpected complications. Between her overprotective best friend stirring up drama and the internet’s relentless spotlight on his personal life, Jay quickly learns that some risks are worth taking—even if it means skating into uncharted territory. He regrets nothing.

ᝰ pairing. hockey player jay x radio host, influencer & barista Y/N (she s a busy girl).ᐟ₊ ⊹   ᝰ genre. College sports aus, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, fluff, suggestive.ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, a LOT of partying (somehow they always meet at parties, dunno what happened there), some intense making out and loosing tshirts, toxic friendships, toxic fanbases, lots of drinking, profanity, suggestive language .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 39.k .ᐟ₊ ⊹ (I am so sorry)

ᝰ an.Thank you so much for the love on pt. 1 of thise series. I hope you enyjoy this part just as much! I am so sorry to Han for making him an asshole in here :((( I did love writing for Jay and this was about 60k, just them being cute but maybe ill do a lil "spin off" if I find the time .ᐟ₊ ⊹  

ᝰ taglist. @firstclassjaylee @50-husbands @enhaprettystars @vantxx95 @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @jaylvrsworld @xylatox

Jay pushed the glass door of the small campus cafe open. The familiar jingle of the bell above the door almost drowning in the chatter of the many students crammed into the small cafe. As he moved through the bustling cafe, the worn wooden floors creaked beneath his boots. 

He spotted you behind the counter before you noticed him. You were bustling around, balancing a tray of mugs with one hand while sliding a plate of pastries across the counter with the other. Your hair was pinned back, loose strands framing your face, and you were wearing the café’s signature deep red apron over a flowy dress. 

“Hey, Jay,” you called out, catching sight of him. His heart had no business to react the way it did. A greeting and a smile was not enough to get a 1,8 meter, fit hockey player's heart rate to spike. Your grin widened as you set the tray down and made your way to the counter. “Back so soon? Let me guess, iced Americano, two shots of espresso?”

Jay leaned against the counter, smiling back at you. “You know me too well.”

“It’s almost like you’re here every other day or something,” you teased, pulling a cup from the stack. Jay chuckled, watching as you moved behind the counter. Your hands worked with practiced ease, and the warm glow from the afternoon sun streaming through the windows seemed to make you glow. He caught himself staring and quickly glanced down at the counter, pretending to examine the worn wood beneath his fingers. Great. Counters. Counters are interesting. Is this oak? Walnut?

“So… how is your back? You guys got roughed up pretty bad last night.”, you asked while working on his coffee.

His head shot up in surprise. “You watched the game?”

“Not live,” you admitted, turning back around to set the cups on the counter. “But it was all over my feed. You holding up okay?”

Jay blinked, a little stunned that you’d not only heard about the game but had actually paid attention to it. His lips tugged into a small, boyish grin as warmth spread in his chest.  “Barely. The other team decided my ribs were a fair target.”

You winced sympathetically. “Yikes. And you still made it all the way here?”

“What can I say? The coffee’s worth it.” His tone was light as he shrugged and winced after.

“Well, if the coffee doesn’t help, you can always take a nap on the green sofa,” you teased, nodding toward the corner. “It’s my preferred one.”

“Tempting,” Jay said, straightening up. “But I think I’ll save my naps for after I pretended to be a academic weapon in the library.“

“What are you studying today?”, you slid his drink across the counter, leaning in slightly as you rested your elbows on the worn wood. Maybe he should get his heart checked out. 

“International finance.”, he groaned and fished for his wallet in his pocket.

“Oh. Doesn’t sound like fun.”, you grabbed a crookie from the display case and placed it in a small bag, sliding it toward him, after he finished paying. “Consider it my contribution to your recovery.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said softly, his tone warmer now as he reached for the bag.

“Anytime, Jay,” you said softly, your smile lingering as he picked up his coffee and crookie.

You hadn’t intended to stay long at the swim team’s party. Really, you hadn’t. But somewhere between the shots Lia handed you and Felix’s insistence that you “let loose for once,” the night had gotten away from you.

You were halfway through your third Sex on the Beach of the evening, the warm buzz of alcohol already humming heavily in your veins, as you pushed your way through the crowd. Han, Jeongin, and Ryujin trailing behind you as you tried to escape the crush of bodies and rejoin the rest of your friends playing beer pong in the garden.

You were laughing at something Jeongin said, only half-listening, when someone bumped into you. Your drink swayed, spilling a few drops over the rim, and you barely caught yourself from spilling it completely. 

“Hey, watch it!” you said, turning around, ready to throw a playful glare at whoever had just so rudely bumped into you.

“Oh shit. I am sorry.” The culprit turned around, grinning sheepishly. Before you could respond, you heard Jeongin’s voice from behind you.

“Heeseung? Is that you?”

You turned to see him grinning Heeseung, his face lighting up.

"Jeongin!" Heeseung said. "Man, long time no see!” Heeseung clapped Jeongin on the shoulder, pulling him into a quick manly half-hug.

“We were about to step outside for a second. Care to join?”

“Sure. My friends are outside as well. Or well, they were the last time I saw them?”, Heeseung nodded and followed your little group as you fought your way to the garden of the frat house, escaping Kesha and her choir of drunk students. 

The cold night air hit your cheeks as you stepped outside, the noise of the party muffled slightly by the walls of the house. The garden was lit by fairy lights and a few fake torches that flickered against the dark of the night. You were following close behind Jeongin, holding his shoulder and your drink in an iron grip, determined not to trip or spill any of your precious Sex on the Beach. Han was walking right beside you, his hand laying on the small of your back.

You arrived at the table near the end of the garden fence that separated the house from the small woods that surrounded the whole campus. Chan and Minho were playing an intense beer pong match against Jake and Jay.

“I’m freezing,” you whined, pulling your arms tighter around yourself and leaning a little more into Han. Whoever thought it was a good idea to place the beer pong table outside should definitely never get to voice their thoughts out loud ever again. Not only was it cold and icy out here but the woods were scary as fuck. 

He chuckled, adjusting his position so you were tucked closer against his side and wrapped his padded jacket over the two of you.

“Should’ve brought a jacket,” he teased, his breath warm against the top of your head.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t defend yourself. Your dress wasn’t helping your case either. You knew you would be spending most of your time outside watching your friends play beer pong so you did bring a jacket, but it was stored safely somewhere inside. You thought you could rely on the copious amounts of alcohol to keep you warm. Apparently you were just as bad in thinking as the dude that put the tables here. 

“Oh, is the little baby cold?” Minho cooed, his tone exaggerated.

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “Go back to losing beer pong.”

He gasped dramatically. “Excuse you, Y/N. I’ll have you know—”

His protest was cut off by loud cheers from the other team. The two players were both jumping around the table, celebrating a successful shot, while their friends were all high-fiving in excitement. 

Them celebrating gave you an opportunity to, hopefully not too obviously, check out one particular player. Jay was standing just behind the table, laughing along with his friend. He was wearing a black button-up shirt and a padded leather jacket. The shirt was unbuttoned at the top. His hair had that messy, tousled look that somehow worked way better than if he’d tried to make it perfect. He looked hot. And totally out of your league.

You caught his eyes for a split second, and your heart skipped a beat. Great. Now he knows you were staring. This is fine. Totally fine. Maybe if you don’t blink for the next ten seconds, you’ll look like you’re in deep drunk thought instead of checking him out like a creep. But his lips curved into a smile, and he waved at you. Your arm was still wrapped around Han’s side, but you moved it enough to greet Jay properly.

Han’s body stiffened slightly, and his gaze followed the direction of your wave, his brows furrowing when he noticed where your attention was. He cleared his throat, then asked, his voice low, “Who are you waving at?”.

You glanced up at him, a little confused by the sharpness in his tone. “Jay,” you answered nonchalantly. Han knew all about your little crush on Jay, he had to listen to your rambling every time you saw him in the cafe. Which was quite often.

You felt Han’s hand shift slightly on your back. He reached up and he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze flicked back to Jay, still laughing with his friends.“Just- be careful, Y/N. Hockey players”, he paused for a second, contemplating his words, “they’re not exactly known for being the settle-down type.”

You rolled your eyes: “Han you know just as well as me that I would never make a move. He is so out of my league, I try to not get disappointed by men more than I already am.”, you said with a dismissive shrug.

Han’s fingers tightened for a second on your shoulder. “Just... be careful. I’m just looking out for you, okay?”

You smiled up at him. “I know, I know. I appreciate it. You are worse than Yudai sometimes,” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Han’s expression softened slightly at your words. He looked back at Jay, then back to you. Just as he opened his mouth to say something else, your phone buzzed in your purse.

You fumbled for it, managing to pull it out and glance at the screen. “It’s Chaeryoung,” you muttered, swiping your thumb across the screen to answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N!” Chaeryoung’s voice came through, strained and frantic. “You need to come inside. Lia is throwing up in the bathroom. She locked the door and doesn’t want to let any of us inside!”

You blinked, suddenly alert and sober. Or well as sober as you could be. “Shit, in which bathroom are you?”

“The upstairs one!”

You turned to Han, your face apologetic. “I’ve gotta go help Chae. Lia is throwing up and locked the door,” you said.

Han looked at you with concern, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you need help?”

Before you could answer, Seungmin, Lia’s boyfriend, jumped in, his voice easy and reassuring. “I’ll go with her,” he said quickly, offering you a small smile. “We’ll get her sorted out.”

You gave Seungmin a quick nod. “Thanks, Seungmin. I appreciate it.” 

You almost stumbled but caught yourself, your fingers gripping the edge of Han’s sleeve to steady yourself when you broke away from him and the warmth of his jacket. His fingers instantly curled around your wrist. His grip and his brow furrowed even deeper as he watched you, his eyes flicking between you and the door.

His voice was quieter now, almost tender, and his fingers brushed against the small of your back as if he was ready to catch you at any moment. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? You've had a lot to drink…”

“I’m a big girl, Han.” You nodded, though it felt like the nod itself might make you lose your balance. “And Seungmin is helping. He’s basically sober.”

Han’s expression shifted from concern to reluctant acceptance. He didn’t move to stop you, but his eyes lingered on you, his worry still evident. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Just... be careful, okay?”

You gave him a reassuring smile and glanced at Seungmin, who gave you an encouraging nod.

You were squeezing your way through the kitchen after you successfully got Chaeryoung to open up the door. Your friends decided to end the night like that and went home, leaving you alone to get yourself another drink before returning to the beer pong tables. The counters were lined with drinks, people laughing loudly, leaning against walls and talking over one another. 

Just as you were about to sidestep a group of people near the fridge, someone bumped into you from behind. The sudden force sent you stumbling forward, your arms flailing slightly as you reached out instinctively to steady yourself.

"Whoa!" a voice called out just as strong hands gripped your arms, keeping you from falling. You froze for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks. “Easy there.”, the voice added, smooth and amused. Jay. Oh god.

“Oh my god i am so sorry.”, you blurted, trying to cover up the rush of heat in your chest. You laughed awkwardly, hoping it didn’t come out too flustered.

Jay’s smile spread, eyes sparkling with amusement as his grip remained light but firm. “No problem at all,” he said. “Funny running into you here. I thought I’d have to wait until Thursday to see you again.”

You let out a small laugh, steadying yourself on the edge of the counter. “Actually you could have seen me on Monday as well. Jaemin and I switched our shifts next week.”

Jay laughed and then turned his attention back to the drink he was mixing before you almost face planted into him. “What a bummer. If I’d known that, I could’ve enjoyed one of your ice americanos instead of the cafeteria ones.”

“Maybe next time,” you teased, leaning against the counter as you watched him work. You were here to get yourself another drink, but the thought of fighting your way through the crowd of people to find a new bottle of vodka felt more exhausting than it was worth.  

He finished mixing his drink and set it down in front of you. "I was gonna make something for myself, but I figured you'd appreciate something a little better than the usual party fare, dear barista." he said, smiling.

You raised an eyebrow, taking the glass from him.

“Are you offering me a drink just so I’ll stick around?” you asked, taking a sip of whatever he just mixed. The drink was good, strong but it tasted well.

Jay’s smirk deepened. "Well, you could put it like that. But I figured you'd appreciate a drink that's a little less basic," he said, leaning against the counter, his gaze never leaving yours.

You leaned back slightly, studying him for a moment. Close up he looked even hotter. You could see the Prada chain that was dangling around his neck, reflecting the colorful lights of the led lamps in the kitchen. His black hair fell slightly over his forehead, and you had to fight the urge to reach out and brush it back.

“I sure like less basic.” you said, your voice a little softer than before.

Jay turned back to the counter, grabbing another plastic cup. “So, how long have you and - what’s his name? Han? been together?” 

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Han? Oh, no, no, no. He’s not my boyfriend,” you said, shaking your head, a chuckle escaping your lips. “He’s like… a brother to me. We’ve known each other since high school. I moved to Korea with my family, and we just clicked from there. Just really close friends.”

Jay looked at you again and raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Really?” He tilted his head, studying. “I could’ve sworn you two were a thing. The way you were standing together looked very couple like earlier.”

You laughed slightly. "Yeah, we’re close, but definitely not like that. I was too lazy to get my jacket and I was freezing. I basically just used him as a portable human heater,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips.

Jay’s grin widened and he set down the bottle he just reached for. “So,” he said, his voice smooth and a little slower than usual, “if you’re not with him, that leaves me wondering, if someone wanted to get to know you better, what should be his first move?” 

You tilted your head, amused by the sudden turn in the conversation. 

“Well, that’s a loaded question,” you said, teasing him. “I don’t know, I guess you’d have to find out.”

Holy shit. This can’t be true. What the hell. Is he flirting? 

Jay’s smile deepened, and he took a small step forward, leaning in just a little closer. His voice dropped, low and confident. “I think I could handle that.”

You laughed softly, the heat in your chest spreading as you glanced away for a moment, suddenly very aware of how close Jay was. You could smell his perfume. It smelled nice. He smelled nice. You swore your brain was running on autopilot.

“We’ll see about that,” you said, as you locked eyes with him. 

Jay chuckled and tilted his head to the side and licked his lips. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Don’t try to seduce me just because you want free pastries. You got that because I felt bad for you.”, you teased, taking another sip of your drink not breaking eye contact. 

Jay’s smirk widened, he leaned even closer, resting one arm casually on the counter, cornering you from one side. “You caught me,” he said playfully. “Free crookie is all I’m after. You’ve exposed my master plan.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Damn. You didn’t even try to deny it. At least you’re honest.”

“Always,” he replied, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Especially if I am talking to a girl as pretty as you.”

“Smooth,” you said, smirking, trying to ignore how your heart did a little flip. Why was he flirting with you? What was happening? Mayday mayday! “Is that how you charm all the girls?”

Jay chuckled, running a hand through his jet black hair. It looked so soft. “Nope. Usually, I just smile and hope for the best.” He made a small pause.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you think charms me? Your smile? I don’t even have to do anything to do that.” Except handing him his daily dose of caffeine. 

“Well definitely more than just a charming smile. Maybe a good drink and a nice conversation?” Jay grinned, leaning back just slightly, but his eyes never left yours. 

You laughed again, shaking your head but not bothering to hide your smile this time. “Until now that seems to have worked pretty well, hasn’t it?”

He placed a hand over his chest in mock relief. “Thank god. I was worried I’d have to pull out my backup plan.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “Oh yeah? And what’s the backup plan?”

Jay leaned in again, his voice dropping low. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

Your eyes locked, and for a split second, but before either of you could say anything more Han’s voice cut through the tension. “Y/N.”

You turned around quickly, blinking a little at the sight of him standing behind you. A frown was pulling at his lips as his eyes flicked between you and Jay. 

"Han, hey," you said, trying to sound casual and collected, not breathless and freaked out. 

Jay smiled at Han but didn’t say anything. He took a step back. Han opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Minho appeared at his side. 

"Y/N!" he called out, his tone cheerful. "What are you still doing here? I thought you wanted to be gone for just a few seconds. Come on, we’re going back outside, I wanna rematch Jake." 

"I was just about to head out.", you glanced at Jay, his eyes still following you, and then turned to face Han and Minho, who were both waiting expectantly. You offered Jay a smile. “Guess I’ll see you around, Jay,” you said, your voice light, as you drowned your drink and set the cup down on the counter next to you. Jay raised an eyebrow, his smile never fading. “Looking forward to it,” he replied. 

The small fried chicken shop near the ice rink was filled to the brim with people. Every seat was taken by a hockey player or one of their friends. The DA ice hockey team had just won the second game of the year after their winter break and everyone was celebrating. 

Jay sat at the end of the table, idly pushing his rice around with his chopsticks, half-tuned into the conversation between Heeseung and Yeonjun. He was scrolling through his instagram feed and got stuck under one of your posts. It was a small clip from your newest video.  “My husband and I cook dessert for the kids (you).”

He scrolled down to the comments, not wanting to see Han making heart eyes at you. He saw that happen in real life often enough, no need to see it here as well.  

‘Y/N and Han are literally couple goals. Like, just admit you’re dating already.’

‘The way Han looks at her… I’m crying. Why are they so cute?’

‘If they ever break up my heart will be broken’

Jay clenched his jaw. The commenters clearly loved the idea of you and Han as a pair, and from the outside, he could see why. He leaned back against his seat, running a hand over his face. He needed to get a grip. 

“-ay? Jay?”, Heeseung’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Are you still with us dude?”

Jay blinked, not even pretending to follow. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he mumbled, earning a snort from Yeonjun.

Heeseung narrowed his eyes playfully. “What’s got you so distracted?”

“Nothing.”, Jay closed his phone and put it onto the table, screen facing the wood.

“You sure it’s nothing? You just looked like you wanted to punch someone.”, Yeonjun said, biting into a chicken. Jay sighed but figured there was no harm in being honest. Heeseung would probably get it out of him eventually. “Y/N uploaded a video. With Han.” 

“Aww. Poor Jay is sulking  because his crush is hanging out with Han?”, Heeseung mocked, feigning pity. Yeonjun snorted, nearly choking on his food.

“I’m not sulking,” Jay shot back, though the defensiveness in his tone only made Heeseung and Yeonjun exchange knowing smirks.

“Okay, fine,” Yeonjun said, holding up his hands. “You’re not sulking. But, come on, be real for a second. Do you actually think Han has a chance with her?”

Jay hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Everyone seems to think they’re perfect together.”

Heeseung barked out a laugh. “Everyone except the two people actually involved. Dude, Han’s so deep in the friend zone it’s practically a different zip code.”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun added, shaking his head. “The guy looks like he’s one declaration of love away from writing poetry in the rain. It’s tragic, really.”

Jay’s brow furrowed. “She told me she’s not interested in him like that. She said they’re just friends. Like siblings.”

“And you believe her?” Heeseung asked, arching a brow.

Jay nodded firmly. “Yeah, I do. She was clear about it. She’s never given me a reason to think otherwise.” Well it wasn’t as if the two of you talked about that topic particularly often. But he was certain that you have never mentioned a boyfriend.

“Then what’s stopping you?” Yeonjun asked, leaning forward. “You’re not in the friend zone. Hell, the way you were cozying up in the kitchen last week made it look like you are closer to her than Han ever was.”

Jay shrugged, his gaze dropping to the table. “It’s not that simple.”

Heeseung snorted. “It’s exactly that simple. Han’s not even in the competition, dude. You’re just psyching yourself out.”

Yeonjun grinned. “Let’s be honest, Jay. You’d be doing Han a favor. At least he’d finally get the hint and move on.”

Jay couldn’t help but chuckle at that, even as he shook his head. “You guys are impossible.”

“Maybe,” Heeseung said, raising his glass. “But we’re also right. Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to make a move. Before someone else does.”

Jay glanced at his phone again. Heeseung and Yeonjun might have been teasing, but deep down, Jay knew they weren’t entirely wrong.

“Yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “I know.”

“I hate the tomato sauce they serve in the food hall.”, Yeonjun wrinkled his nose in disgust after taking a bite of the cafeterias version of spaghetti bolognese. 

“Why would you get it then?”, Changbin asked before stuffing his mouth with some high protein chicken dish he brought from home. It smelled better than it looked, but it still looked unappealing. Close to whatever you were eating. Which was…a chickpea soup? You were not entirely sure, but it did taste decent. Han looked at his spaghetti with almost as much disgust as Yeonjun did. 

“Do I look like I wanna eat chickpea soup? It looks like vomit and I don't want to eat warm chickpea flavoured vomit.”, Yeonjun deadpanned and you snorted. He was right about that, but salty tomato sauce and over cooked noodles were not really a better option. 

“Babe. I am trying to enjoy my food.”, Chaeryoung hit his bicep and he yelped in mock pain. 

“Hey.”, came a greeting from somewhere behind you. 

You turned around to see Jay, Sunghoon and Jake standing behind you. Jay was smiling down at you. Was he always this tall? It was like you were sitting in the shadow of a very well-dressed tree. Except this tree smelled like fresh laundry and confidence. Stupid tree.

“Could we join you? The other tables are full.”, he tilted his head into the direction of the food hall. Almost every seat was taken.

Before you could even think of a proper answer Yeonjun, already gave them the okay and Jay slid into the seat next to you. He set down his tray and moved to take off his jacket. His knee touched yours and you flinched for a second but didn’t move it. 

“So, what did CC want from you?” Yeonjun asked between bites of his spaghetti, looking up at Jay with a raised brow. Jay shrugged, picking at his food as he leaned back in his chair. “Nothing important. He told Heeseung and me to keep an eye on you since Providence is a hard team to win against. And we, as captain and co-captain, are in charge of keeping you in check.” he said shrugging.

“Oh, that’s right,” Changbin chimed in, “Last year you lost against them, right? Wasn’Tt it againt them that Soobin almost broke his hand and CC freaked out?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah he was pushed behind the net and Lermann tends to play dirty and checked him from behind without apparent reason.”

You nodded, trying to act normal, but all you could think about was how Jay’s knee kept bumping against yours, the subtle touch sending a warmth flooding through your body. You kept your face calm and collected. Or well you tried to. Considering Chaes pointed facial expression you weren’t doing a particularly good job at it. 

"Yeah. Jesus that was shit. We lost a good player and then they started playing dirty and provoked everyone else and got power plays.", Jay said, shifting in his seat and leaning slightly closer to you without even realizing it. "But we’ve got this this time. We just need to keep focused. And ignore Jensens comments."

“I’m sure you’ll do great," you said, trying to sound encouraging, “It’s as much a mental as a physical thing. So if you go into the game with good vibes I am sure you’ll ehm powerplay them this time?” 

You had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. CC was Coach Choi, that was something you have learned, but aside from that you didn’t really keep up with anything that related to the hockey team. Well the real life one, you were keeping up with your fictional hockey boys? 

The real life hockey players that were sitting around you snorted. 

"Man, look at that. You always say that as well, don’t you?" Jake teased, nudging Jay with his elbow. "Maybe you should get her to coach the team. She would certainly be better in bringing the mood up than CC."

You winked at him, playing along. "Well, if you ever need a motivational coach for a game, you know where to find me.”

Your friends started digging back into their food, now talking about different topics. You were sitting in the middle, listening to Han Changbin and Chae with one and the rest with the other ear. 

“You know,” Jay said suddenly, bumping his knee back into yours to get your attentio , “if you’d want to, I would love to see you at a game. Maybe we just need some new fans and motivational coaches in the stands to win.”

You smiled at him, tilting your head. “Mhm I am not sure how much help I would actually be. I would just hog someones ticket who would actually want to see you play.”

“Oh don’t you worry. Pretty girls are allowed to do that.”, he leaned back down to take a bit of his spaghetti. 

Did he just call you a ‘pretty girl’? Like, in a casual, offhanded way? Like it was no big deal? Cool. That’s cool. 

Jay cringing slightly before taking another bite. "Maybe I'll just stick with something safer next time."

You couldn't help but laugh softly. "Yeah, probably a good idea.  Mine is actually not that bad." you teased, nudging him gently with your elbow.

Jay grinned at the playful exchange, leaning in slightly to whisper, “I’d rather get sick than eat that… chickpea disaster,” he added with a sly smile, gesturing to your soup. 

“So,” Yeonjun said with a sly grin, slinging an arm around your shoulders when you walked out of the cafeteria. "You and Jay, huh?"

You hummed, looking up from your phone. “What about me and Jay?”

He shrugged.”You looked real cozy in there. I didn’t know you were this close.”

You narrowed your eyes at Chaeryoung, who was walking in front of you. “What did Chae tell you?”

“Oh.”, Yeonjun said, his grin widening. “Just that you have a itsy bitsy tiny crush on my co-captain.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush off his teasing with a laugh. "I don’t have a crush on anyone. Jay and I are just friends."

“Uh-huh. Sure, just friends.”, Yeonjun nodded in a mock serious way.

You could feel your cheeks heat up, but you refused to admit anything outright. "Are ridiculous." Chaeryoung turned around, walking backward so she could face you. “You know, Y/N, Yeonjun’s right. You were totally giving Jay heart eyes back there.” “Chae,” you groaned, your face growing hotter. “I wasn’t giving him heart eyes.” “Oh, please,” she continued, her teasing relentless. “If he leaned in just a little closer, you probably would’ve kissed him.” 

If given the chance you would rather not kiss Jay in front of the whole food hall. Maybe you would kiss him if the two of you were alone and you were a bit drunk for some drunken confidence. 

Yeonjun snorted. “Imagine the chaos that would cause. Half the school would either faint or riot.”

“You’re both delusional.” You said, exasperation slipping into your tone, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Jay’s just...Jay. We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Friends,” Yeonjun repeated, drawing out the word like it was some hilarious inside joke.

Han, who had been quietly walking next to you, started speaking. His tone was sharp, almost biting. “Maybe you shouldn’t get so cozy with him. You don’t want people to think you’re throwing yourself at him. You seemed a bit desperate in there Y/N.”

What. You turned to look at Han. Well you gawked at him. Month open, eyebrows furrowed.

The air around you seemed to shift instantly. Chaeryoung’s grin faltered, and Yeonjun stiffened, his arm falling from your shoulders. 

“What the hell, Han?” Chaeryoung said, her voice low but clearly annoyed.

Han shrugged, avoiding your eyes. “Just saying. It doesn’t look great. Just cause he has a rich daddy and plays hockey fairly well, Y/N doesn’t have to behave like a puck bunny.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Did your best friend of 8 years, who knows of your crush, really just insinuate that you were using Jay for money? And sex? You have been gushing about Jay for the last few months, ever since he came into the cafe to study but the two of you ended up talking all the way through your shift.

No one said anything after that, you all just kind of stared at him. After a moment, Changbin cleared his throat. “Anyway, we should probably get to class.”

Yeonjun gave Han a look, one you couldn’t quite decipher, but said nothing as he started walking again.

Jay’s shoulders ached from the back-to-back practices, and every muscle in his body protested as he stepped into the café. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries washed over him, but it barely registered. His eyes swept across the room, searching for you.

You looked… rough. Your hair was pulled back in a loose, slightly messy ponytail, and even the faint makeup you wore couldn’t fully hide the tired puffiness around your eyes. There was a flush to your cheeks, not the usual vibrant glow he was used to seeing, but a sign of exhaustion. You moved quickly, your steps a little hurried. 

Jay joined the line, which felt like it stretched for miles. He wasn’t in a hurry, though. This gave him more time to watch you. 

You didn’t notice him at first, too busy juggling orders and working the machines with practiced ease. His attention was glued to you, tracing the way your hands moved as you filled cups and slid them across the counter. When you finally did glance up, just for a split second, your eyes locked with his. Recognition flickered in your expression before you quickly turned back to the task at hand, your head tilting slightly as if to refocus.

The line shuffled forward slowly, giving him plenty of time to watch. You were darting back and forth, exchanging quick words with Renjun while also shooting occasional glances toward the clock. You didn’t look up fully again, but Jay swore he caught you sneaking a peek in his direction once or twice.

When he finally reached the counter, Renjun greeted him with a rather stressed. "What can I get you?"

"Americano, no room," Jay said without missing a beat, though his gaze flicked past Renjun, drawn to you again. You were at the other end of the counter, busying yourself with the espresso machine. But as if sensing his gaze, you turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his for the briefest moment before you focused back on your work.

Renjun passed his order down to you, and Jay took a step to the side, pretending to look at the pastries on display. 

You turned back to the coffee machine, your movements fast despite the clear tiredness in your posture. He watched as you prepared his drink, the lines of concentration hardening your usual expressions. He noticed the way your fingers trembled slightly as you snapped the lid onto the cup.

"Here you go," you said, your voice soft and polite.

Jay grabbed the cup, his fingers brushing against the cardboard sleeve. He was about to say something but the words died on his lips when he noticed something written on the cup.

Text me :) 

2997-2977-127

Jay blinked, his grip on the cup tightening slightly as his brain processed what he was seeing. His heart thudded, the soreness in his muscles fading into the background. 

His eyes darted back up to you. You gave him a small smile before quickly turning back to help another customer.

Jay stared at his phone. He texted you almost four hours ago and you haven’t texted back. Everytime he opened his phone and saw that there was no notification from you he felt almost disappointed. He couldn’t remember being excited for a text message as much as he was for your answer. 

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as if that could somehow release the tension building in his chest. 

The empty cup sat on the table beside him, the cardboard sleeve still marked with your scrawled handwriting. Jay sighed and flopped back against his couch, the phone resting on his chest.

“She’s probably busy,” he muttered to himself. That made sense. People had lives. You had a job. YOu were literally working at that job just a few hours ago and he knows your shift ended only like half an hour ago. It wasn’t like he expected you to drop everything just because he’d texted. But he kinda wanted you to. 

His phone buzzed.

Jay shot upright so fast it startled him. His heart stuttered as he grabbed his phone fumbling with his thumb to unlock it.

Unknown Number Hey, sorry for the delay Work got busy I didn’t mean to leave you hanging :) How’s your day going?

The corner of his mouth lifted before he even realized it. He stared at the message for a moment, trying to figure out what to say back without sounding too eager. 

Jay No worries :) My day had been pretty good, actually. How’s yours?

He hit send before he could second-guess it. The bubble popped up almost immediately, signaling that you were typing, and Jay smiled. This time, he didn’t even bother hiding it. He felt like a little school girl and if Jake was to come into his room right now he would probably never get the end of this.

Y/N Honestly, I’m exhausted. I might have drunk a bit too much yesterday? I missed you at the Greenwill-dorm-party :( I thought we could have catched up there! 

Jay blinked at the screen, your words pulling a groan out of him. 

Jay Missed me? I feel honored I was stuck at training all day yesterday, though Coach had us running drills for hours  I think he’s trying to kill me

Jay frowned at the memory, his muscles still aching from the endless sprints and repetitions. He hadn’t been out with friends last night. Nope, he’d been sprawled on the locker room floor cursing his coach under his breath and had missed out on seeing you. Again.

Y/N Ohhh you poor thing Jay I’ll make you go through just one round of drills and you will beg me to stop Y/N Oh? who said I want you to stop doing anything?

Jay stared at your text, a slow heat creeping up his neck. Oh? Who said I want you to stop doing anything? His brain ran through a dozen possible replies, none of them appropriate enough to send. He rubbed a hand over his face, fighting the grin pulling at his lips.

You were doing this on purpose. You had to be.

Jay You really don’t know what you’re asking for, do you? Y/N  I am always open to experience new things? But tbh the only thing i want to experience right now are 8 healthy hours of sleep  I have class at 9:30 tomorrow and i still feel like dying Jay You looked tired today Did you take painkillers? Y/N  geez thanks very much yeah but they aren’t helping that much and my stomach is kinda upset so i dont want to take another one Jay have you eaten anything yet?

The response took a little longer this time, but it finally came.

Y/N …No. But I have a good reason. My cat is sleeping on me, and I can’t move.

Jay blinked, his laughter bubbling out before he could stop it. Somehow, the image of you completely immobilized by a cat was both the most unexpected and the most fitting thing he could think of.

Jay You’re blaming the cat? Y/N I’m not “blaming” her. I’m respecting the unspoken rules. I’m legally required to stay put. Jay And starving in the process? 

Your answer to this message took a while. 

YN send a picture Just look at my little baby. I can’t just disturb her! 

He sat up straighter, his thumb hovering as he opened it. The image filled the screen—a shot of you sprawled back on what looked like your bed, a sleepy black cat curled up snugly against your chest. 

He blinked, then rubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to chase away whatever his brain was spiraling into. A stupid grin still tugged at the corner of his lips.

Jay Alright, I can’t even make fun of you for that She looks too comfortable to move.

He hit send, still staring at the picture like it might offer him answers to his prayers. It didn’t.

Y/N See?? I told you. Cat law.

He snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. He then had a stupid idea. 

Jay Well, lucky for you, I’m not about to let you starve. Y/N What do you mean? Jay I mean, tell me what you want to eat & your address, and I’ll bring it over.

The typing bubble appeared. Paused. Disappeared. Then came back again, like you were hesitating.

Y/N Wait, seriously?  Jay You think I’d joke about something as serious as food? Now tell me what you’re craving.

Another pause. 

Y/N  Surprise me?

Jay stood outside your door, balancing a paper bag of food in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. 

Play it cool, he thought, letting out a small breath. This wasn’t a big thing, right. He was just bringing a friend some food, after inviting himself to dinner? A friend he definitely had a crush on. That he never really gets to spend one on one time with. And now he will be inside your apartment. With you. Before he could overthink it any further, the door creaked open.

You blinked up at him, looking slightly surprised. Your hair was slightly mussed, like you’d just rolled out of bed, and there was a soft flush to your cheeks, probably from the heat of the apartment. You were wearing the blue knit sweater that he has seen quite often now and a pair of leggings that hugged your curves in a way that made his brain short-circuit for half a second. He had to force himself to keep his eyes firmly on yours, gripping the bag a little tighter.

“Hey,” you said, a small, surprised smile pulling at your lips. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I would never,” Jay replied, holding up the bag.

You stepped back to let him in, turning to walk toward the living room, and Jay, against his better judgment, found himself glancing down again. He yanked his gaze away, blinking rapidly as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Jay cleared his throat and stared at the nearest object, which just happened to be your bookshelf. He was surprised for a second at how many books you owned. The shelf was filled with books and trinkets and a collection of vinyls. 

You laughed softly, walking into the direction of your living room sofa. “I thought you were joking. This is really nice of you.”

Jay shrugged, trying to play it off, though his heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest. “I wasn’t about to let you starve,” he said, glancing around your apartment. “Where’s your little kitty?”

You tilted your head toward the couch. “She abandoned me the second you knocked. Betrayal.”

Jay grinned, shifting the bag to the coffee table and pulling out the containers. “Figures. I brought Japanese food, I hope that's okay.”

You hummed in agreement, flopping down onto the couch with a little sigh, after you set down two glasses and a bottle of water. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmured, pulling yourself into a cross-legged position as you watched him unpack the food. 

“It was no hussle. Really.”, he handed you a container with rice in it. “I would have had to eat something anyway and I really didn’t feel like cooking. I made steak with carbonara yesterday and cleaning up afterwards was so time consuming I didn't feel like cooking again today.”

“Oh?”, your eyes flickered back to him. “I didn’t know you like cooking?”

He nodded and put some rice onto his spoon, “I love cooking. I cook for my mom and my roommates all the time. I think it’s fun and if i don't cook Jake and Heeseung would live from Ramen.” 

You hummed and took a bit from the curry Jay brought. “That’s so nice. I can’t cook for life. I don’t trust myself in the kitchen.”

“Lucky for you, you now unlocked a personal chef.”, he joked. 

You laughed at him and hummed in agreement, while taking a bit of curry. 

Jay’s eyes flicked back to the bookshelf. There were neatly arranged rows of novels, some well-loved and worn, along with a few figurines peeking out here and there. From (obsessively) watching your videos and Tiktoks (RIP) he knew you were right now rereading the city of bones series and he saw the thick book laying on the floor next to your sofa. Colorful tabs were peeking out under the worn cover. 

„You have quite a big book collection. Have you read them all?“

You hummed again looking into the direction of your bookshelf aswell. „Most of them? My to-be-read books are on a bookshelf in my bedroom. I have about 48 left for this year to finish my reading goal.“

Jay looked back at you. „Reading goal?“

“Yeah. I try to read at least a book a month and i finished 4 already.”, you put the container you were holding back onto the coffee table and stood up. “I have a whole journal dedicated to my books.” 

Jay watched as you grabbed a small, overstuffed journal from the shelf. His gaze softened as you came back to the couch, settling down cross-legged a bit closer next to him. You put the journal on the coffee table and flipped it open, revealing pages filled with handwritten notes, colorful tabs, and tiny doodles. It looked like a lot of work. 

Jay scooted closer to you, his focus on the journal. “This is impressive. You really keep track of everything you read?”

You nodded, flipping through a few pages. “I like to rate them, write down my thoughts, favorite quotes… stuff like that. It’s relaxing, and it helps me remember the details.”

“What’s the latest book you read?” he asked, eyes focused on how your fingers moved across the pages.

You reached for the worn copy of City of Bones next to the couch, holding it up with a sheepish smile. “I’m actually rereading this series right now. I read the whole series back when it came out in like 2012? But I had quite a few edits of the male main character on my fyp and I kinda wanted to re-read it. I still love it, Jace was one of my first big fictional crushes.”

Jay laughed slightly and his gaze drifted back at your journal. The page that was flipped open had a print out of the cover of a book glued into it. He blinked, leaning in to take a closer look. A man in hockey gear stood front and center on the cover, and beneath it, in your neat handwriting, he spotted something that made him pause. ‘Heeseung and Jay remind me of Logan and Garreth. At least a bit.’ 

He tilted his head slightly, a slow grin spreading across his face as he reached for the notebook. “Wait a second,” he said, “Are you reading… hockey romances?”

You froze, mid movement, your hand lingering in the air still holding your edition of city of bones. A flush crept up your cheeks as you followed his gaze. “Oh. Um, yeah. Kind of.”

Jay’s grin widened, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “What do you mean, kind of? That’s a hockey stick right there on the cover.”

You groaned, leaning back against the couch as Gracie emerged from her cat bed and jumped onto the sofa, nestling against your thigh. “Okay, maybe a few. But it’s not what you think. These are actually really good! They’re funny and sweet, and the characters are…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “...well-written, okay? Don’t judge me.” You turned your face away in slight embarrassment. 

Jay raised an eyebrow, his grin turning mischievous. “Oh, sure. Well-written. I’m sure that’s why you’re all flushed.” He leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch, the other still holding the journal, scanning the text. “Let me guess. It’s the character development that really got you during that, uh... locker room scene?”

Your eyes widened, and a soft squeak escaped your lips. “Stop reading that!”

He shifted, angling himself away from you to continue reading. “So, what exactly happens in this locker room? Should I be taking notes?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s not- Jay, stop! It’s not what you think!”

Jay chuckled, his laugh low and warm. You were cute when you got flustered, all pink cheeks and wide eyes. He couldn't get enough of it. 

“No need to explain yourself,” he said, enjoying himself. “I get it. Hockey players are hot. I mean, look at me.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shooting him a glare from between your fingers.

But your reaction only fueled him on. “I’m just saying,” he continued, leaning closer. “If you’re into tall guys with great stick-handling skills, you could’ve just said so.”

You groaned again, louder this time, and even Gracie meowed as if to add to your mortification. “Jay!”

“What?” He laughed, thoroughly entertained. “I’m just trying to understand your literary taste. It’s research.” HIs eyes flickered back to the journal.

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “Who knows? Might even learn a thing or two from these ‘well-written’ books of yours.”

Just the thought of you reading hockey romances made his mind wander, his thoughts going in places it shouldn't. His pulse quickened, but he pushed the thought down with a smirk. He knew too well what that locker scene was about. Jeonghee, the teams social media manager made them read that exact scene.

“I don’t think there really is a lot for you to learn from these books. You do know hockey and you-”, you made a short pause, “know your ways around the ladies, as far as i know”. Shaking your head, you reached out to pluck your journal out of his hands. You pressed it against your chest and pouted at him. When your eyes met, his brain completely abandoned its job. Thoughts? Gone. Words? Irrelevant. You looked adorable.

“Mhm you are sure the locker scene couldn’t teach me anything? Maybe I should read that book as well.”, he shrugged and smirked at you, grabbing his container of curry again.

You gasped and hit him with your journal. “Jay. What the hell. You are impossible.”

He laughed and raised his hand to defend himself from your attack. "Do you even know the rules of hockey?" 

Your brow furrowed, eyes narrowing at him as you sat up, your attention fully on him now. "I know enough," you said. "You hit the puck, score goals, and try not to get punched?"

Jay couldn’t help but laugh at your confidence. It reminded him of your comment about them ‘playing in powerplay’ a few days ago. You were trying to be supportive, even if you were completely clueless. Jake and Yeonjun didn’t let him breath afterwards. 

“That’s...not totally wrong?" he said with a chuckle, the corner of his lips twitching up. He leaned in a little closer, his voice shifting into a more playful tone. “But there’s a little more to it than that.”

“Oh, yeah?” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

He shifted closer, trying his best to keep it together.

"Like icing. Or offsides. Or powerplays." He tilted his head, his eyes flicking to yours, and his voice dropped again, softer now. "If you’re going to read hockey romances, you should at least know what’s happening on the ice."

"Jay!" you said, but it wasn’t annoying. It was playful, lighthearted, and - damn, he loved hearing it.

Jay’s grin widened, and he leaned in a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “If you want a lesson, I’m more than happy to teach.” He noticed the way your breath hitched just slightly, and it sent a rush of heat through his chest. He had to admit, he was having way too much fun with this.

He leaned back again, trying to steady his racing thoughts. He shouldn’t focus on the way you looked, how you pouted when you tried to act mad. He definitely shouldn’t think about how cute it was when you crossed your arms like you were trying to protect yourself from his teasing. And he should definitely not think about you reading those locker room scenes. Getting all flushed and flustered for different reasons. 

You glared at him but with a soft edge, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Oh, you think you can just throw out some hockey terminology and impress me?”

Jay shrugged, looking effortlessly confident. “Works for some people,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes. 

"Are you offering to teach me hockey rules so I understand my books better, Jay?", you leaned in closer to him. He could feel the warmth radiating from you, and for a brief, unhinged moment, he considered stepping closer. 

“Why not? I’m practically a pro.” Jay’s lips curved into a slow grin. “I’d take it very seriously. After all, I’m in a prime position to verify the accuracy of the hockey parts.”

Your eyes rolled, but he caught the smile that tugged at your lips. "Oh, right," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because that’s the part of the book you’d focus on."

"Well, yeah," Jay said, his grin widening. "If it helps you visualize those locker room scenes better, I’m happy to provide insight." 

He would love to provide insight on that. Desperately. The way you laughed, head thrown back, looking both exasperated and amused, made Jay's chest tighten again. You were so soft and pretty, he wanted to reach out and touch your face so badly. 

“Alright, alright,” you said, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms again, but there was a slight smirk pulling at your lips. “You'll have to start with the basics. Even if i don't really need them to read hockey romances.”

Jay couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m just trying to help you expand your knowledge. It might come in handy and it’s educational.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Well, fine. Educate me,” you said, leaning forward a little, “I’m expecting some quality answers and a physical performance of important moves if necessary.”

“Trust me,” Jay said with a wink, “I always give a good performance.”

You were rubbing your hands onto each other while you were hurrying through the crowd of people entering the ice rink on the decelis campus. A few enthusiastic fans were already making their way to the stands even though the game was supposed to start in almost one and a half hours. 

When you found Chaeryoung, she was already settled in her seat, looking completely at home in her oversized jersey with Yeonjun’s name printed on it. Her eyes sparkled as she scanned the players already warming up on the ice. 

"Sorry I'm late," you said breathlessly, slipping into the empty seat next to her. "Professor Shin ignored that the lecture should have ended at four thirty and ended it like 20 minutes later. Made me want to shoot myself into my head."

“You’re just in time for warm-ups,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Why does it take an evening together with Jay to convince you to come along to watch a game?”

You groaned, having had his conversation about three times since you asked her if she was watching the game today. “Like I told you, he invited me because he claims I will understand the rules better when watching a game in real life. Jay didn’t really have to convince me,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, but you could already feel the heat rising on your face. “He just... invited me. I thought it might be fun to see the game live.”

You would also like to see him in his element. The way he so enthusiastically explained everything and even showed you videos for better understanding, made you want to see him skate. He was right. You apparently did have a thing for tall hockey men with good stick handling skills. Especially if their names are Jay Park and they come and surprise you with food and butterflies in your stomach. 

Chaeryoung let out a little snort of laughter, turning her head to look at you. “Uh-huh, sure. The ‘game’ convinced you to come.” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was a spark of amusement in her eyes.

You groaned, feeling your face heat up. “I’m just here to watch them play with their sticks. I guess?"

“Come on.”, she laughed, shaking her head “I see the way you are staring at Jay at any given chance.”

“First of all I am not staring, I am looking respectfully. And second of all why wouldn’t I? He is hot and I am here to be, you know, supportive to my new friend. Right. My new friend Jay.”, you didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears. But who were you to try to fool Chaeryoung, she could read you like the back of her hand. 

Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden defensive tone. “Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s all you’re doing. Just being a good friend.”

You shot her a glare, but it only made her laugh more. “Hey, you should be happy you aren’t alone today and enjoy my presence. This may be a once in a lifetime thing.” 

Chaeryoung just grinned, her eyes flickering back to the ice. “I am babes, don’t get me wrong. But Jay had to convince you?”

“Can we just focus on the game?”, you turned your gaze towards the ice, watching as the players from both teams were stretching and gliding around. “Or well, whatever they are doing there?”

“Warming up.”, she clarified, shrugging. “Jay's back number is 99, he is one of the forwards. Junnie is a defensemen but he is in the second line, so he won’t start the game.”

You nodded. You had picked up some of the basics. The forwards try to score, the defensemen block the shots, and the goalie defends the goal and is, according to Jay, absolutely batshit crazy. Well knowing Beomguy yourself, Jay's judgement of his character may be correct. The lines in the game are zones, don’t run over the zone line without a puck, don't trip anyone, don't play the puck above shoulder high, don't use your hockey stick to touch anything but the puck and try to not get into a brawl with anyone. If gloves come off, look away or enjoy men being brutal. Got that. 

You tried to spot Jay. The players all wore the same gear and their helmets were keeping their faces hidden but they were moving so fast, you had a hard time keeping up with the back numbers. 

The third period was just about to start when you reluctantly gathered your things, pulling your coat tighter around you.

“Leaving already?” Chaeryoung asked, her brows furrowing as she glanced at the ice. “The game’s just getting good!”

“I know, but I can’t be late for my shift,” you said, slipping your bag over your shoulder. “Haechan will rip my head off if i get there late and he has to spend his ‘precious friday evening in that shoe box’”

“You should think he loves his job, the way he boasts about being one of the hosts.”, Chaeryoung deadpanned.

“He does. He just doesn’t like being in the studio when he doesn't have to be.”, you shrugged and moved down a step, “Keep me updated and enjoy the rest of the game for me!”

“Oh, I will,” she teased. “I’ll let Jay know his friend had to skip out early. Have fun at the station.” she smiled at you, but her focus was back at the ice when the crowd around you groaned in frustration. 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Navigating through the crowd, you made your way toward the exit, already mentally preparing for the long evening ahead. Just as you rounded the corner near the concessions, someone stepped into your path, nearly colliding with you.

“Whoa, hey!”

You looked up to find Sunghoon, his familiar grin spreading across his face.

“Sunghoon? What are you doing here?” you asked, surprised.

“Supporting the guys,” he said, gesturing toward the ice. “Jake claims I am his personal lucky charm so I am obligated to attend.”

“Right,” you said, stepping aside to let someone pass. “I forgot how close you all are.”

“What about you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Not sticking around for the third period?”

You sighed, hitching your bag higher on your shoulder. “I’d love to, but I’ve got a shift at the station.”

“Damn i forgot you host fridays,” he said, shaking his head sympathetically. “Too bad, though. There’s a party after the game. You should come celebrate their win and getting some free booze.”

“Wish I could, Jay also invited me, but I’ll be working until like eleven?”, you said with a shrug.

Sunghoon’s smirk widened, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Bummer. I’m pretty sure he’d love to see you.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you rolled your eyes to play it cool. “I’ll try to stop by, but no promises.”

“Fair enough,” he said, stepping aside to let you pass. “I’ll let him know. He’s gonna be bummed, though.”

“Sure. I really have to get going. It was nice to see you Sunghoon, maybe until later.”, you smiled at him and continued your way to the exit of the ice rink.

You entered the studio just in time, as Haechan was queuing his last song of the evening. “This has been 37.5 MHz Haechan Radio. Thank you so much for listening.”

He clicked off his mic just as you dropped your bag on the couch by the door. Spinning his chair around, Haechan grinned at you.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” he said, throwing up his arms in a dramatic gesture.

“I’m literally right on time,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a smile as you let yourself into the recording booth.

“Barely,” he quipped, standing to stretch. “For a minute there, I thought you were gonna leave me hanging. Can you imagine? Poor me, abandoned, forced to extend my show just to fill dead air…”

“Spare me the dramatics,” you said, nudging him aside so you could take his seat. “You’d love the extra airtime, and you know it.”

“True,” he admitted, leaning against the desk as you adjusted the mic to your height. “But I also love my Friday night freedom.”

“I once did too.” you replied dryly.

Haechan laughed, giving you a quick salute as he grabbed his bag. “Knock ’em dead.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the studio. You settled into the chair and pulled your headphones on.

“This is Y/N, and you’re tuned in to 37.5 MHz. Today we are going to travel through time and listen to a lot of 90s and 2000 bangers, to get you all hyped up for your Friday evening parties. Please send in any song wishes or recommendations to our instagram and remember to have fun, but don’t have to much fun! This is Britney Spears with her hit song ‘Baby hit me one more time’,” you said into the mic, officially starting your programm of the evening.

This job was everything you’d dreamed of. Landing your own show at the station, especially on a Friday evening as a first year, was a big thing. You weren't about to take it for granted, especially since this job was looking very good in your CV. You always wanted to work in the entertainment industry and this was a good opportunity to get a foot into the door. But that didn’t mean it didn’t come with sacrifices.

Sometimes, you wondered if you’d been too eager to take Johnny’s spot. When he graduated he was looking for a new host to take over his show. He was ecstatic when he saw your application and a few days later his signature slot was yours. While you loved it, you couldn’t deny the occasional pang of regret when your friends made plans without you or when nights like this one rolled around.

The first hour passed uneventfully, your curated playlist keeping you company as you took requests and made the occasional announcement. You leaned back in your chair, pulling out your macbook to work on an essay that was due in a few days, while Rihanna was singing about her umbrellas in the background. You got a bit of work done before the four songs you queued up were done playing. As you announced the next track, your phone buzzed against the desk. You picked it up to find a text from Jay.

Jay Sunghoon told me you left early :(  Wish I got to see you after the game

You smiled, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed a reply.

Y/N Sorry :(  I had to literally run to the station since i stayed as long as i could But I did catch that penalty kill in the second period I was holding my breath the whole time! Jay Oh wow, I’m impressed you remember what it’s called Look at you, turning into a real hockey pro You rolled your eyes at the screen, still smiling. Y/N I did actually pay attention when you explained the rules to me okay!! I’m still not entirely sure I know what offside means Jay We’ll work on that. I’m always available for hockey lessons Y/N Sure lmao The next time i am lost during the game I wont ask Chae but shout over the glass to ask you Jay Please do ahahah

You put your phone back onto the table, queuing up a few more songs after checking the recommendations in the stations instagram account, when you phone vibrated again. 

Jay How’s the station?  Y/N  It’s fine, just me and the music I am working on the essay for COM 1 Jay Want some company?  I could skip the party and come by :) 

Your heart skipped, and for a moment, you stared at the screen, unsure how to respond.

Y/N That’s sweet, but you should celebrate with your friends I’ll be fine here Jay You’re sure? I don’t mind I’ve gotten drunk too often in the last few weeks My liver would thank me for a small pause Y/N Yes I am sure Park Go and celebrate your win! 

After you wrapped up your shift and closed the station for the day you texted Lia and Chaeryoung that you were on your way to the bar and asked them to let you know if they were still there. As you stepped out into the cold night air your phone vibrated and you saw Chaeryoungs face smiling at you. You pressed your phone to your ear as Chaeryoung’s voice slurred through the line.

“Y/N! Where are you?” Chaeryoung’s voice was loud as she almost screamed over the loud background music.

“I’m on my way, Chaeryoung,” you said, pulling your jacket tighter.

She giggled. “Hurry up! They are doing body shots right now. The exchange students are going crazy right now.”

“I will babes. I’m there in like fifteen minutes.”, you hung up, laughing to yourself.

As you stood just inside the entryway of the full bar, scanning the room for Chaeryoung, you were bumped lightly from behind. Before you could even turn, a familiar voice called out, “Y/N!”

You spun around to find Sunghoon grinning at you. “You made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Have you seen Chaeryoung?”

“Yeah but she’s off doing god knows what,” Sunghoon laughed, shaking his head and swaying dangerously. “Come on, I’ll get you a drink!”

As you were pulled through the crowd, people greeted Sunghoon enthusiastically, clapping him on the back or offering him shots, which he accepted without hesitation. You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, and accept your first shots of the evening aswell.

At the bar, you spotted Jay leaning casually against the counter, a drink in hand. His cheeks were flushed, and his grin widened when he saw you approaching. His hair was tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it all night, and his leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders in a way that made your mouth dry.

“Y/N!” Jay called, his voice bright with excitement. He set his drink down and took a step toward you pulling you into a hug. Okay, this was new. Not bad. But new

“Jay,” you greeted a bit breathless, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped when you felt his broad chest collided with yours. He had to have a six pack. A eight pack??

After a second your brain decided to come back to its senses, even though your actual senses were filled with Jay. He smelled so heavenly. And his warm body pressing into yours was a stark contrast to the biting cold of the outside. “Congratulations on the win!”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at you and letting you go from his embrace. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I couldn’t miss the chance to celebrate,” you said, returning his smile.

Jay chuckled. “What are you drinking?"

“Whatever you can recommend?",” you shrugged, glancing around for Sunghoon, who had already wandered off.

Jay turned to the bartender and ordered a martini pornstar. Before you could say anything else, someone bumped into you, and you nearly lost your balance. Instinctively, you reached out to steady yourself, and before you could fall, you felt a firm hand settle on your waist.

“Careful,” Jay’s voice was low in your ear, his touch warm against your side. 

“I’m fine,” you managed, glancing up at him, only to realize how close his face was to yours now. 

“You really have to stop falling for me like this,” Jay teased, looking down at you.

You fought the urge to smile, biting back a grin. “If I remember correctly, I wasn’t exactly falling for you. I was trying my best not to faceplant. You just happened to be in the way.”

“In the way?” Jay’s lips curved into a teasing smile, and he placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. “Ouch, Y/N. That stings.”

He rested his arm casually on the bar as he leaned in a little closer, just enough to make the space between you two feel impossibly small. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t faceplant,” he said softly, his gaze dipping to your lips for just a moment before meeting your eyes again. “That would’ve been tragic for both you and my jacket.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at him, the space between you two so close now that it felt impossible to focus on anything else. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’d survive,” you whispered, unable to stop the way your eyes drifted down to his lips, then back to his intense gaze.

A very drunk Jake appeared on Jay’s other side, a grin plastered across his face. “Y/N!” he said loudly, throwing an arm around Jay’s shoulder to steady himself. “You`re here!”

“I am,” you replied, laughing softly at his enthusiasm. Looking back at Jay. His hand remained around your waist and his pretty face was pulled into a frown, when he looked at Jake.

“Do you want a shot?” Jake asked, not waiting for your answer before flagging down the bartender. “Three shots of tequila, please!”

Jay opened his mouth to protest but was immediately ignored as Jake handed you one of the shots, his grin widening. 

“Cheers!” he said enthusiastically, raising his glass.

You glanced at Jay, whose lips curled into a smile but his eyes narrowed slightly. “I think that's not a good idea.” Jay said, his tone light but firm. 

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I think I can handle one shot,” you said, raising the glass to your lips.

You swallowed the shot, the heat spreading through your chest, but you didn’t break eye contact. His eyes flicked to your lips as you finished, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, almost predatory smirk.

“I know you can,” he murmured, his voice low. He was close enough now that you felt his breath against the shell of your ear as he spoke. You swallowed again. Hard. “I’m just not sure about him.”

Jake leaned over to order another round of shots. Jay let out a soft sigh, removing his hand from your hip, to stop his friend. 

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Jake,” Jay said, placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder and steering him toward the crowd. 

“You're a party pooper, Jay.”, he shook his head, “I am going to find Hoonie, he is going to want a shot!” 

As Jake stumbled off again, you shook your head. “I should probably also find my friends before they think I bailed.” 

Jay’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before he masked it with a smile. “Sure. Will we see each other later?”

“Definitely,” you promised, giving him a small wave as you stepped back into the crowd.

The next time you bumped into Jay was on the dancefloor. You were dancing with your friends, singing, well screaming, along to the songs blaring from the speakers. Minho and Changbin had done an excellent job getting you drunk, offering shot after shot and drink after drink until everything around you buzzed with a pleasant warmth. The bass vibrated through your chest, as you lifted your lifted into the air, your hips instinctively moving to the beat.

The first beats of Teenage Dream started playing and you gasped. 

“Oh my god! This is my song!” you exclaimed, closing your eyes as you belted out the lyrics.

When you opened them again, you spotted Jay and his friends stepping onto the dancefloor or more accurately, being pulled into the crowd by Jake and Sunghoon, with a reluctant-looking Heeseung trailing behind. Jay's grin widened when he spotted you, and before you could process it, he was steering his friends through the crowd into your direction. Jake almost immediately jumped Felix, also belting Teenage Dream. 

“You’re a Katy Perry fan?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise as he reached you.

“Who isn’t?” you shot back, already singing along to the lyrics, your voice a little loud and off-key, as you swayed to the rhythm, your movements just slightly unsteady.

Jay laughed, and to your delight, he joined in, belting out the chorus. 

“When did you get this drunk?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched you spin in place.

“I’m not drunk! Just tipsy!” you corrected with a grin, catching his arm to steady yourself mid-spin.

Jay’s hand instinctively came to your waist, steadying you as you giggled. “Okay, tipsy, maybe we should cool off for a bit?”

“Nooo!” you protested, grabbing his free hand and shaking it with exaggerated insistence. “We can’t leave Katy hanging!”

Jay threw his head back, laughing, but he didn’t argue. God he was so pretty. He stayed by your side, belting out the rest of the song with you, his voice blending with your off-key enthusiasm.

It wasn’t until the DJ transitioned to a rap track you didn’t recognize that you finally relented to take a small break. The world was a bit wonkier than you’d like and the fact that Jay was so close that you could feel his body heat radiate into yours made your heart beat faster than you'd like.

Jay guided you through the crowd, his hand warm on your back as he led you to the door. The cool night air hit your face like a splash of water, sobering you slightly as you stepped onto the patio. 

You sighed in relief, tilting your head back to feel the cool breeze against your skin. “This is so much better,” you murmured. 

You shivered slightly, tugging your cardigan tighter around you as you stepped onto the sidewalk. You spotted a bench a few feet away, its wooden slats looking inviting despite the cold. Without thinking, you made your way over and sat down.

Jay hesitated for a moment before joining you, his shoulder brushing yours lightly as he settled in. He glanced at you and frowned when he saw you shiver again. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your teeth chattered slightly.

Jay didn’t say anything. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. It smelled like him. Whatever cologne that is, it’s probably illegal in seven countries for how unfairly attractive it makes Jay smell.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling it tighter around you.

“Of course,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long.

You tilted your head back to look at the sky, the stars faint against the glow of the city lights. “You were so cool at the game,” you said suddenly, your words slightly slurred.

Jay chuckled. “Oh yeah?”

“I mean it,” you insisted, turning to face him, though the motion made your head spin slightly. “The way you all move and like i don’t know glide over the ice? And you can still stop and ugh. It was very cool to watch. And i understood stuff. Very cool. And I am rambling. I should stop.” When did you get that drunk. You didn’t even drink that much. Maybe, just, a few shots and a few drinks? Okay. Scratch that, you did definitely drink more than planned.

“Yeah?” He looked at you, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear. I tried extra hard today, knowing you would be there and yeah.”

You positively beamed at him. He played good to impress you? “Oh that’s so nice. Thank you.”, without thinking you rested your head on his shoulders, shuffling a bit closer to him and his body warmth.

Jay froze for a second, but then you felt him rest his head on yours as well.

A yawn escaped you before you could stop it, and you blinked.

“Tired?” Jay asked.

“Nope,” you lied, shaking your head, though the weight of his jacket and the buzz of the alcohol were making you feel dangerously close to curling up right there. “Totally wide awake. I want more shots.”

Jay laughed, the sound vibrating through you. “I think you’ve had enough for one night.”

“Lies!” you declared, standing up abruptly. The world tilted, and you quickly sat back down, clutching the bench for support. “Maybe just one more.”

Jay groaned softly, running a hand through his hair as he watched you give him your best pout, complete with wide, imploring puppy eyes. “Y/N, you’ve already had, what? Five? Six shots?”

“Four,” you corrected, holding up three fingers. Then you frowned and switched to four. “Maybe five. But that’s not the point!”

Jay crossed his arms, one brow arching as he fought to keep a straight face. “The point is you’re done for the night.”

“I’m not,” you protested, leaning against the bench dramatically. “One more. One teeny, tiny little shot. Pleeease?”

Jay shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Y/N, no.”

You groaned, throwing your head back in mock despair. “But Jay, I never get to have this much fun.”

“Trust me, you’ll have more fun when you don’t wake up feeling like your head’s been run over by a car,” he teased.

You pouted harder. “You’re mean. The meanest ever. Jake would let me drink another shot. He is so nice”

Jay rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “You’re not going to guilt-trip me into this.”

You squinted at him, tilting your head as if assessing his resolve. Then, with a dramatic sigh, you straightened and muttered, “Fine. But only because you’re cute.” What. 

Jay froze for a fraction of a second, the words clearly catching him off guard. “I’m cute?” he repeated, a teasing smile replacing his initial surprise.

“Devastatingly,” you mumbled, clearly not realizing what you’d just said and when you did, just a fraction too late you had the desire to hit your head onto the concrete floor.

Jay bit back a laugh, reaching out to steady you as you wobbled slightly. “Come on. Let’s get you some water, tipsy.”

Reluctantly, you let him help you up. His hand was warm and steady on your back as he guided you inside. The bar was still lively, and Jake immediately spotted you.

“Y/N! Another shot!” he shouted, holding up a glass triumphantly.

“Yes!” you started to cheer, but Jay’s arm came up, blocking you slightly as he intercepted the glass.

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly, tossing the shot back himself before placing the empty glass on the bar. The smoothness of his motion, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, left you momentarily speechless. All thoughts left your brain.

“That was so sexy,” you mumbled, barely realizing you’d said it out loud. You were pretty sure this shot could have been the beginning of an erotica movie. Amazing.

Jay turned to you, his lips twitching into a teasing smile. “Glad you think so.”

He handed the empty glass back to Jake, who looked mildly impressed despite his tipsy state. “That’s the last one. For everyone.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, though the smile on your face betrayed you.

“Sure you do,” Jay replied, his voice low and teasing. 

He steered you gently toward your friends, making sure you said goodbye to everyone. Chaeryoung hugged you tightly, Felix gave you a goofy thumbs-up, and Jake pouted when Jay wouldn’t let him order another round.

When the two of you were back at the door, Jay stopped, turning to face you with a small frown. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” 

“I’m sure,” you said, smiling up at him. “It’s a short walk. I’ll call you!”

Jay hesitated, his gaze searching yours for a moment before he nodded. “Alright. But call me as soon as you get home.”

“Deal,” you said, leaning up and impulsively pressing a chaste kiss on his cheek. You pulled back, the reality of what you’d just done hitting you like a freight train. Did you just kiss him? Oh my God, you just kissed him. Abort mission. Run. MOVE.

But your feet betrayed you, glued to the ground as heat flooded your face. “Uh- sorry. That was- I didn’t mean-” you stammered, your words tangling together and your face heating up. “Okay, I meant it, but I didn’t mean it like that, I just - oh my God, can you forget I just did that?”

Jay blinked, his expression shifting into something almost unreadable. Soft, maybe a little amused? Then his lips curved into the kind of smile that made your heart stumble over itself.

“I’m not forgetting that,” he said, his voice warm and quiet. “But if you want me to, I’ll pretend you didn’t just completely short-circuit in front of me.”

“I- ” you started, then closed your mouth, unsure if you should laugh or cry. Probably both. “I’m fine. Totally fine. I just - goodnight!”

You turned quickly, trying to escape the scene of your own emotional car crash, but Jay reached out, catching your wrist gently. The warmth of his hand stopped you dead.

“Hey.” His tone was soft, coaxing, as he leaned down just slightly to meet your gaze. “Don’t overthink it, okay? I liked it.”

You blinked at him, the words hitting like a slow wave. “You did?”

Jay’s grin widened, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Yeah. Though I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm next time.”

“Next time?” you repeated, your voice rising an octave. Oh no, your brain has officially checked out again. Someone reboot you. “Next time,” he said firmly, letting go of your wrist but brushing his fingers over yours in a way that felt deliberate, lingering. “But for now, go home before I decide to ignore my better judgment and walk you there anyway.”

You could only nod, your heart thudding in your chest as you stumbled out into the cool night air. Next time. His words replayed over and over in your head as you made your way home. 

When you could see your apartment building you pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Taking a deep breath and pretending that your heart wasn’t still racing you called Jay.

He picked up almost instantly. “Y/N?”

“I am almost home, Jay. I can see my apartment building already. I am safe and sound.”, you said softly.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m still walking you to the door, though. Stay on the phone. I-” Jay was interrupted by Jakes slurred and offended voice.

“Y/N went home? My shots partner ditched me?”

Jay sighed, but there was an unmistakable fondness in his tone. “She didn’t ditch you. She’s tired and needed to get home.”

“You’re so boring,” Jake grumbled. “Let me talk to her!”

“Jake-”

“Jaaaay, let me talk to her!” Jake’s whining made you laugh, and Jay sighed in defeat before you could hear him handing the phone over.

“Y/N!” Jake’s voice boomed through the speaker.

“Jake,” you greeted, suppressing your laughter. The embarrassment, the fresh air and the bottle of water you bought in the GS25 did a good job in sobering you up at least a bit. 

“You’re a traitor,” he accused, though his tone was playful. “We were supposed to keep the shot streak alive. Katy is playing again!”

“Next time,” you promised, nodding even though he could see you.

“Fine,” Jake said with a dramatic huff before handing the phone back.

“Sorry about that,” Jay said, his tone dry but amused.

“It’s okay. Jake’s fun.” You paused. “I’m almost home. You can hang up now and go back to the others.”

“No,” Jay said firmly. “I’m not hanging up. Not until you’re inside.”

You punched the pin to your apartment into the number pad as Jay was fending off a drunk Jake again. You haphazardly kicked off your shoes as Gracie trotted over to greet you. 

“Oh my God, Gracie,” you squealed. “You’re so cute. Did you miss me? I missed you.”

Gracie purred loudly, rubbing her head against your hand. 

“I’m home!” you declared into your speaker. “Also, guess what?”

Jay chuckled softly. “What?”

“Gracie missed me,” you said with a dramatic sigh, collapsing onto your couch. “Like, she’s acting like I’ve been gone for years. She’s the best cat ever, Jay. Like, ever. And she forgives me for leaving her because she loves me so much.”

Mhm. Maybe not as sober as you thought.

“Of course,” he said, his tone amused. “I’m glad Gracie forgives you. She’s very forgiving.”

“She is,” you agreed, stroking her fur as she curled up on your lap. 

Jay laughed softly, the sound warm in your ear. 

“But she’s still the best. I mean, look at her-wait, you can’t see her. She’s being adorable right now, though. You’d die.”

“I am sure she is.”, he laughed again. 

Ugh why must his laugh be that attractive.

“I had so much fun tonight. And Gracie’s the cherry on top. She’s purring like crazy right now. ”

“Oh, really?” he teased.

“Really,” you insisted. 

Jay’s laughter filled the line, warm and teasing. “You should sleep now.”

“Okay, fine,” you mumbled, getting up from the floor, “Congratulations on your win again.”

“Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot to me.” he said softly.

For a short moment neither of you said anything until he urged you to drink some water and to go to sleep.

“Good night, Y/N”

“Good night, Jay.”

God, you were in trouble.

The morning sunlight filtered through Jay’s curtains, waking him slowly. Blinking against the brightness, he stretched out on his bed, his muscles pleasantly sore. 

He reached for his phone. The screen lit up, revealing a flood of notifications. New Instagram followers. Dozens of comments on his Posts. As well as a dozen DMs. 

Choi Jeonghee  What did you do?!

Jay groaned softly, rubbing his face as he sat up in bed. He did nothing, or well nothing that would have gotten him any trouble with the media or similar? After you left yesterday he collected Jake, Heeseung and Sunghoon and made them go home and he fell into his bed as soon as they walked through the doorway. Maybe his dad posted on the official instagram of Park ent. and tagged him? 

He opened Instagram first, scrolling through the sea of new followers and tags. Confused, he checked his DMs, finding them packed with messages—mostly from strangers, a few from people he vaguely recognized.

Then he saw it: a tagged story from you.

Clicking on it, he was greeted by a short clip of the two of you from last night, dancing to Katy Perry. The video was shaky, and a bit blurry and Felix and Jakes voices were drowning out the actual singer by belting the lyrics. Even completely sober you looked beautiful to him. You were laughing and holding onto him, while he was looking at you like you were holding the stars in your eyes. You tagged him and the bar you met in yesterday. You also posted a picture of Chaeryoung during the match yesterday.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that your fans must have seen the story and just started following him because of that. You have told him before, that your fans were very invested in your love life and how you weren’t a big fan of that, so you tried to keep that as secret as possible, never really posting about it. They would love you and Han together but you assured him that you weren’t interested in Han a bit. He did believe you but he wasn’t so sure that Han felt the same. Every time he crossed paths with you and your friend group, whether on campus or down by the creek, Han shot him glances sharp enough to kill.

He was about to text Jeonghee back when a soft knocking sound came from his door and Heeseung peaked into his room. His hair was standing off in every direction.

“Good morning. You want breakfast? Jeonghee came over and brought some pasties from the creek to celebrate yesterday's win. And she kinda wants to know what you and Y/N did. She said she wants it straight from the source.”, his voice sounded a bit rough, like he just woke up as well.

Jay groaned, tossing his phone onto the bed. “I didn’t do anything. She tagged me in a story, and now her fans are swarming my account.”

“Tell that to Jeonghee, not me.”

Reluctantly, Jay got out of bed, throwing on a hoodie before heading to the kitchen. The smell of coffee and something vaguely burnt greeted him as he entered.

Jake and Sunghoon sat slumped at the table, their heads resting on their arms. Jeonghee sat by the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Morning, lover boy,” she greeted with a smirk.

Jay rolled his eyes, grabbing a mug. “Please don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Jeonghee began, sliding into a seat across from him, “that story went viral. Y/N’s fans are convinced you two are a thing. And honestly, from the way you were looking at her, I can’t blame them.”

Jake groaned, lifting his head slightly. “Can we talk quieter? My head feels like it’s been put through a blender.”

“Maybe don’t take shots with Sunghoon next time,” Jeonghee shot back, unimpressed.

Sunghoon raised a hand weakly. “I regret nothing.”

Jeonghee ignored him, turning her attention back to Jay. “Anyway, the engagement our posts have had in the last hours is insane. People started making edits for you.”

Jay frowned, his grip tightening on his mug. “What does that mean?”

“It means that her fans are now invested. And that she probably is too. I know from trustworthy sources that that should be the case. And I also know that if you don’t get your ass up soon someone else will.” 

“You mean Han?”, Jay raised an eyebrow. 

Sunghoon snorted, half-asleep. “Man, he is so hopeless.”

Jay shook his head. “I don’t think he has the balls to make a move on her.”

Jeonghee smirked, sipping her coffee. “I don’t think so either, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try. You’ve seen how he hovers around her, Jay.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, processing her words. The thought of Han crowding you, oblivious to your lack of interest, made his jaw tighten. Especially after he knew you were not interested in Han. Maybe he was just as delusional as Han, but especially after yesterday he was sure that you had a thing for him.

Heeseung chimed in. “Look, Jay. You like her, right?”

Jay hesitated, glancing around the table at his friends. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”

“Then what’s the holdup?” Heeseung asked, spreading his hands. “You’ve got an opening. Just… be honest with her.”

“Honest about what?” Jay asked, feigning ignorance. He was about to say that Heeseung was the one to speak. Before Jeonghee and Heeseung were officially together she slept over more times than Jay could count and the way Heeseung went all soft and crazy for their captain's daughter while not making a move (for almost half a season!!!) seems to be a tad worse than Jay's little crush on a random barista. 

Jeonghee rolled her eyes. “About the fact that you look at her like she’s the only person in the room. And don’t even try to deny it. I saw the way you were staring at her in that Instagram story.”

Jake snickered. “It’s painfully obvious, man.”

Sunghoon lifted his head a bit. “If it works out I want credits for being your wingman yesterday.”

Jay groaned, running a hand down his face. “You guys are the worst.”

Jeonghee grinned, unbothered. “Maybe, but we’re also right.”  

The studio was quiet, save for the faint hum of the equipment and the muted sound of the current song playing. You were reviewing your notes for your classes later in the day when your phone vibrated. You picked it up, squinting at the message.

Jay Hey, I’m outside. Do I just ring the bell, or…?

You blinked, rereading the text. Jay? Outside? You glanced at the clock. 7:02 a.m. What was he doing here? 

Y/N Huh? What do you mean?  Where are you? 

The reply came quickly.

Jay In front of the studio. I figured you’d need some coffee.  Should I ring, or can you let me in?

Your heart skipped a beat, and you scrambled to your feet. Slipping on your shoes, you hurried down the narrow hallway to the entrance. Pushing open the door, you were met with the cold morning air and Jay, holding two steaming cups of coffee, looking unfairly cute in his hoodie and a beanie pulled low over his hair.

“Morning,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small smile.

You stood there for a second, slightly stunned. “You-what are you doing here?”

“Morning practice,” he explained, holding up the coffee cups as if that explained everything. “I wanted to stop by. Thought you might need this.”

Your chest warmed, the gesture hitting you harder than you expected. “Jay, you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, stepping inside as you held the door open for him.

Closing the door behind him, you led him back to the studio, sitting down by your equipment, still processing his surprise visit.

“You’re seriously the nicest person ever,” you said, taking one of the cups from him. The warmth seeped into your hands, and you cradled it gratefully. “Thank you. Really.”

Jay shrugged, leaning casually against the edge of your desk. “You’ve got a long morning ahead. Thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

You smiled and took a sip of your latte. 

“Are you filming today?” Jay asked, noticing the camera on your desk.

“Uh, kind of,” you admitted. “But uhm don’t worry. I’ll cut you out of the vlog.”

“Oh no worries.”, he said waving into the camera.

You bit your lip, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “I just-ugh, I feel so bad about tagging you in that story. My followers were so obnoxious. I’m sorry if they bothered you.”

He shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. “They didn’t bother me. It was kind of sweet, in a way? lt was quite an ego boost to now have more followers than Heeseung.”

You ducked your head, your cheeks burning. “Still. I felt bad.”

Jay reached out, his hand brushing yours briefly, a gesture so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. “Don’t. It’s really not a big thing”

You glanced up at him, his warm gaze making your heart race. “If you say so.” you said softly.

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, the quiet of the studio wrapping around you like a cocoon.

“You should sit,” you said finally, gesturing to the chair across from yours. “Do you wanna stay for a bit?”

He smiled, settling into the seat. “Sure. I’d love to.”

Jay settled into the chair across from you, his long legs stretched out slightly. 

“So,” you began, fiddling with the edge of your notes. “Do you want to pick a song or something? I mean, since you’re here.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me? Don’t you have a whole playlist planned?”

You shrugged, feeling the familiar warmth creep up your neck. “Yeah, but I can squeeze something in. It’s my show, after all.”

His smile widened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “You’re giving me creative control?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t make me regret it. No pressure, but pick something good.”

Jay leaned forward, a thoughtful expression on his face as he tapped his fingers lightly against the coffee cup. “Can I recommend a song in Japanese?” he asked, his tone soft.

You froze mid-sip of your coffee. 

“Yes! Of course!” you said, your voice bright and eager.

His lips curled into a small smile, clearly amused by your enthusiasm. 

“Okay,” he said, pulling out his phone. “There’s this song I really likeドライフラワ by Yuuri. Do you know it?”

Your eyes widened, and you practically bounced in your seat. “Are you kidding? I love Yuuri!” you exclaimed, your hands coming together in an excited clap. “His songs are so good, and the storytelling in his music is incredible.”

Jay’s grin widened at your reaction. “Yeah, right? This one’s been stuck in my head lately. The vibes, the lyrics. It’s just so well done.”

You queued up the track immediately. As the music played, you glanced at him, a new thought crossing your mind. “How do you know Your?”

Jay rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little bashful. “Well, I’ve been studying Japanese for a while. And I love music so I started listening to japanese artists a lot.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you shifted in your chair to face him fully. “Wait, what? You speak Japanese?” Shit. You tried to remember if you ever spoke Japanese around him. Or well if you spoke in Japanese about him AROUND him. 

Jay chuckled, switching seamlessly into Japanese. “Well, I’m not that good, but I’m trying.”

Your face lit up, your smile so wide it practically hurt. You didn’t really get the opportunity to speak Japanese to anyone but your family that often and now Jay was speaking Japanese? “No way! You can really speak it! That’s amazing!”

He laughed softly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “Thanks, but I’m not that good.”

You waved a hand dismissively, shaking your head. “Not at all! You sound pretty much fluent!”

He leaned back in his seat, setting his coffee down. “Okay, full disclosure: I actually started learning Japanese because of anime. It’s a little embarrassing, but yeah… anime and a ton of subtitles.”

You blinked at him for a moment before bursting into a soft laugh. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Completely serious,” he admitted, his smile sheepish but endearing. “I’d hear a phrase, look it up, and just… kept going. Then I got hooked on the language.”

You shook your head, still laughing but with a warmth that softened the sound. “I mean, fair. I can’t even judge you because I’ve been studying Korean with K-dramas for years. I even have a little notebook where I’d write down new words while watching.”

Jay’s brows rose in amused surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah.” you said, “When my parents decided to move here, none of us could speak korean and my brothers and I started watching K-dramas together. Taki and Yudai had to suffer a lot.”

Jay’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he processed your words. “Wait, hold up. Yudai’s your brother?” he asked again, his tone mixing disbelief with amusement.

You grinned, leaning back in your seat a little.“Yeah, Yudai’s the older one, and Taki is the younger one,” you explained. “You might also know my dad. Professor Koga?”

Jay’s eyebrows shot up even further, and he let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s kind of crazy. I didn’t realize you were his daughter. I’ve been on the receiving end of his lectures a couple of times” He trailed off, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “He’s intense, man.”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, he is. Especially when it comes to his work. But when he’s at home, it’s like a totally different person. He’s a softie when it comes to family. Especially to Taki. I swear he never gets scolded for all of the shit he does.”

“I’ll have to remember that if I ever run into him again,” Jay said, looking genuinely impressed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him being anything but intense.”

“He is a great dad.”, you said softly smiling. 

You and Jay ended up talking until he was almost late for his morning training session. When Jay finally stood you found yourself reluctant to let him go.

“Thanks for stopping by,” you said as he lingered near the door.

“Thanks for letting me crash your show,” he replied, his voice light but his expression soft.

He hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward, his lips brushing lightly against your cheek. “See you later?”

You swallowed and smiled. “Yeah. See you later.” 

Later turned out to be more than a whole week later. Both of your schedules were so stuffed you couldn’t even grab lunch together. That didn’t stop you from non stop texting though. ​​It was almost ironic how, no matter how chaotic life got, the two of you always ended up crossing paths at parties.

You were minding your own business, questioning all of your life choices while you were watching your friends play drunk jenga. So far Minho had to pick a body part to kiss from the person to his left. Much to his displeasure the person to his left was Changbin who was cackling the whole time. Minho, clearly not thrilled, ended up kissing Changbin's biceps, which, in fairness, wasn't the worst fate. Beomgyu had to strip his shirt and Ryujin had to text her ex ‘I miss you’ but opted out to take the two shots of whatever alcohol they were currently drinking. You would have killed her if she would have texted Mina again. 

You decided to sit this round out. The last time you played, you had to give the person sitting opposite you a lap dance. Lucky for you, it was Lia and the two of you had been laughing the entire time. You hadn’t really known what you were doing, but judging by Chaeryoung’s enthusiastic thumbs up when you finished and the way Intak discreetly pulled a pillow onto his lap, you were pretty sure you’d at least done something right.

But today, Jay was playing too, and there was no way you were even risking the chance of giving him a lap dance. With your luck, that would’ve been your fate. 

Instead, you leaned against the sofa armrest and took the time to not so obviously stare at Jay. He looked absolutely incredible tonight. He was wearing a tight fitted black t-shirt, his arms toned arms were almost screaming your name, paired with several chains. His dark jeans were snug, outlining his legs in a way that had you biting your lip before you could stop yourself. Every time he laughed, his whole face lit up. His smile was so damn attractive it made your heart race and you weren't even tipsy yet. He caught you staring at him more than once, but you just smiled at him and gestured him to focus back on the game. Which lead to him cocking his head to the side and smirking, not breaking eye contact waiting for you to back down.

You had no idea where your newfound confidence was coming from. Maybe it was because, the first time he saw you, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. And when his eyes slowly dragged up and down the tight black mini dress you’d borrowed from Chaeryoung, his ears turned bright red. 

You stood up to get yourself another drink when you bumped into Yudai and Sakura exiting the kitchen.

"Whoa, watch where you're going!" Yudai said with a teasing grin. 

He looked you up and down, raising an eyebrow. "That’s uh, an interesting choice of outfit, huh?" He smirked, crossing his arms. "A little short, don’t you think?"

You rolled your eyes, ready to defend yourself from your brother's overprotectiveness when his girlfriend immediately jumped in: “Yudai, shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She looks hot. Let her live."

Yudai scoffed, not backing down. "I’m just saying, she’s my baby sister, she shouldn’t be wearing stuff like that."

Sakura laughed, nudging Yudai. "She’s not a baby anymore.", she looked back at you, giving you an appreciative once-over. "You look amazing Y/N. You should wear dresses like that more often! It really suits you."

Yudai threw his hands up, playfully frustrated. "I’m just saying, I don't need to see my little sister looking like that."

Before you could respond, you felt a presence behind you, and Jay suddenly appeared, his hand on your elbow. You hadn’t even noticed him approaching, but now he was standing just a bit too close, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, Yudai. Sakura,” Jay greeted, giving them a friendly nod before his gaze flickered down to you. “Y/N.”

Nice. Just nice. Why now Jay. He had the whole evening to approach you. Why infront of Yudai? 

You felt your cheeks flush instantly, the heat creeping up. You hoped your foundation was holding up because, knowing Sakura, she could probably see right through your flustered expression. Sure enough, she shot you a pointed look, a grin tugging at her lips. 

“The others are going outside to play a round of beer pong, do you wanna come along?”, he asked, his focus solely on you. 

You smiled at him and tried to ignore how your brother was mustering Jay. “Sure. I’ll come outside in just a second.” 

He nodded and grinned at you: “Perfect, I’ll see you there.” And then he leaned forward, giving you a chaste cheek on your cheek. Your heart stopped for a second and then started beating so fast, you were sure if someone was to watch your chest they would see the rapid movements. He nodded at Yudai and Sakura and turned around.

The moment he left, you sighed and turned back to face your brother and his girlfriend. You knew exactly what was coming next.

“Not a word,” you said, your voice flat, glaring at them both.

Yudai gave you a knowing smirk, clearly not buying it. “Oh, come on. Y/Nie.”

Sakura wasn’t helping either. She snickered, leaning closer to you with an overly sweet smile. “I didn’t know you and Jay were a thing.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you took a deep breath. “We’re just... friends.”

Yudai raised an eyebrow. “Friends, huh? You sure blush a lot for just being friends.”

Your brain scrambled for a way out of this conversation. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen like you might just vanish in that direction.

Sakura leaned back, her grin widening. “Please, Y/N. Don’t even try.”

Your words started coming out in a jumbled mess. "I-what-no! Stop it!” you spluttered, praying for divine intervention. Someone. Anyone. Help. “We are just friends. Jay is way out of my league. You are imagining things.” Like the kiss they just saw. Maybe you were hallucinating that? 

Sakura snorted and nudged your arm. “You are not out of his league. And, honestly, it’s obvious Jay likes you too. He kissed your cheek Y/N.” Okay, not a hallucination then. 

You whined, shaking your head. “Stop! This is so embarrassing. I’m leaving. Don’t talk to me for the rest of the day!”

Before either of them could respond, you spun on your heel and headed for the back door, determined to escape their relentless teasing. 

You found your friends pretty quickly. The hockey frats house was a bit off campus and had a gigantic yard with a pool and enough space for three beer pong tables lined next to each other. When you reached the tables you leaned into Chaeryoung, who was talking to Lia. “Please, please kill me.”

Chaeryoung laughed and petted your hair. "What's up Y/N?”

“Yudai and Sakura just saw me and Jay. I had to escape just now.”

Lia leaned in. “Why what did Jay do?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Please don’t make me relive this. I’m already mortified. Jay kissed my cheek, Yudai went full big-brother mode, and Sakura was just egging him on, calling me out for crushing on him.”

Lia laughed, crossing her arms. “Well, to be fair, you do have a massive crush on him.”

“Not helping,” you muttered, glaring at her.

Chaeryoung shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re hopeless, Y/N.”

Before you could respond, a voice startled the three of you from behind.“Y/N! ”

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned around to look directly into Jay’s face, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a beer bottle. 

Chaeryoung raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a laugh. “Speak of the devil.”

You shot them both a withering look but turned to make your way over. As you approached, Jay’s smile widened just slightly, his gaze softening.

“Would you like to play against Hee and Jake?” he asked, his tone light.

You nodded, trying to play it cool despite the way your heart was racing. “Sure. But if we lose, it’s all your fault.”

Jay chuckled, stepping aside to let you take your spot by the table. “Deal. We’re not going to lose.”

The two of you slipped into an easy rhythm. By the time you sank the last shot, your opponents were groaning in defeat, and Jay gave you a triumphant high-five.

“Told you,” he said, grinning. “We make a great team.”

You laughed, brushing your hair out of your face. “I never denied that. You are actually not terrible at this.”

Jay tilted his head, mock-offended. “Not terrible? That’s the best compliment I’m getting?”

“Take it or leave it,” you teased, your smile widening.

After the game, the two of you decided to take a break, grabbing fresh drinks before finding a quiet spot to just relax for a second.

The two settled onto a bench near the pool, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as you glanced at the scene in front of you. Jay sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You tilted your head back to look at the stars, the coolness of the evening air brushing against your face. You could hear Jay breathing beside you, and after a moment, he turned his head slightly to look at you. You turned to meet his eyes.

“I’m glad we’re out here,” you said quietly, your voice almost lost in the breeze. “It’s nice.”

Jay nodded, his lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah, it’s a lot better than being stuck inside.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. You closed your eyes for a second, just letting the calmness of the evening settle over you. You had morning classes and a hosting session behind you, and the exhaustion was finally catching up.

After a moment, Jay shifted slightly, his voice low. “How drunk are you?”

“Just a bit tipsy,” you admitted with a soft chuckle. “Not nearly as tipsy as last time though. Don’t worry.”

“Mhm you were pretty cute last week. I am not sure how you were handling the amount of shots you had that well, but Jake was feeling way worse than you did.”, he chuckled.

You blushed a bit as you turned to him, the soft glow of the pool lights reflecting in his eyes.

 “Well, Jake’s a lightweight,” you said with a playful shrug. “But I’m also not usually one to go that hard. Guess I just felt comfortable last time.”

Jay’s smile widened. “Comfortable, huh?”

You laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “Maybe. Don’t let it go to your head.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “I won’t, but. I’m glad. I want you to feel comfortable with me.”

You glanced down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your dress, before daring to meet his gaze again. “I do. You make it easy.”

His eyes softened. “Good. That means a lot to me.”

Jay’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression thoughtful and gentle. The soft glow of the pool lights danced in his eyes, and you felt your heart thrum in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t control.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to him, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah?”

He hesitated.“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Of course. Shoot.”

Jay’s lips curled into a soft smile, and he leaned just a fraction closer, his voice low and steady. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Your cheeks warmed, your heart racing as his question settled over you. You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice.

Jay smiled, a small, relieved exhale escaping him. He lifted his hand, the touch of his fingers feather-light as they brushed your cheek, tilting your face gently toward him. He leaned in, his movements slow, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears. You couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes, afraid that if you did, he would disappear in front of your eyes.

Jay’s gaze searched yours for another heartbeat before his lips finally met yours. 

His lips were warm, soft, and faintly flavored with the Malibu you’d both stolen earlier. You sighed into the kiss, your hand sliding up his back, your fingers threading through the strands of his hair. He shivered under your touch, and the quiet sound he made against your lips sent a thrill down your spine.

Jay’s hand cradled your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as the kiss deepened. He angled his head slightly, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to brush against yours in a tentative, teasing motion. The sensation sent a wave of heat through you, and you instinctively leaned closer, your grip tightening in his hair as his free hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss grew bolder, his lips molding perfectly to yours as his tongue explored in slow, deliberate movements that left you breathless. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh, and he answered with a low hum that you felt resonate through your chest.

When you both finally pulled back his forehead came to rest against yours, both of you catching your breath. His eyes fluttered open, warm and dark in the soft glow of the party lights.

Jay broke the silence, his voice a whisper. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

Your lips curled into a soft smile, your forehead still pressed to his. “Me too,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath. You carefully leaned forward again, reconnecting your lips. He hummed into the kiss and pulled you into his lap, but before anything else could happen a sharp voice rang out behind you, starling the both of you: “Y/N?”

You and Jay jumped apart, nearly tumbling off the bench as you scrambled to straighten up. You turned quickly, your breath caught in your throat. Standing there, a little unsteady on his feet, was Han. His face was flushed, his expression angry.

“Han?” you said cautiously.

Han’s gaze flicked from you to Jay, narrowing in irritation. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, his voice louder than you are used to.

Jay stood up, his posture stiffening, concern flashing across his face.

"Han," you started, trying to steady your voice, “calm down please.”

But Han didn’t listen. His chest heaved with every breath, his eyes locked onto Jay with nothing but fury. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing, Jay. You think she’s just some game to you?” Han’s voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. "You have no right to mess with her like this."

You watched as Jay instinctively stepped in front of you, his posture defensive. His eyes remained locked on Han, while his hands reached out to push you further behind his body.

"Stay the hell away from her!" Han barked, his voice full of venom. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I—” He hesitated for just a moment, then his eyes flared. “You knew I liked her. And you still just swooped in, didn't you? You think you can have everything, right?”

What? 

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Your chest tightened. 

He came closer to the two of you, stumbling a bit. “You think you are better than me, Jay? You think you can just come in and convince her to like you?”

Han liked you. 

Your throat was closing up and your mind started reeling.  Han, your best friend, the one person who had been there for you through thick and thin, the person who always understood you in ways no one else did, he had feelings for you. Feelings that went beyond friendship. 

“Han, stop! You- you don’t mean all of this” you finally managed, your voice shaky but loud enough to be heard. "You’re drunk, and you need to calm down."

But Han didn’t listen. His glare that until just now was firmly on Jay, wandered to you. 

“And now you’re defending him?” Han sneered, his tone laced with contempt. “Look at you, Y/N. All you ever wanted was a chance to get close to him. You're so desperate to get into his world that you'll let him use you. You think I don’t see it?”

Your stomach dropped. You couldn't understand what was happening, but before you could even think of something to say he already continued.

“Jay's nothing but a rich kid with a pretty face and you’re just another one of his stupid stories,” Han spat, shaking his head as if the sight of you hurt him. "You’re wearing that dress for him, aren’t you? You want him to notice you, to think you’re hot.”

The words hit like a punch, leaving you breathless, your chest tightening in hurt. How could he say that? How could he turn on you like this, after everything you’d shared? It felt like he was ripping apart everything you’d ever believed in.  It was too much. You could feel the tears starting to sting your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You were too angry, too confused, too hurt.

Jay stepped forward then, his jaw tight with anger. “Don’t talk to her like that,” he said, his voice low but filled with authority. “You’re completely out of line, Han.”

But Han wasn’t backing down. His eyes flickered between you and Jay, a mix of anger, betrayal, and something else you couldn’t even begin to understand. As Han’s words continued to lash out, it felt like they were pushing you farther away from him with every sentence. His anger was a torrent, and you were caught in the middle of it, struggling to catch your breath.

“You’re better than this, Y/N!” Han shouted, voice cracking with emotion, and his eyes locked on you, filled with something you couldn't place. “I am so disappointed in you.”

You blinked and took a step backwards. Disappointed? Why was he disappointed in you? Was he angry because you had feelings for someone else? Because you were making your own choices?

“Enough, Han,” Jay said, his voice steady. “You need to stop.”

But Han didn’t respond. He just stared at you, his eyes filled with something unreadable, and in that moment, you knew that no matter what you said now, nothing would change what had just happened.

“Do you think this is worth it?” Han spat, his hands trembling with barely contained rage. “You’re worth more than this. More than him. You’re better than this whole situation, and I don’t get why you’re throwing yourself into it like this!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could find the words, Jay’s hand slid into yours, gently but firmly intertwining your fingers.  Han’s eyes snapped to Jay’s hand, his jaw clenching, his entire posture bracing as if he were about to snap. For a brief, heart-stopping second, you thought he might lash out, his anger bubbling over into something physical. But before anything else could happen you heard the sound of heavy footsteps and within moments, Minho and Bang Chan appeared, their eyes quickly scanning the situation. They took in the scene: Han standing there, furious and shaking with rage, Jay essentially hiding you behind his back, your hands intertwined. Minho didn’t hesitate for a second. His eyes locked onto Han, his voice calm but sharp. “Jisung. Enough.”

Bang Chan stepped forward too. “You need to back off. This isn’t the time for this.”

Han turned towards them, fists clenched, his breath ragged as he fought to keep his composure. His eyes darted between Minho and Jay, but neither of them flinched. They were standing firm, not backing down.

“You’re not helping, Minho,” Han spat, his voice low but seething with anger. “You don’t know what’s going on here. You don’t understand how much this matters.”

Minho took a step closer, not intimidated by Han’s rage. “I have heard enough Jisung. You are crossing a line.”

Han’s gaze shifted back to you, his expression flickering between frustration and something else. Something that looked like regret.

“You deserve so much more than this, Y/N. You deserve better than him,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, but still tinged with raw emotion.

You shook your head slowly, trying to make sense of his words. “No, Han,” you whispered, your voice wavering but firm. “You’re wrong. You don’t get to tell me what I deserve or who I should be with.”

Han opened his mouth to argue, but Minho stepped in again, his voice cutting through the tension. “This needs to stop, now.”

With that, Han’s shoulders slumped, his anger finally giving way to exhaustion. He looked defeated. Your heart ached for him. You loved Han. Just not the way he did. 

Bang Chan nodded to Jay, signaling for him to take a step back with you. Jay’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly as he gave your hand a gentle tug.

Before either of you could get too far, Minho spoke again, his voice softer now. “Go. We’ll handle this.”

Jay didn’t hesitate, pulling you along with him, away from the confrontation. You didn’t look back at Han. You couldn’t. Not now, not after everything that had been said. The two of you walked quickly. Jay’s hand tightened around yours as he glanced back at you. Your mind was reeling and you felt a mix of emotions, from anger to confusion to sadness, and you couldn’t figure out how to make sense of any of it. Jay led you out of the party, walking past your friends and towards the main door. 

Once you finally reached a quiet spot away from the house, you stopped, trying to catch your breath. You pulled your hand from Jay’s and looked up into the sky, trying to stop your tears and pressing your lips into a thin line to stop them from wobbling.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” Jay said quietly, his voice filled with regret.

You barely nodded, too shaken to speak, and when you finally looked at Jay the tears that you had been holding back spilled over, and you could feel them streaking down your face as your chest tightened. “I trusted him,” you whispered to Jay. “I thought he is my best friend. How could he say that to me?”

Jay stepped closer, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I’m sorry you had to deal with that. You didn’t deserve any of it."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. That only resulted in your tears coming harder now. How could Han say that? You couldn’t stop asking yourself that question.

“I just... I don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He’s my best friend, Jay. He’s always been there for me, and now he’s... he’s saying these things. Like I’m some-” You choked on your words, the hurt too much to contain.

Jay’s hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb gently brushing over the skin. 

“He’s just angry and confused,” he said softly, his voice calm. “But that doesn’t excuse what he said. And it doesn’t change what you mean to me.” His eyes met yours, a steady, reassuring gaze. "You are so pretty, so clever, so kind. I can’t take my eyes off of you whenever I see you. I love hearing your laugh, I love to see you laugh. And I know you feel at least somewhat similar to how i feel about me. And you are not using me for anything."

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stood there, staring at him.

He continued, his gaze not wavering, “You’re so strong, and passionate. You care so much about the people in your life.”

“Why does this have to be so complicated?” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else.

Jay’s lips parted, but before he could say anything, you found yourself stepping forward, your body instinctively seeking his closeness. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace, and you felt a small weight lift from your chest as his warmth surrounded you. 

“It’s not your fault, Y/N,” Jay whispered against your hair, his voice soft and soothing. “Don’t blame yourself for this. Han’s confused, and drunk.”

Your tears slowed. You nodded against his chest, letting yourself just breathe, allowing the silence to envelop you for a moment longer.

After a few moments, Jay pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. “Do you want to go back inside, or do you need a little more time?”

You hesitated, glancing back toward the house. The sounds of the party still buzzed in the distance. You didn’t know what to do with all of the emotions swirling inside, but you knew one thing: You didn’t want to face Han again right now.

“I think I want to go home,” you said softly, your voice steadying just a little bit. 

Jay gave you a small, comforting smile, his hands still resting on your arms. “Let’s get you home Y/N.”

The walk to your flat was slow and silent. When you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door and stepped inside. Jay followed you, crouching down to greet Gracie. 

Wordlessly, you made your way to the living room, sinking down onto the couch. You pressed the palms of your hands into your face, letting out a long, shaky breath.

Jay didn’t follow you, but walked into the kitchen. He came to the living room, sitting down beside you on the couch.

 “Here,” he said gently, handing you the glass. “You should drink something.”

You took the glass with a nod, sipping slowly. The cool water felt good against your dry throat, and for a moment, you let the quietness between the two of you settle.

Jay’s voice broke the silence after a while, soft and coaxing. “Hey, maybe you should get ready for bed? You’ve had a long day.”

You met his gaze for a moment, then looked down. “Yeah, you’re right,” you said quietly, setting the empty glass down on the table.

“I’ll wait here,” Jay said with a small smile, petting Gracie, who had curled up next to him, “Take your time.”

You gave him a brief nod and walked toward the bathroom. The sound of the water running as you washed your face was a small, soothing comfort as you tried to shake off the lingering tension in your body. When you finished washing your face, you slipped Chaeyoungs dress over your head, tossing it into a corner and grabbing your pajama. 

When you emerged from the bathroom, Jay was still sitting on the couch, Gracie snuggled up beside him. You felt a small flicker of warmth in your chest at the sight of them. You walked over and sat down next to him, letting out a soft sigh as you settled your head onto his shoulder.

Jay looked down at you, a faint smile on his lips. "You okay?"

You didn’t respond immediately, just nestled in closer, closing your eyes for a moment.

After a few seconds, you spoke, your voice soft. “Stay, Jay. Please.”

His hand rested on top of yours. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

With that you felt another tear rolling down your cheek and your breath started hitching. You buried your face in Jays shoulder and he maneuvered you into his lap, carefully caressing your back but not saying anything. He let you just silently cry for a while.

After a long moment, his voice broke the stillness, soft and careful. “Do you want to go to bed?”

You nodded, still resting your head on his chest.  He didn’t rush you, just helped you gently up from the couch, guiding you with a tenderness that made your chest ache a little less.

When you reached your bedroom, Jay watched you as you wiped away the last of your tears, your skin still flushed. You stepped forward, pulling a set of clothes from a drawer. “Here,” you said quietly, holding them out to him. “These should be more comfortable.”

Jay accepted the clothes with a quiet nod. "Thanks," he murmured.

A small laugh escaped you as you sniffled. “It’s Niki’s,” you explained with a weak smile. “But he’s at least two meters tall, so I think you’ll fit in it just fine. Taki and he love to crash here so they have their own drawer.”

Jay chuckled softly, the sound soothing to your frazzled mind. 

You watched him as he turned toward the bathroom to change. When he returned, you couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of him in the oversized PJs.

You both settled into the bed, Jay sliding in beside you carefully, keeping a respectful distance. You moved closer to him and put your head onto his chest. His arm gently wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.  You could hear his steady breathing, feel the calmness in the air, and it lulled you in. Slowly, the tension in your body started to loosen. His steady presence next to you, the soft caresses in your hair, and the rhythm of his breathing were enough to quiet the storm inside your head. You let your eyes flutter shut.

The soft morning light filtered through the beige curtains in your bedroom, casting a gentle glow over the room. Jay blinked awake slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. 

You slightly shifted in your sleep, still tucked close to him, your head resting on his chest, your legs tangled with his. Your steady breaths warmed the fabric of his shirt. To his side, Gracie purred quietly, curled into the space between his ribs and one of the pillows on your bed. Jay absently rubbed a hand over her fur as his mind wandered back to the night before.

What the hell had happened?

Han’s voice echoed in his head, sharp and angry. Jay could still see the hurt in your eyes, the way your voice had cracked when you told him you trusted Han. He hated that you’d been put in that position, hated that someone who was supposed to care about you had caused you so much pain.

Jay let out a quiet breath, careful not to disturb you. Gently, he shifted beneath you, and though you stirred slightly again, your fingers clinging to his shirt for a moment, you didn’t wake up. He took a second to study you. Your hair was spread like a halo across the pillow, the soft curls from the evening before now almost completely gone. Jay’s fingers brushed softly over your cheek. His heart ached at the slight puffiness around your eyes.  His stomach growled softly, snapping him out of the moment. Slowly, he slipped out of bed, pausing to make sure he didn’t wake you up. You shifted slightly in your sleep, but the soft rise and fall of your chest remained steady. Jay watched for a moment longer before heading out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

He walked into the living room, taking in the quiet stillness of your space. Your jackets were still haphazardly thrown over the back of the sofa. Jay reached out, carefully hanging them back up by the door before moving to the coffee table to pick up the empty glass of water you’d left behind. He glanced down at his phone, still resting on the sofa cushion.

He sighed, unlocking it to find a barrage of messages waiting for him. 

Puckin’ Legends and Sunghoon Heeseung hyung Did you get home okay? Jake Is Y/N alright? Jonghee told us what happened  Hoon Dude, answer us.  I am starting to get really worried Jay Y/N is sleeping right now Fucking hell I’ll update you when i am home later

There were also messages from Chaeryoung and several of your friends, asking similar questions. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen.

He decided to at least answer Chaeryoung, telling her that you were okay right now and that she should call you later.

He stared at the messages from Felix. 

Felix (DA swim) Jay i am so sorry for what happened yesterday We lost Han and he found the two of you before we did I know you went home with Y/N Please take care of her. She is going to pretend everything is fine. Don’t let her. Make her talk to you, please. I'll make sure Han won’t text her, tell her to take all the time she needs. And for the record, i am really happy for the two of you. 

After a moment’s deliberation, he decided against responding for now, slipping his phone into his pocket and heading into the kitchen.

Jay stood in front of your fridge, scanning its content for something useful. He found eggs, a few vegetables and some microwavable rice. It wasn’t much to work with, but it would do. He reached for a chopping board and a frying pan, deciding on egg fried rice.

The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board was oddly calming. After a while he heard your bedroom door creaking open quietly and the soft shuffle of feet behind him.

Jay turned slightly, but before he could say anything, you pressed your face into the space between his shoulders, your arms sliding around his waist. He froze for a second but let his body relax, molding into your hug. He rested his hands over yours where they curled against his stomach. “Morning,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly to look at you.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft.

You shook your head, or well moved your head in something that felt like a shake of your head against his back. “No,” you murmured

Jay hummed and resumed chopping vegetables, the soft thud of the knife against the cutting board filling the stillness of the kitchen. Your arms stayed loosely wrapped around him, your forehead resting between his shoulder blades. 

A soft meow broke the stillness, drawing both of your gazes toward the kitchen doorway. Gracie padded into the kitchen, stretching lazily before meowing at the cabinet where her food was kept. You rubbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie before moving to get her some food, your movements slow and unhurried. If it wasn’t for what happened yesterday, Jay would have loved the domestic atmosphere of the situation. 

He glanced at you as you moved to the cabinet. You’d changed into an oversized hoodie with the initials DA Swimming Team printed across the back. It hung loosely on you, the sleeves slightly too long. As you crouched to pour Gracie’s food, Jay’s thoughts drifted. Maybe he should text Yudai. He didn’t really know what to say, but you seemed to be quite close to your brothers so their comfort may be better than anything he could give you. 

Your phone started buzzing from the sofa table, faint and insistent you seemed to not hear it. 

Jay hesitated. “Your phone’s going off,” he said softly, glancing toward the living room.

“Ignore it,” you replied, your voice quiet and flat. You poured a glass of water, sipping it slowly as your gaze lingered on the counter.

Jay didn’t press. He turned back to the stove, stirring the rice and vegetables. Normally, cooking brought him a kind of peace, but now, every sound, the sizzle of the pan, the scrape of the spoon, felt too loud. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you walking towards the living room, shutting off your alarm. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he finished cooking in silence, the aroma of fried rice filling the room. You wordlessly started decking the table while Jay slid the food onto plates.

As you sat down across from him, the silence lingered. Neither of you had the energy to fill it, and for now, that was okay. Jay would wait. For now, he’d let you have the space you needed, even if it meant sitting across from each other in silence.

Jay left when it was already dark. The two of you spend the rest of the day curled up in your bed watching Howl's moving castle, eating the leftover fried rice from your breakfast.  He was so soft and caring all day and you felt so bad for making him do all of this. You didn’t want to seem like a charity case he had to care for. 

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. Your thoughts wandered back to the last 24 hours. How could everything have gone so wrong. One moment you were kissing Jay, his lips so soft and gentle on yours and the next your childhood best friend accuses you of essentially being a puck bunny after he confessed and you didn't reciprocate his feelings? And then he dared to claim he was disappointed in you? 

You sighed again, louder this time, and threw yourself back against the pillow, your arms flung wide. Why did it have to be so hard?  You reached for your phone, ignoring all of your notifications that accumulated over the day. You unlocked it and typed a quick message to Jaemin. 

Can you take over my shift at the café tomorrow? I am not feeling too well :( 

You hesitated for a moment before hitting send, then set the phone aside and buried your face in the pillow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, you will deal with it all. 

You were good at pretending.

Or at least, you were trying to be.

After you took a day for yourself, not leaving bed and only replying to Chae, Jay and your brothers you decided to get back on track. 

You went to the station, delivered your segments with faked enthusiasm, your voice steady even when your hands trembled.

You went to your classes, tried to pay attention, tried to focus on the words the professors were saying. 

You went to the creek, smiled and served customers.

You even stayed on track with your usual posting schedule, posting a book review about a childhood friends-to-lovers book. It was ironic, really.

Almost two weeks have passed since the party and your backlog of pre-recorded videos was running dry. You haven’t had the motivation to film anything, your latest update on any social media platform being that book review from a week ago. 

You clicked "publish" for your last pre recorded and cut video, a monthly recap vlog and sighed. 

You were exhausted. It was easier to keep moving, to keep working, than to face the truth. You couldn’t afford to stop, to let everything sink in. You needed to act like nothing had changed.

Around your friends, you acted like nothing had changed. You smiled through your shifts at the café, laughed at jokes you didn’t find funny, and acted like everything was alright. They asked how you were doing, and you gave them your best reassuring smile.

You don’t think they believed a single word you said. They knew something was off. Obviously. You haven’t seen Han since that night, but you know that Felix was taking care of him. You knew that Jay was giving him updates on how you were feeling. Felix and the others tried to reach out, telling you that they were sorry, they didn’t stop, telling you to not feel bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer them. Not yet.

You loved spending time with Jay. 

His schedule was always packed with practices and games, but whenever he had a free moment, Jay would find a way to drop by the café or send you a quick text asking if you wanted to grab a bite. It was never anything extravagant, just small, quiet moments together between his and your hectic schedule. 

You hadn’t really talked about what you were or where things stood between the two of you. It was an unspoken thing that hung between you, something both of you hadn’t fully addressed. But you weren’t in any rush. In a way, it felt comfortable this way. No pressure, no expectations. Just being around each other when you could, enjoying the small, sweet moments without overthinking it. You liked it. You liked him. Maybe it wasn’t official, and maybe you didn’t have all the answers, but for now, that was okay. You were content with how things were, with how he made you feel. You started to get more comfortable around the rink too. Sometimes, after his practices, Jay would invite you to watch his team scrimmage or just hang out in the stands while the guys warmed up. You still didn’t know much about hockey, but that didn’t matter. You were just enjoying your time in the rink, away from all of the chaos. You grew quite close to Jeonghee, the social media manager of the team, since you spend a lot of time in her office. You taught her quite a few handy tips and tricks for editing videos and she claims that you were the best thing that happened to the hockey team. She invited you over to Jays flat more often than he did himself, claiming she needed some female support when dealing with her boyfriend and his roommates, which includes your (almost?) boyfriend, aswell. 

It was almost like a ritual. You’d sit in the stands talking or recording something with Jonghee, him glancing over to see you there between drills, his eyes lighting up when he caught your gaze. And afterward, the two would end up in either your or his apartment. 

Jay stood under the hot stream of water, the pressure of it soothing his tired muscles. His mind raced in a whirl of thoughts. His coach was relentless the past few training sessions, always pushing him and his teammates to the limit, after they lost the last two games. They had to win the game against Merrimak today. They had to. 

He signed and finished his shower a few minutes after, grabbing a towel to dry himself. As he did, he noticed his toiletries, his shampoo, conditioner, and a few other things, scattered neatly around your bathroom. He smiled softly to himself. 

He walked back into the bedroom, wearing a new set of boxers and nothing else. You were still asleep on your bed, your soft breathing barely audible in the quiet room. He reached out, running his fingers lightly across your cheek, brushing aside a few stray strands of hair that had fallen across your face. Jay stayed there for a moment, just watching you.

He loved being with you, more than he could put into words. He loved your little quirks and habits, he loved the way he felt when he spend time with you, how well you fitted in with his friends. But he couldn’t help the weight that settled in his chest every time he thought about how things had unfolded. He hated the circumstances that had led to this, the fight with Han, the fallout, the awkward silences and lingering tension between you and your friends. It wasn’t how he wanted this to start.

His jaw clenched as he thought about Han. He knew his anger wasn’t entirely fair, feelings weren’t something you could control, but that didn’t stop him from resenting the way Han had approached everything. Confessing to you like that, knowing you didn’t feel the same, had set off a chain of events that neither of you deserved.

You stirred slightly, your face scrunching up in that adorable way it always did when you were just waking up. Jay smiled down at you, his hand cupping your cheek gently.

As your eyes fluttered open, he whispered, “Morning.”

Jay couldn’t resist leaning down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his gaze tracing the features of your face as you slowly woke. You looked up at him, your eyes soft and a little dazed, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

He leaned in again, this time capturing your lips in a slow kiss. The softness of your lips against his was enough to make his head spin. When you responded, by pulling him closer with a hand on his shoulder, he let out a quiet, satisfied hum, his hand slipping from your cheek to your waist.

The oversized shirt you wore had ridden up slightly, and the feel of your bare skin under his fingertips made his pulse quicken. His lips moved against yours with a growing intensity, and when you sighed softly into the kiss, he felt heat pool low in his stomach.

Your cold fingers trailed along his still damp chest and he couldn’t suppress the sharp inhale that followed. The sensation sent shivers racing down his spine, and he instinctively shifted closer, deepening the kiss. As you arched into him, your hips brushing against his in a way that made his breath hitch, Jay felt his self-control slipping.

He broke the kiss just enough to lay you back gently against the bed, hovering above you as his lips found your jawline. He pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, savoring the way you shivered beneath him.

“Jay…” you breathed, his name leaving your lips in a way that made every nerve in his body hum.

“Yeah?” he whispered, his voice low and rough as his hand slid up your thigh, his palm pressing lightly against your skin before settling at your hip.

You didn’t answer, instead pulling him back to you, capturing his lips with yours.

Your hand trailed up to the nape of his neck, tangling in his damp hair, slightly pulling at the strands. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating between you as his hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing along your side. You whined against his lips, your hips bucking up slightly, meeting his crotch. The sensation sent a rush of heat through him, and his grip on your waist tightened instinctively. His lips trailed back to your neck, where he left slow, lingering kisses, savoring the soft gasps that escaped you.

As his hand drifted higher beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing the edge of your ribs, his alarm cut through the quiet, shrill and unrelenting.

Jay froze, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a groan of frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, reaching over to silence it with an annoyed swipe.

You laughed softly, your chest still rising and falling rapidly against his. He looked down at you, the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips making it almost impossible to pull away.

He leaned in to kiss you again, softer this time.

“We’ll pick this up later,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, before reluctantly rolling away, the lingering warmth of your body making him already crave more.

Every fiber of him wanted to stay, feel your lips on his, feel your body on his. But he also really didn’t want to be late for a game day. CC was already mad at him. He didn’t know for what, probably for breathing too loud into his direction or something similarly trivial. He was still praying for Heeseung, having CC as his, well almost, father in law seemed like hell. 

Jay stood up with a sigh, running a hand through his damp hair. He moved toward his bag, which rested against the side of the bed, fishing out a fresh T-shirt for the day. His frustration deepened as his body refused to cooperate with his rational thoughts. The heat of your kiss, the way you’d clung to him, your soft gasps, all of it played on a loop in his mind, making it nearly impossible to focus. He clenched his jaw, trying to will his body into submission. Hockey drills.  Push-ups.  Coach Choi yelling about bad passes.  Just Coach Choi.  Maybe Coach Choi naked?

He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head slightly as he grabbed his jeans.Trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of restricting his hard on.

“What the hell,” you muttered, the confusion in your tone pulling his attention instantly.

Jay watched as the confusion on your face morphed into a frown, your lips pressing into a thin line.

“Y/N?” he asked softly.

Your frown deepened as you scrolled through your notifications. “I…I don’t know what happened. It’s…they… the comments.” you said quietly.

Jay’s jaw tightened as he leaned over to glance at your screen. Comment after comment, calling you a slut, a gold digger, and worse. “The fuck…” he muttered under his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the heat rising in his neck. His eyes scanned the hateful remarks, his stomach sinking with every word he saw.

“He could’ve had anyone, but he chose a girl like that? I can’t believe he’s that dumb. Jay deserves better than her, honestly.”“He deserves better than this. Just look at her.”“Stay away from my man, you’re ruining his image.”

"What does Jay even see in her? She’s not even pretty enough to be with someone like him."

"She’s not even his type. It’s obvious she’s just using him for clout."

His breath quickened as his gaze flicked back to you. Your face was pale, your eyes wide with confusion and shock. His earlier frustration from the alarm morphed into pure, unfiltered anger. His hands clenched at his sides.

You flipped between your accounts, your fingers trembling. "What the hell is wrong with people?" You muttered, scrolling past endless hate, barely acknowledging the kind comments that were hidden beneath the sea of hate.

Without thinking, he reached for your phone, gently but firmly taking it from your hands. His jaw clenched harder, his pulse hammering in his ears. He set it down on the bed, his heart aching as he looked at you and cupped your face in his hands. “Hey,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Don’t look at it.” 

“Shit,” you muttered, biting your lip in frustration. “Why are they doing this, Jay? How do they even know about us?” You sighed deeply, your shoulders slumping. “I am so sorry Jay. I never wanted to drag you into the mess my life is. This is all my fault”

“No, it’s not,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “This is on them, not you. Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do.”, he paused for a second, “You didn’t drag me into anything, Y/N,” he said softly, his gaze unwavering. “I’m here because I want to be. This is on me too.”

Your lips quivered as you met his eyes. “But they’re saying such horrible things. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” Jay felt a wave of frustration rise in him, but he held it back, focusing instead on reassuring her. “Y/N, listen to me. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. People hate on any and everything.” “I know,” you whispered, still trying to hold yourself together. “But they’re everywhere. And some of them are even saying stuff about your career.” Jay took a deep breath, his expression softening. He gently tilted your head so your gazes locked, his thumb brushing the skin under your eyes. “Y/N,” he said, his voice serious, “I don’t care. I am signed with the eagles. If I call Namjoon he will for sure understand that you have done nothing to deserve this and there won’t be any consequences. Don’t worry about me.” You sighed deeply, sitting up as you glanced at him, your face pale. “I should’ve been more careful with what I posted.” you said softly, your voice laced with regret.  “You should turn off your comments on your posts. Or privatize them. It’s just... it’s too much. You don’t need this.” “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, “I won’t delete any pictures. I’m proud of them. Proud of us. I’m happy to have you here, with me. You don’t need to apologize for any of this.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he stopped you by leaning in and pressing his lips softly against yours. You stiffened for a second, then melted into it, your hands sliding to his shoulders as you kissed him back.

When you broke apart, he held you close, his hands still gently cradling your face. “I won’t delete them, Y/N,” he repeated, his voice steady. You held your breath for a second, considering his words. “But they’re... they’re being so cruel.” “They don’t matter,” he said firmly, kissing your forehead before standing up. “They can say whatever they want. I like you Y/N. Hell I even might love you. I love being there for you.  And if that means dealing with some crap along the way? So be it. I’m not going anywhere.” You didn’t say anything for a moment, your eyes searching his face. And then, finally, you nodded, your shoulders relaxing a little. Oh lord.  He said the L word.  Or well almost.  A month after the two of you started dating. His heart was racing waiting for your answer.  “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try. I just don’t want to hurt you.” “You’re not,” he said, smiling softly. “You’re not hurting me, Y/N. I’ll handle it. We’ll handle it.”  His heart clenched when you didn’t say it back. But it was fine. He also didn’t really say ‘i love you’. If he was going to say those three words he will do it properly.  You gave him a small, grateful smile before looking down at your phone again. “I’ll turn off my notifications,” you said quietly, tapping the screen to go into your settings. He hummed and pressed a kiss onto your head again. “Turn your phone off completely.I’ll think of a way to deal with this.” You sniffed and followed his instructions, turning your phone off.  “I’ll see you when I get back, okay baby?” he said, grabbing his bag and heading for the door. You nodded, your eyes following him with a mixture of longing and sadness. “Okay,” you whispered, “Go kick Riverfields arse.” He smiled. “Of course.” 

Jay’s fingers tightened around his phone as he scrolled through a flood of notifications, his stomach sinking with every word he saw. His vision blurred slightly, not from the tears threatening to rise, but from the sheer intensity of the anger and frustration that kept bubbling up with each new comment. He figured out the hate came from his “fans”. Disliking him having a girlfriend. Apparently that gave them the right to hate on you and him as well, commenting on his recent instagram photo dump about how he should not be with you, how you are just together with him for his fame.  He scrolled to the top of his instagram account page. 26.515 followers.  Most of them only followed him after you posted pictures tagging him.  The worst part? It wasn’t just his account. It was spilling over onto his father’s business page too. His blood ran cold as he read the comments infecting the companies page and his fathers personal account as well. Why drag his family into this? He hadn’t even had the chance to tell his parents personally that he was seeing you seriously. He ran a hand through his hair, his chest tightening.  “Yo, Jay.” Jake nudged his arm from the seat next to him, lowering his voice to avoid catching the attention of the others. “You good, man? You’ve been glued to your phone the whole ride.” Jay forced a tight smile, barely looking up. “I’m fine. Just dealing with some… stuff.” Jake frowned, unconvinced, but nodded, deciding to drop it for now. “Alright. Can you forget about that stuff when we are on the ice later? We need you focused." “Yeah. Sure.” Jay muttered, already zoning out again. The bus pulled into the rink parking lot, and as the team shuffled off, Jay hung back, letting everyone else move ahead while he stayed by the bus for a moment. He glanced at his phone one last time, taking a deep breath before dialing his dad’s number.

“Son,” his dad’s familiar voice greeted him, warm but gentle, like always. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the game right now? Your mom and I are trying to watch a live stream of it later.” Jay hesitated, his grip on the phone tightening. “Yeah, I know. I just… I need to talk to you about something first." There was a pause on the other end. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?” Jay let out a slow breath, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Sort of. It’s about… someone." “Someone?” his dad asked, the slightest note of curiosity creeping into his voice. “Go on.” “There’s this girl,” Jay began, the words awkward and halting as he tried to piece them together. “Her name’s Y/N, and we’ve been… seeing each other. It’s been a little while now. She’s amazing, Dad. She’s smart, kind, funny. There was a pause on the other end before his dad’s voice returned, calm but kind. “I see. That’s lovely, Jay. And you’re calling me because…?”

Jay leaned against the side of the bus, staring down at the asphalt. “Because people found out. She’s a content creator. She makes videos, book reviews, vlogs stuff like that. She’s got a big following, but… I guess some people who follow me don’t like the idea of us being together. And now, they’re tearing her apart online. She’s getting all this hate, Dad, and it’s… it’s bad. Even the company’s socials are getting hit because of me.” His dad let out a soft sigh, and Jay could picture him leaning back in his chair, likely pinching the bridge of his nose like he always did when he was thinking. “The social media team filled me in earlier today,” his dad admitted. “They’ve been monitoring the situation and handling most of it, trying to keep it from escalating on our platforms. I didn’t want to distract you with it, especially with how important tonight’s game is.” Jay’s jaw clenched. “It’s bad, Dad. They’re coming for her like she did something wrong just by being with me. She doesn’t deserve this. I don’t even know how to fix it.” “You can’t control what people say, son,” his dad said gently. “I know it’s frustrating, but people always talk, especially when someone they admire starts living their life outside of the image those fans have built up in their heads. This isn’t Y/N’s fault, and it’s not yours either.” Jay leaned against the side of the bus, staring at the asphalt below. “I feel like I dragged her into this mess, though. She didn’t ask for any of it. And now, even the company is getting hit because of me.” His dad’s voice softened even further. “Jay, listen to me. The company can handle itself. That’s why we have a team in place, to deal with things like this. What matters to me, what matters to your mom, is that you’re happy. And if Y/N is a part of that happiness, then we’ll support you. People will always find reasons to criticize. It’s not fair, but it’s the reality of being in the spotlight.” His dad paused, then spoke with quiet conviction. “Does she make you happy?” Jay blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. “Yeah. She does. A lot.” “Then don’t let anyone take that away from you,” his dad said firmly. “And don’t let her think for one second that she’s not worth it. People like to tear others down because they think they can. But if you and Y/N stick together, you can get through this. And as for the company? That’s my problem, not yours. You let me handle that.” Jay swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “Thanks, Dad. I just… thank you.” “You can always talk to me, son,” his dad replied. “And when you’re ready, bring her by. Your mom will want to meet her, and frankly, so do I. Anyone who can make you this happy has to be someone special.”

Jay managed a small smile, despite the weight in his chest. “I will. Soon.” “Good. Now go focus on your game. I’ll be watching." “Love you, Dad,” Jay said softly. “Love you too, son.”

Jay stepped onto the ice with a single-minded focus: win. The rage bubbling inside him from the past few hours made his movements sharp and aggressive. Every stride, every pass, every check was fueled by his anger and frustration.  The puck dropped, and the first faceoff was brutal. Jay muscled past his opponent, sending the puck flying toward Heeseung, who immediately began driving it down the rink.  Minutes into the game, it became clear to everyone that Jay wasn’t playing with his usual calm control. He slammed into one of the opposing players with a shoulder check that sent the guy sprawling onto the ice. The whistle blew sharply, but Jay barely flinched, skating back into position with a steely glare.

“Jay!” Soobin hissed as they lined up for the next play. “What the hell, man? Pull it back a little!” Jay ignored him. Later, during a scramble near the boards, another player tried to corner him. Jay shoved him off harder than necessary, sending the guy crashing into the plexiglass. The opposing bench erupted, yelling at the refs for a call. The ref blew the whistle and signaled for a penalty. “Two minutes in the box,” the he barked, pointing at Jay. Jay didn’t argue. He skated to the penalty box, sitting down heavily on the bench, his chest heaving. He yanked off his helmet, running a hand through his damp hair. He saw his teammates exchanging worried glances on the bench, CC pacing furiously behind them. Jay leaned his head back onto the wall of the box trying to calm down his breathing. It’s going to be fine. His dad was taking care of it. It’s going to be fine.  But at the same time he had to think of you, being alone in your apartment, probably not listening to his advice to not read anything, to turn off your phone and the rage inside his chest bubbled up more than ever before.  Back on the ice, the team fought to kill off the penalty, but Jay could barely focus on the game happening around him. His jaw clenched as he stared at the rink, replaying the hateful comments in his mind. His fists tightened as he thought about how powerless he’d felt seeing you scroll through them.

The penalty ended, and Jay burst back onto the ice with even more intensity. He intercepted a pass, speeding toward the goal with laser focus. An opposing defender tried to stop him, and Jay plowed through played the puck to Heesung and Heeseung set the puck into the goal. Just seconds later the first period ended. “What the hell are you doing out there?” the coach snapped, grabbing Jay by the arm when he arrived at the bench. “We don’t need you fouling around, Park. Pull it together or you’re sitting for the rest of the game. I want to see a fair game, no playing dirty or brutally.” Jay didn’t respond, just pulled his arm free and sat heavily on the bench. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, but he didn’t care. When the final whistle blew, the team had won, but his excitement over the win was muted. As they filed back into the locker room, Jay stayed quiet, avoiding the others. He showered quickly, the water doing little to cool his temper. By the time he was back on the bus, his teammates were chatting and laughing, but Jay sat silently, his gaze fixed out the window.  All he wanted was to get to you. He needed to see you, you, and figure out what the hell to do next.

You were sprawled out on your living room floor, one hand mindlessly stroking Gracie’s soft fur while your other arm draped over your eyes. The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting stripes of light across the room. Your phone sat next to you, buzzing intermittently with notifications you refused to check. Jay had told you not to look. He’d texted you three times already since leaving, urging you to ignore the comments, to stay offline. But you couldn’t. Gracie let out a soft purr as you scratched behind her ears. You sighed deeply and picked up your phone, opening youtube first. It didn’t take long to find the catalyst for the whole situation. In the vlog you posted yesterday, a brief six-second clip of Jay had made it in. His face wasn’t blurred. Combined with the few Instagram stories you’d posted over the past few weeks of cute cafés and hockey rinks, plus his own post of the two of you hugging after his last game, it was more than enough for people to piece things together. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, someone had leaked pictures from your private spam account.  You stared at the photos now flooding your twitter feed, a lump forming in your throat. Pictures of you out on dates, at the weekly movie night at Jays dorm, pictures you took of him cooking and snuggling with Gracie. Your mind raced, trying to figure out who could’ve leaked them. You trusted everyone on that account. Or at least, you thought you did.

You didn’t only get hate. There were supportive comments from your viewers and fans that were happy about you and Jay, of course some of them more and some less. Many speculated that Han and you were a thing, but kept it in private. You could now see why they were thinking that. Apparently you were the only one not thinking that.  “God, I’m so over this,” you muttered, dropping your phone onto the floor and rubbing your hands over your face. The harsh buzz of the doorbell startled you, followed by an unmistakable series of rapid, heavy knocks.  “Y/N, open up!” Before you could even stand up to open it, Taki was already stepping inside, his face clouded with concern. “Y/N,” he said softly, setting down his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes before coming over to you. “Are you okay?”

You tried for a smile, but it faltered almost immediately. “Not really,” you admitted, sitting up. “But I’m surviving, I guess.” Taki kneeled down next to you and gently pulled you into a hug. “Jay told me to come check on you. He’s worried,” he said, his tone low but comforting. “Well he told Yudai but he isn't here this weekend so Yudai told me and yeah.” You sighed, pulling back and gesturing for him to sit on the couch. “He shouldn’t have done that. I don’t want you worrying too.” “That’s my job as your brother,” he said lightly, flopping down onto the couch and patting the seat next to him. “Now sit and tell me what’s going on.” You hesitated for a moment before joining him, Gracie hopping into your lap the second you sat down. As you scratched behind her ears, the words tumbled out. “It’s a mess, Taki,” you began. “I messed up. I didn’t blur Jay’s face in my vlog, and between that and his post, his… fans figured out we’re dating. And now they hate me for it.”

Taki frowned, his expression softening as he listened. “Why would they hate you? That doesn’t make any sense. Jay seems like a great guy, and you guys look happy together.” You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the problem, Taki. They think I’m not good enough for him, or that I’m using him for his money or his career. And some of them are just angry that I exist.” He tilted his head, clearly confused. “I don’t get it. Why would they think that?” You hesitated, running your fingers through Gracie’s fur. “Because Jay isn’t just some college hockey player, Taki. He’s already signed with one of the best NHL teams. He has a future most people can only dream about. And his parents? They own this insanely successful company. They’re millionaires. So… yeah, some people don’t like that he’s with me instead of, I don’t know, someone richer or more famous or -” “Someone stupid,” Taki interrupted, cutting you off with a shake of his head. “That’s ridiculous. You’re amazing, Y/N. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot.” His words brought a small smile to your face. “Thanks, Taki. But these people…they think I’m ruining everything for him.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s so stupid,” he said, his voice laced with frustration. “It’s not like they even know him. And Jay doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to let other people tell him who he can date.” You shook your head. “He’s not. He’s been so… so amazing through all of this. But I don’t want him to have to deal with this either, you know? He’s already under so much pressure.” Taki studied you for a moment before leaning back, his tone softening. “Look, I don’t know much about this whole fan thing, but I do know one thing - Jay really likes you. That dude makes heart eyes at you every breathing second. And honestly, I think you like him just as much.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his sudden insight. “So,” he continued, a small smile tugging at his lips, “stop worrying about what other people think. The two of you are perfect for each other.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “When did you get so wise?" “I’ve always been wise,” he teased, nudging your shoulder, “Wise enough to go to Yudais party today. And you are coming along!” You groaned, shaking your head. “Taki, I’m really not in the mood.” He grinned, undeterred. “Too bad. Yudai’s letting me come, and Niki’s gonna be there too. You can hang out with us all night if you want. No pressure to talk to anyone else. Just come.” You hesitated, but the earnest look in his eyes made it hard to say no. “Fine,” you relented. He did a celebratory fist bump. 

The moment Niki barreled into your apartment, hyped to be allowed to come to a college party and not having to sneak home and being allowed to drink, you knew your night would be more fun than you anticipated. When you stepped into the kitchen, the smell of alcohol and the clinking of glasses greeted you. Taki wasted no time, zeroing in on the lineup of bottles on the counter like a kid in a candy store. “Oh, look at this!” he exclaimed, grabbing a bottle of tequila. “You’re not drinking that straight,” you warned, though your tone lacked its usual sternness. Yudai appeared just then, already buzzed. “Finally! Took you guys long enough. Shots! Let’s go.” Taki and Niki immediately nodded excitedly. You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest as Yudai handed out glasses. “One shot,” you warned the younger two, holding up a finger. “Yeah, yeah,” Taki muttered, clinking his glass against Niki’s and Yudai’s before throwing it back. You took your own shot, the burn of alcohol making you wince slightly. “Another round?” Yudai asked, holding up the bottle, ignoring your protest.

Before you knew it, the four of you were gathered around the beer pong table. Taki and Niki were practically bouncing with excitement, and you couldn’t help but laugh at their enthusiasm. “Y/N, you’re terrible at this,” Taki whined after you completely missed the table. “Careful, or you’re getting water for your next turn,” you shot back, making him laugh. As the game went on, you allowed yourself to let loose a little more. You even took a third? fourth? shot when Yudai passed it to you. Despite your growing haziness, you noticed Niki wobbling slightly as he lined up his next shot. When Yudai handed him another shot, you stepped in. “Okay, that’s enough for you,” you said, plucking the glass from his hand. “Y/N!” Niki groaned, pouting at you. “Nope,” you said firmly. “Water. Now.” Taki, his face already flushed from the alcohol, groaned dramatically. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

“Better a buzzkill than dealing with you puking later,” you retorted, handing them both water bottles from the counter. “Drink these or I’m telling Mom and aunt Aiko. That shut them up quickly, and you felt a small surge of triumph as they grudgingly obeyed. You turned back to the beer pong table, only to freeze when you caught sight of two familiar figures across the room. Felix and Chaeryeong stood by the doorway, their eyes scanning the crowd. Until Felix's gaze landed squarely on you. Your breath hitched. You managed a small, shy wave, but when Felix nudged Chaeryeong and they both started moving toward you, panic set in. You were sure they saw, they knew what was going on and if they came and asked if you were fine, you weren't able to pretend. Not today.  “I need some air,” you mumbled to your brothers, pushing off the counter. Before they could protest, you slipped out the back door, the cool night air hitting your face as you tried to steady your breathing. The cool night air hit your face like a slap, and you stumbled slightly as you stepped outside, gripping the railing for support, trying to steady your breathing.

Jay walked into the swim team's house behind Heeseung, Jake, and Beomgyu. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for a party, but you texted him that you are playing babysitter for your brother and his friend and now he had no option but to get dressed for the spring break party. Against his better judgement, he spent the last few hours scrolling through the hateful comments, which had dampened his mood drastically.  He barely registered the chatter and the music blasting around him. His gaze was searching for you, eyes scanning the room, dodging drunk students as he made his way deeper into the crowd. He didn’t have to look for long before spotting Felix, who was talking to a couple of people near the kitchen. He noticed Jay almost instantly, and when their eyes met, he gave him a sympathetic, almost understanding look. “Have you seen Y/N?” he asked, his voice tight with concern. Felix nodded, his expression softening. “She was here a few minutes ago, but I think she… kind of fled outside. Jay’s heart clenched at his words. He didn’t waste another second, muttering a quick thanks to Felix before moving toward the backdoor.  He spotted you almost immediately. You were leaning against the small shed in the garden, gazing into the dark sky.

Jay made his way over to you, shivering slightly against the cold. He took a step forward, then another, his feet heavy as he approached you. His heart skipped a beat when he softly whispered your name, “Y/N.” You turned toward him at the sound of your name, and for a split second, he caught the flash of recognition in your eyes before they softened with relief.  “Jay…”, your voice cracked slightly, but it was enough to make his heart tighten. He crossed the small distance, wrapping his arms around you. “Hi baby. Why are you outside? It’s so cold.”, he asked, his voice quiet against the crown of your hair. You shook your head a little, your lips pressing together as you tried to force a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I just…needed a minute.” Jay nodded. He wasn’t going to push you for details - not yet. He knew you would tell him in your own time. Instead, he pulled back slightly, taking our face into his hands and lightly rested his forehead against yours. “I get it,” he murmured. “You don’t have to explain anything. I just… I needed to see you. Needed to know you were okay.” The tension in your shoulders seemed to ease at his touch, and you let out a small sigh, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I’m just so frustrated, Jay. I can’t even look my friends in the face right, and… everything’s just so much.”

Jay’s hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers gently massaging the tension there. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” You didn’t say anything in response, but he could feel your body relax further in his arms, your chest rising and falling as you leaned into him. “Come inside with me,” he whispered, pulling back just slightly so he could meet your eyes. “We don’t have to go back to the party, but I’m not leaving you out here alone." You hesitated for a moment, your brows furrowed in thought, but then you nodded.  “Okay,” you nodded, strengthening your shoulders. “We should probably check on Taki and Niki. I am sure they ignored my warning about snitching to mom and kept drinking.” Jay laughed and led you back inside, the noise of the party growing louder as you stepped into the living room. Drunk students were lingering in the room, laughing, talking, and occasionally yelling over the blaring music. Jay’s eyes scanned the room until he spotted Taki and Niki slumped on a couch, giggling like children as they watched a Mario Kart game unfold on the TV. A group of people had gathered around the players, cheering and shouting encouragement. “There they are,” Jay said, nodding toward the couch. You followed his gaze and laughed softly. “Of course they’d be there.”

Taki spotted you both and immediately waved, his hand flopping dramatically as he almost tipped off the couch. “Y/N! Get over here!” Jay chuckled, steering you toward the duo, his hand never leaving the small of your back. When you reached them, Taki was giggling uncontrollably at Niki’s horrified expression as his kart spun out of control. “Bro, you just drove off Rainbow Road. Again." “Shut up,” Niki muttered, and turned to you, “Y/N save me. I can’t do this. I don’t even have a license yet!”  You burst out laughing and softly shoved your brother out of the way so you could sit down on the sofa next to him. Your brother immediately dropped his head onto your lap and giggled again.  “How much did you drink, Taki.”, you asked while caressing your hair. He shook his head and protested, he didn’t drink too much! The world isn’t even spinning yet! You just rolled your eyes and signed.  Jay chuckled, settling himself on the floor by your legs, his shoulder brushing against your knee. His gaze kept drifting to you. Your gentle touch as you smoothed Taki's hair, the way your lips curved into a tender smile. God, you were beautiful. And when you were like this, soft and sweet and effortlessly loving, he couldn’t help but fall for you even harder. You looked down and caught his eye winking at him. He smiled and focused back onto the TV screen where Yoshi just took another nose dive into space. He felt your long nails slightly scratching along the sensitive skin of his neck and shivered.  “Y/N, help me!” Niki groaned dramatically, interrupting your moment by waving his controller in front of your face like it might somehow convince you to help him. You rolled your eyes, your hand still absently moving up and down Jay’s neck. “Niki, you can’t just give up. You gotta power through.” “I am not giving up!” Niki insisted, his tone petulant, and you laughed. “Yes, you are.” You glanced down at Jay, your fingers not stopping. “Jay, save him. He’s apparently incapable of surviving Rainbow Road on his own.” Jay tilted his head to look up at you, grinning. “What do I get if I rescue him?” You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “My eternal gratitude?” “Not enough,” Jay teased, leaning slightly against your leg. “I’m risking my life here. Niki’s going to blame me if I lose.” “Jayyyy,” Niki groaned, flopping back against the couch.

“Fine, fine.” You nudged Jay gently with your foot and leaned forward, whispering. “How about I make it worth your while in ways Niki doesn’t need to know about?”  Jay felt his neck and ears flush red at that comment, but took the controller form Niki’s outstretched hand. “Deal. But if I lose, I’m blaming you for distracting me. You snorted. “You can’t be serious.” Jay looked up at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Dead serious. You’re too pretty. It’s unfair.” A faint blush crept up your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “Just play the game, hockey boy.” As Jay took control, the game resumed, and Niki immediately began shouting instructions from beside him. “No, no, don’t take that shortcut! It’s a trap!” Jay ignored him, more or less expertly navigating the twists and turns of the map. He leaned forward, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

“See?” he said, glancing up at you for a split second as he rounded a sharp curve and caught up with the other players. Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a challenge, given that Jay was sober while the other players seemed barely capable of walking in a straight line, let alone focusing on the screen and steering a virtual motorbike. “This is how it’s done, Niki.” “Show-off,” you muttered, but you were smiling. “Jealous?” Jay teased, barely dodging a banana peel. “Not at all.” “Uh-huh.” Jay smirked, his confidence growing as he passed another racer.  You crossed your arms, pretending to be unimpressed, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “I’ll admit it when you win, not before.” “Challenge accepted,” Jay nodded. As the game progressed, Niki alternated between cheering and groaning, Taki dozed off in your lap, and Jay kept stealing glances at you, his chest swelling with a mix of pride and affection every time he saw you smile. By the time Jay crossed the finish line in fifth place, he threw his hands up in mock victory, turning to you with a triumphant grin. “Hah! Look at that!” You laughed, shaking your head. “Well done babe.” Niki jumped up and almost threw himself into Jays’ arms. “Thank you, Jay. I will always remember this!” He tried giving Jay a kiss, but Jay stopped him and sat him down next to him again, fending off the younger's love. “No worries Niki.”, Jay grabbed the remote again and got ready for the next round. This time the other players decided on playing an easier route, choosing… Bowser's castle? “I’m going to use the bathroom,” you said softly, leaning toward Jay and kissing his head. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He tore his eyes away from the screen. “Are you sure? Should i come along?” You gave him a small smile, nodding, while you carefully moved Takis head, waking him up in the process. “I’m fine, Jay. Promise. I am a big girl.”

Reluctantly, he let you go, watching as you disappeared down the hallway. Turning back to Taki and Niki, he chuckled at the scene in front of him. Niki was now lying on his back on the couch, kicking his feet in mock frustration as he held an empty red Solo cup. “I hate this game! Who invented this stupid road with no sides? I’m suing Nintendo!” “Yeah, good luck with that,” Jay said, smirking as he leaned against the couch, the controller abandoned. Taki squinted at him, his face scrunching in exaggerated concentration. “You… you’re Jay, right? The hockey guy. With the money.” “Yeah, Taki. That’s me,” Jay said, amused. Taki sat up dramatically, pointing a finger at him, though his hand wobbled. “Listen, Jay. I like you. You’re cool.” He paused, his expression turning serious or as serious as a drunk 17-year-old could manage. “But if you hurt Y/N… I’ll kick you in the nuts.” Niki snorted, not even trying to stifle his laughter. Jay burst out laughing, ruffling Taki’s hair. “Duly noted, Taki. I’ll keep that in mind.” “I mean it,” Taki insisted, poking Jay’s chest. “She’s awesome. And you’re, like, just a dude. So don’t screw it up. She can replace you. Easily.” “I won’t,” Jay said, his voice softening. “I promise.” Taki seemed satisfied with that, flopping back against the couch.

After listening to their banter for a few minutes Jay glanced toward the hallway where you had disappeared. You’d been gone for a while now. He stood up, detangling his limbs from Taki and Niki, ignoring their complaints, and headed toward the toilets. As he moved through the crowd, he nearly bumped into Jake, who was coming from the kitchen with a drink in hand. “Whoa, man. Watch it,” Jake said, grinning. “You lose someone?” “Yeah,” Jay muttered, his brows furrowed. “Have you seen Y/N?” Jake tilted his head thoughtfully. “Nope. Did you lose her?” Jay shook his head, scanning the room once more for any sign of you. “She said she was going to the bathroom, but it’s been a while.” “Hmm.” Jake glanced toward the hallway. “Could be a line.” Jay shrugged, though unease prickled at him. “Maybe. I’ll go check upstairs. She likes the bathroom up there better. Fewer drunk people hanging around.” “I’ll come with you.”, Jake nodded and followed Jay, as he navigated through the crowd. As they walked, Jay dodged a group of tipsy girls stumbling into the kitchen, his focus narrowing as they approached the staircase. Jay climbed the stairs, Jake following a step behind. He was halfway to the bathroom door when his steps faltered. There, at the end of the hall, you were standing. Talking to Han.

Jay’s jaw clenched as he stopped in his tracks, his stomach twisting unpleasantly. Han leaned slightly forward, his expression a mix of regret and sadness. You stood across from him, calm and composed, your arms loosely crossed. “I should-” Jay started, stepping toward you, but Jake grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t,” Jake said firmly. Jay turned to glare at him. “Why not? He’s-” “Look,” Jake cut him off, gesturing subtly toward the two of you. “They’re not fighting. She looks fine. And Han looks like a kicked puppy. Let them talk.” Jay hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. He hated watching you and Han together. Resentment boiled in his chest. Still, he couldn’t ignore Jake’s reasoning. You didn’t look distressed. Your body language wasn’t defensive or angry, just... patient. Whatever was being said, it didn’t seem like it was hurting you.

His eyes snapped up when he saw you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, his face crumpled into a mix of regret and hesitation. “Hi, Han,” you said evenly, even though your heart started racing. You really didn’t want to deal with this now, not when you had a few drinks and he probably had as well. You gave him a polite, tight smile and tried to walk past him, but his hand shot out, gently catching your wrist. “Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice quiet but urgent. You stopped, glancing down at his hand on your arm before meeting his gaze. “What do you want Han?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“Can we talk? Please,” he said, his voice tinged with desperation. You hesitated. After a moment, you sighed. “Okay. Talk. Han let go of your wrist, his hand dropping limply to his side. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he steadied himself. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been… I’ve been such an idiot. And I hate how things are between us now.” You crossed your arms, staying silent as he struggled to get his words out. There were no things between you. Nothing. Nada.  “I’ve loved you for a long time, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice soft but heavy with emotion. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment we became friends. And I knew, I knew, you didn’t feel the same way. But I told myself that maybe if I waited long enough, if I was just patient, you’d come around. You’d come to see me as more than your childhood best friend.” Your chest tightened as his words sank in. Since he first met you? That means it would have been more than 8 years at this point.  “I know now how stupid that was. Delusional, even,” he continued, his voice growing quieter. “You were never anything but honest with me. You were my friend, and I took that friendship and twisted it into something selfish. I let my feelings fester, and when Jay came into the picture… I lost it. I couldn’t handle it. I thought I’d been waiting for so long, and then he just showed up and…” Han trailed off, his eyes glistening under the dim light. He took another deep breath, his voice cracking as he said, “I hurt you, Y/N. I said things, did things, that I’ll never forgive myself for. And the worst part is, I knew how much I was hurting you in the moment, but I let it happen anyway. I was bitter and jealous, and that’s on me. None of it was your fault. Nothing I said at that party is the truth. I don't think of you like that, I just wanted to hurt you, like you hurt me. Even if you didn’t intent to." Your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to respond. “Han…” “No, let me finish,” he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “I need to say this. I need you to know how sorry I am. For everything. For ruining what we had, for making you feel like you couldn’t trust me. I don’t expect you to forgive me - not right now, maybe not ever. But I had to tell you how sorry I am.”

You looked at him, your emotions warring between anger, sadness, and something softer. “Han, I’m not going to pretend this didn’t hurt me,” you said finally, your voice steady but quiet. “You were my best friend. I don’t know if I can forgive you. I don’t even know if I’m ready to try." Han nodded, his expression pained but understanding. “I get it. I do. And if you need space, I’ll give you that. I just… I couldn’t stand the thought of never telling you how much I regret all of it. And i don’t want you to avoid the others anymore. They worry Y/N. A lot. If you want me to, I'll stop hanging around them, but please talk to them." Before you could respond, you caught movement over his shoulder. Glancing up, you saw Jay and Jake at the end of the hallway. Jay’s jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on you, while Jake hovered beside him, looking more curious than concerned. Han followed your gaze and turned to look. When he spotted Jay, a bitter smile flickered across his face before fading into something more resigned. He turned back to you, his voice softening. “I’m glad he makes you happy, Y/N. In a way, I couldn’t.” You blinked, unsure of what to say. After a moment, you simply nodded.  “Maybe someday we can go back to being friends,” he added, his tone wistful. “Maybe,” you said quietly, offering him a small, tentative smile. As you stepped around Han and headed toward Jay, his hand immediately found yours. His eyes searched yours, concern etched into his features. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low and protective. “Nothing,” you said softly, squeezing his hand and smiling at him. He really made you happy. “He just needed to talk. I’m fine.” Jay didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, brushing his thumb against your hand as he guided you back downstairs.

When the three of you rejoined Jays friends in the kitchen your mind couldn’t stop reeling. Han might not think you were a slut and a gold digger, but apparently many others do and they let you know they do. Every time you open your phone in fact. You found yourself reaching for the nearest drink table, eager for a distraction. You felt Jays gaze on you as you poured yourself a cup of something pink and unidentifiable, but he didn’t stop you, watching carefully instead. The drink wasn’t particularly strong and you couldn’t figure out what you were drinking, but the slight burn of the alcohol was enough for you to set the cup aside again. Getting drunk wasn’t going to help you figure anything out right.  You plastered a smile on your face, laughing along when needed, determined to shake off the heaviness from your conversation with Han.  “Let’s dance,” you said, taking a sip and tugging at Jays hand. Jay obliged, though his gaze lingered on you, concern etched into his features. The two of you moved with the music, and for a fleeting moment, you almost convinced yourself that the tightness in your chest was fading. It wasn’t. If you were honest it just got worse. The music, the people laughing, the overwhelming smell of sweat, weed and alcohol made you want to scream. Han’s words replayed in your mind. His regret, his confession, the way he said Jay made you happy in a way he couldn’t. You didn’t know how to feel. Sad? Relieved? Angry? All of it mixed together? Jay noticed. Of course he noticed. “Y/N,” he said softly, leaning down so only you could hear him over the music. “Let’s go home.” You blinked up at him, the forced smile slipping from your face. “What? No, I’m fine,” you lied, shaking your head. “I want to stay.” Jay didn’t let go of your hand. His gaze was steady, grounding, as he said, “You’re not fine. Let’s go.” Your chest tightened, and for a second, you wanted to argue.  “Okay,” you whispered.

Before leaving, the two of you searched for Taki and Niki, who were both passed out on the couch, tangled in a heap of limbs and half-empty cups. Jay sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get Niki. Can you grab Taki?” It took some effort, but the two of you managed to haul your brother and his friend upstairs to Yudai’s room. Jay carefully laid Niki on the bed while you tucked Taki in beside him, brushing his hair out of his face as he mumbled incoherently in his sleep. You and Jay exchanged a small, exhausted smile before quietly slipping out of the room.

The walk back to your flat was quiet, the cold night air sobering you slightly but doing little to settle the storm in your chest. Jay’s hand was warm and steady around yours, his thumb tracing small circles against your skin. When you finally reached your place, you let out a shaky breath as the door clicked shut behind you. You kicked off your shoes and let yourself fall flat onto your sofa, startling Gracie, who was resting on her bed next to the cushions.  Jay watched as you slumped onto the couch. He sat down beside you, close but not too close, waiting for you to speak. For a moment, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the heater kicking on. Then, the words spilled out of you. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Jay,” you started, your voice tight and wavering. “What Han said... God, I don’t even know how to feel about it. He’s been my friend for so long, and I love him. Platonically. But he didn’t. Doesn’t? Oh I don’t know. Looking him in the eyes today-” Your voice cracked, and you shook your head. “It was so hard. I hated it.” Jay’s hand moved to your back, resting there lightly as you continued. 

“And my friends…” you continued, your voice rising slightly as the words tumbled out faster. “I can’t even look them in the eyes because I don’t want them to feel like they have to choose between me and Han. I don’t want them to pick sides. I just- I want everything to go back to normal, but it can’t, can it? And then he offers that he could just pull back a bit? To not hang out with them so I can do so? I don’t want him to do that. They are our friends. No matter what the two of us are.” Your breath hitched, and you covered your face with your hands for a moment before dropping them to your lap. “And I just want to stop feeling sad. I want to stop being like this so you don’t have to worry about me all the time. You already have enough on your plate, and I-” “Hey,” Jay interrupted softly, his hand pressing slightly firmer against your back. “Stop. Just stop for a second." You glanced at him, your eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. He met your gaze, his expression filled with so much tenderness it made your chest ache. “I’m glad you told me all of this,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I need to know when things are weighing on you, Y/N. I want to know. You don’t have to bottle it all up, okay?” You nodded slightly, your lips pressing together as you tried to hold back tears. It really was the first time that you’ve told him what's going on you realized.  “It’s normal that you feel like shit right now, Y/N. If you weren’t I would be worried even more. If Jake told me he had a crush on me since highschool and then cursed me out I would not leave my room for months, but look at you powering through. I know you don't feel like everything is okay, but give yourself a bit of time. It’s going to be weird and hard for a bit, but at one point you will be laughing about the whole situation.”, he shook his head and moved next to you onto the sofa, slightly adjusting you, so that you were lying in his arms.  “And about the social media stuff,” Jay continued, “my dad’s already on it. He has a team of professionals who deal with this kind of thing. They’re going to handle it, and they’ll give you tips on what to do. You don’t have to figure this out on your own. We’ve got it covered.” You blinked, surprised. “Your dad knows?” Jay gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. He wanted to help." You nodded slowly, the weight on your chest easing just a fraction. “You don’t have to solve everything by yourself,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let me take some of the weight, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

You loved waking up in Jay's arms. He was over more mornings than not so the two of you have built up your own little routine by now. Jay was responsible for breakfast, while you handled the drinks. A iced americano for him and a different drink for you and a bit of milk for Gracie, since you are easily influenced by her pleading meows. Jay scolded you for it everyday, but didn’t stop you. Instead he bought cat milk for her. Simp. His phone buzzed with an incoming call. Jay groaned, lifting his phone from your bedside table to check the caller ID. “It’s Coach Choi.”, he muttered, irritation clear in his voice. Answering the call, Jay’s tone was clipped but polite. “Yeah, Coach? What’s up?” You glanced up at him with a questioning look, but he just gave you a reassuring smile and mouthed, I’ll be okay. You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but from the way Jay’s jaw tightened and his fingers paused in your hair, it was clear this wasn’t a casual check-in. “Alright. I’ll be there,” he finally said, ending the call with a heavy sigh. “What’s going on?” you asked, sitting up slightly. “Coach wants me at the rink,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “No idea why, but I have to go.” You frowned but nodded. “Okay.” Jay leaned down to kiss your forehead before grabbing his things. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Park.”, the Coach barked, “Sit.” Jay dropped himself onto one of the benches opposing his Coach. “What the hell is going on with you?” Coach Choi’s voice echoed off the tiled walls. “You think last night was acceptable? Playing like a damn wrecking ball and spending more time in the penalty box than on the ice? The penalty box isn’t where we win games!” Jay opened his mouth to respond, but Coach cut him off with a glare. “You’re the co-captain of this team, Jay. Do you understand what that means? It means you’re supposed to be a role model. Someone the younger guys look up to. You’re supposed to keep your head in the game, set the example - not be the one I have to bench because you can’t control your temper.” Jay clenched his jaw, his fists tightening on his thighs. He wanted to explain, to defend himself, but there was no way to deny that Coach was right. “If you’re distracted by something,” Coach continued, his tone hard but not unkind, “then you need to handle it. Whatever it is- your personal life, girl trouble, social media drama - I don’t care. You leave it at the door. You’re here to play hockey, not let everyone else clean up your mess. The mention of girl trouble made Jay’s stomach twist. He could hear the implication loud and clear. This wasn’t just about his performance; it was about you, about the backlash you were facing and how it was bleeding into his game. “Do you even realize the position you’re in, Park?” Coach’s voice softened slightly, his frustration giving way to something almost like concern. “You’re one of the most talented players we’ve had in years. Your future is right in front of you, but if you keep playing like you did last night, you’re going to ruin it before it even starts.” Jay took a deep breath, his head bowed. “I understand, Coach,” he said quietly. Coach sighed, running a hand over his face. “Good. Because I don’t want to see that kind of performance again. And if there’s something going on - something you need help with -  figure it out. Quickly.”  The words hit Jay like a slap to the face. He wanted to yell, to argue, but instead, he nodded stiffly. “I’ll do better next time.” Coach studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “See that you do. Ask Jeonghee if you need help with anything regarding that situation with your girl. Dismissed.” As Jay left the rink, his mind was a whirlwind of anger and frustration. He knew the Coach had heard about the social media backlash. But the thought of anyone, even his coach, implying you were a liability made his blood boil. You were the best thing in his life, and anyone who couldn’t see that could go to hell.

“Jay?” you called cautiously. He didn’t answer, instead walking straight over to you, plucking your book from your hands  and draping himself over you, his weight pressing you back against the cushions. “Jay!” you laughed, trying to sit up. “What-” He didn’t let you finish. His lips were on your neck, softly feathing it with kisses. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. “Jay, wait,” you said between breaths, “what’s going on?” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark and intense. “I’m just so mad,” he muttered. “At Coach, at the stupid hate, at all of it. But then I come back here, and you’re just… you.” You blinked at him, your heart pounding. “Me?” “You,” he said, pressing another kiss to the side of your neck. “You’re perfect, and I don’t care what anyone else says. I don’t care if I have to fight every coach, every fan, and everyone else who doesn’t get it.” Your hands found his shoulders, slightly pushing him up. “Jay, slow down. What happened?” He sighed, leaning his forehead against yours. “Coach basically told me to get my head in the game or break up with you.” Your breath got caught in your throat. “He said that?”

“Not in so many words, but yeah,” Jay admitted, his voice low. “And I’m not breaking up with you. That’s not even an option.” You felt a wave of emotion crash over you, a mix of anger, gratitude, and love. You cupped his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. “Jay, I’m sorry. This is all my fault.” “Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “None of this is your fault. Don’t ever think that. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, Y/N. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that.” You nodded, your chest tight with emotion. “Okay.” Jay’s forehead rested against yours. “I just can’t stand the thought of anyone making you feel like you’re anything less than amazing.”

Jay’s forehead rested gently against yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. His voice was soft but filled with emotion. “I just can’t stand the thought of anyone making you feel like you’re anything less than amazing.”

His words sent a shiver through you, your heart swelling in your chest. A faint smile tugged at your lips as your hands slid up his shoulders, fingers brushing over the firm lines of his muscles, until they clasped together behind his neck.

“You’re doing a pretty good job of reminding me,” you whispered, your voice light but trembling slightly with emotion.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, sending warmth cascading through you. His lips brushed lightly over yours, teasing, before he murmured, “Good. Because you deserve to feel that way every second.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that sent your thoughts scattering.

His lips were hot and insistent against yours, moving with a fervent intensity that left you breathless. He kissed you deeply, his tongue teasing and coaxing you in a way that made your knees feel weak, even as you stood firm in his embrace. You responded without hesitation, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss further.

Jay’s hands weren’t idle; they traveled up and down your torso, his touch igniting a trail of warmth that lingered long after his fingers moved. His palms were firm yet gentle as they slid under the hem of the oversized hoodie you were wearing, the rough pads of his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your sides.

When his hands brushed the underside of your bra, you gasped softly against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. Your chest heaved, your heart racing as you tried to steady yourself.

“Jay,” you whimpered, the sound escaping unbidden as his lips left yours to trail a heated path down your jawline.

He stopped immediately, his movements slowing as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils were blown wide, dark and intense, and the sight of him sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. His voice was husky and careful, thick with restraint as he asked, “Can I touch you?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, your body alive with anticipation. You met his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, “You can do whatever you want to me.”

The way his expression shifted made your breath hitch. This man was going to drive you insane, and you didnt mind it a bit.

You were still asleep on Jay's naked chest when his phone rang. The sound of it being enough to wake you up from your slumber. You opened one of your eyes and squinted at Jay as he stretched towards the bedside table. He glanced at the caller ID and you felt him tense under your hands. “Hey Dad.”, he greeted his father. You pulled up the blanket over your naked bodies a bit more, the thought of his dad made you want to hide any evidence of what you did earlier in the afternoon. “Yes I am with Y/N.”, he said furrowing his eyebrows, listening to his dad again. You strained your ear to understand what his dad was saying but gave up after a few seconds of not being able to decipher any of his words.  “Got it,” Jay muttered. “Yeah, I’ll post it right. Thanks for handling this and for helping Y/N.” His dad answered something that made Jay chuckle. “Yes Dad I will…Yes…I will tell mom myself…I love you too.” Jay’s hand was tracing up and down your naked spin under the covers while he seemingly thought about what his dad just told him.  After a beat of silence he signed opened his phone again. “Dads team drafted something for us to post. We can post it whenever we want, wherever you feel comfortable posting it.” You swallowed hard, your heart clenching but you nodded. “What does it say?” Jay pulled up the text draft and handed you his phone. “This is what they wrote for me.” You rubbed your eyes a bit and sat up, the blanket pooling around your hip and Jays hands wandered to your waist, caressing it while you read the statement. 

“To my fans, followers, and everyone who has shown support throughout my career: I want to address something that’s deeply personal. Over the past few days, I’ve seen behavior I can’t and won’t tolerate. My girlfriend, Y/N, is someone I care deeply about, and she’s been nothing but kind, hardworking, and supportive. She doesn’t deserve the hate or invasion of privacy she’s endured. Let me be clear: if you claim to support me, you’ll respect her. Thank you to those who stand with us. To those who don’t, I don’t need you in my corner. – Jay ” You handed the phone back, your chest tightening with nerves. “And me?” He opened another email, handing you his phone again. “This is what they suggested for you.” “Hello everyone. This is my one and only statement. Harassment, defamation, and invasion of privacy are illegal, and I won’t hesitate to take legal action against anyone involved in such behavior. Sharing pictures of my private instagram account and then spreading lies about my intentions regarding my boyfriend, sending not only me but also him hate is taking it a step too far.  Those actions are listed as defamatory and are crimes. My legal team is currently collecting evidence and I will press charges. I will not forgive and will pursue the furthest extent of the law.  To those who’ve supported me: I am forever grateful for your love and support. – Y/N” You read the text, your anxiety creeping up with every line. “Since when do I have a legal team.”, you furrowed your eyes and looked at Jay.  He shrugged. “I am pretty sure my dads legal team is now also ours?” You looked back onto the phone. “I don’t know, Jay,” you admitted, biting your lip. “What if it makes things worse?”

Jay reached over, taking your hand in his. “It won’t,” he said firmly. “The people who care about you will stand behind you. Fuck the rest. You don’t need those clowns in your life.” You laughed and then nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

The fallout was immediate. Comments and DMs flooded your notifications almost the second you posted your statements. You found yourself obsessively refreshing your phone, watching the numbers climb, rereading replies, and letting each one weigh heavier on your chest. It wasn’t until Jay plucked the phone from your hand, turned it off, and tucked it out of reach that you finally stopped. "Enough," he said firmly but gently, guiding you to your feet. "Come on, let’s do something else. Something not even remotely connected to that mess." Jay practically dragged you to the shower, shampooing your hair with so much care you were about to cry. Once you both were dressed and ready to go, he moved to the bookshelf in your bedroom and pulled out a battered copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, its spine cracked and corners softened by your years of love and annotations. He carefully tucked it into his bag along with your sketchbook and markers. You let him take your hand as he led you outside into the crisp March air. The evening was cool and the sun was just beginning to set, painting the horizon in different shades of amber and violet. By the time you reached your destination, darkness had settled in. You looked up, blinking in surprise at the sight of the familiar entryway. The grand double doors of the library loomed before you, its stone facade glowing faintly in the moonlight. “The library?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity as Jay pushed open one of the heavy doors and pulled you inside. “Yeah.” He nodded decisively, guiding you through the quiet halls to a small reading nook near one of the towering windows. “You told me you loved sketching here. So do it. I’ll sit here, read, and let you just...draw. Forget everything else.” You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you dropped into one of the old, plush chairs in the corner. Jay crouched to unpack the bag, setting your sketchbook and markers into your lap. Then he settled into the chair beside you, flipping open your well-loved copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. For a while, the world narrowed down to the sound of pages turning and the soft scratch of your pen on paper. You let yourself drift, losing track of time until Jay nudged you, gesturing toward the clock. “We should head back,” he said, closing the book and sliding it into his bag. The walk back was quiet, save for the crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant hum of campus life winding down for the evening. You were starting to feel tired, despite the amount of sleep you’d gotten today, and leaned into Jay’s calming presence as the two of you strolled together. Neither of you was in the mood to cook, so you decided to grab something quick from the campus food hall. You were about to pile an arguably excessive amount of kimchi onto your plate when a familiar voice startled you “Y/N!" You turned, finding Felix standing there with a wide grin “Hi, Felix,” you said, smiling back at him. An actual smile, for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Are you alone?” he asked, grabbing a tray for himself. “Uh, no.” You shook your head, motioning toward Jay, who was setting his tray down at a table nearby. “I’m here with Jay. We just spent the day in the library.” “Studying?” Felix asked, his tone mockingly incredulous as he raised an eyebrow. You laughed, nudging his shoulder with your own. “No, you idiot. I was sketching, and Jay was reading.” “Thought so,” he replied with a smirk, loading up his tray with what could only be described as a even more reckless amount of kimchi. “If you’d told me you were studying, I wouldn’t have believed you anyway. No offense.” “None taken,” you teased, shaking your head. Felix glanced around the food hall, nodding toward a familiar table in the corner. “I’m here with some of the others. Wanna join us? Or we could join you?” You hesitated, looking over to where Jay was watching the two of you, his tray already on the table. He smiled at you, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.

“I…” You trailed off, turning back to Felix, whose expression had turned a bit awkward. You took a breath, forcing yourself to push past the tension lingering in your chest. “I’d love to. Let me just grab Jay, and we’ll come sit with you. Are you at our usual table?” Felix nodded, motioning toward the familiar corner. “Yeah. Are you sure it’s fine? Han’s there too.” You paused, steadying yourself before answering. “It’s fine,” you said, your voice firmer than you expected. “I can handle it. We can all behave like adults, right?” Felix studied you for a moment, his freckled face softening with relief. “Of course.” “I’m sorry I avoided you all, Lix,” you admitted, setting your tray down on the counter as you rubbed your temples. “I needed to sort my shit out, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you guys.” “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle. He put down his tray down as well and pulled you into a warm hug. You blinked quickly, trying to stop the tears that threatened to well up, and wrapped your arms around him. When you finally separated, Felix gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “Let’s go, yeah? I’ll tell the others you’ll come over and make Chan move away from your seat near the heater.” “Thanks,” you chuckled with a small smile, picking up your tray and heading toward Jay. Jay raised an eyebrow as you approached, his expression curious. “Everything okay?” You nodded, setting your tray down next to his. “Felix invited us to join their table. Would that be okay with you?” “Of course,” Jay said easily, standing and grabbing his tray. He studied you for a second, “Is it fine for you?" “Yes.”, you said with a nod.  “Okay then let’s go, sweetheart.” The smile he gave you made your heart flutter. 

The two of you made your way to your usual table, where the rest of your friends were already seated. Lia waved you over enthusiastically, scooting her tray aside to make room for you both. “Look who’s here!” Felix announced as you and Jay slid into the seats. Han’s eyes flickered to you briefly, his expression unreadable, before he offered a small nod.  “Okay, serious question,” Minho said, leaning back in his chair looking at Jay with narrowed eyes. You noticed Jay tensing up next to you and you were ready to stop Minho when he continued. “Jay, you are a neutral party here. Do you think Changbin has a bubble but yes or no.” You blinked, startled by the abruptness of the question. You were expecting something completely different.  Jay snorted, all the tension from his body gone in seconds. “A bubble butt?”  “Oh my God,” Lia groaned, covering her face with her hands. “We are not doing this again. Not in front of a stranger.” “We are absolutely doing this again,” Yuna declared.  “His girlfriend is reading these books and in one they talk about bubble butts. She claims Binnie has one. He claims he doesn't.”, Seungmin explained, almost uninterested. “He is just doing squats,” Lia argued. “Lots of squats.” “Or implants,” Minho added, his expression completely deadpan.

“Implants?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow as he reached forward to dip his spoon into his food. Bang Chan leaned forward, his tone mock-scolding. “Don’t talk about him like that when Changbin is not here to defend himself.” “Who says I’m not here?” Everyone turned as Changbin appeared, tray in hand, eyebrows raised suspiciously. “What are you saying about me?” “Oh, nothing,” Minho said innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Uh-huh.” Changbin narrowed his eyes, setting his tray down. “Wait. Is this about my butt again?” “No!” Yuna said quickly, though her wide grin said otherwise. “Yes,” Han muttered, earning a shove from Yeji. Changbin groaned, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I’ve told you guys, I don't have one. I’ll prove it right now if I have to.” “Don’t you dare!” Lia squealed, slapping her hands over her eyes as the table erupted into laughter, while Changbin turned around, his hands on the waistline of his jeans. “Binnie, please,” Minho said through barely-contained snickers. “We’re in public.” The commotion settled, though the lingering giggles and playful teasing rippled through the group. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them bicker and banter.

Not much had changed. But somehow, everything had. You caught yourself studying the way Han laughed at one of Minho’s sarcastic remarks, the tension you’d been carrying toward him softening just a little. Lia and Yeji were laughing about something on Seungmins phone, while Felix, Changbin and Yuna argued over getting ass and hip implants. And then there was Jay, sitting beside you with a quiet smile, watching the whole scene unfold. Maybe he was right. Maybe everything just needed a bit time for grass to grow over. 

The end of your spring break arrived faster than you expected, and now you were here, standing in front of an elevator in a sleek, high-rise building in the heart of Seoul. The city buzzed below you, a symphony of car horns and distant chatter that seemed to vibrate in your chest. You clutched the box containing the cake you spent all morning baking tightly, your knuckles white. Jay stood beside you, his hand on the small of your back, while his other held a bouquet of flowers. “Relax,” he murmured, leaning closer. “They’re going to love you." “I’m not worried about that,” you lied, your voice a touch higher than normal. Jay smirked knowingly, his lips brushing your temple. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Before you could argue, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal the penthouse floor. You stepped out hesitantly, glancing down at your shoes and the way they squeaked faintly on the polished marble. Jay's parents had a very expensive taste.  The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, and you came to a sudden stop, panic flaring in your chest. “Jay, no,” you whispered, whirling to face him. “We have to turn around. Right now.” “What?” He blinked, his expression caught between amusement and concern. “Jay,” you hissed, gesturing toward the grand double doors at the end of the hall. “I’m not... I can’t do this! I didn’t even-” Before you could spiral further, Jay stepped behind you and gently turned you around by your shoulders, steering you toward the doors. “You’re going to be fine,” he said firmly, though his voice was still soft. “They’re not scary, I promise.” Jay pulled a key card from his pocket and swiped it across the panel. The door beeped softly, and Jay pushed it open, stepping inside. “Come on,” he said, holding it open for you with a grin. You hesitated but stepped in. The air smelled faintly of something delicious and you could hear faint clattering from the kitchen. Jay closed the door behind you and turned to you with a smile.  “Shoes off, please,” he said, already bending down to untie his shoes.  As soon as he stood upright, Jay took the cake from your hands and cradled it carefully. “Got it,” he said, glancing down at the dessert. “I’ll take this in.” You followed and crouched down, fumbling with the straps of your heels.  A cheerful voice called out from deeper in the apartment. “Is that you, Jay?” “Yes it’s us Mom!” he called back, his tone light. 

You barely had time to steel yourself before his mom appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her face lit up when she saw you, her smile warm and welcoming. “Y/N!” she exclaimed, coming forward with open arms, completely ignoring her son. “Hi, Mrs. Park,” you said, bowing slightly. Jay’s mom didn’t hesitate for even a second. She stepped forward and pulled you into a warm, slightly overwhelming hug.  “Oh, it’s so good to meet you,” she said, squeezing you gently. You felt your eyes widen, and over her shoulder, you shot Jay a desperate look.  Jay, save me. Jay smothered a laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly as he mouthed, You’re fine. When his mom finally pulled back, she took a good look at you, her hands resting lightly on your arms. “You’re even prettier than I imagined,” she said warmly. You managed a shy smile, your cheeks flushing. “T-thank you,” you stammered, holding up the flowers as a distraction. “We brought these for you.”

“Oh, Y/N, these are beautiful! Thank you so much.” she exclaimed, taking the flowers and calling over her shoulder, “Now Jay where are your manners. Bring your girlfriend inside while I get your father.”, she jokingly scolded her son and disappeared again.  “Jay.”, you hissed under your breath, glaring at him when the two of you walked past the floor to ceiling high windows with a perfect view of Seouls skyline. “You’re fine,” he whispered back, grinning as he set the cake down on the already decked dinner table. “I’m going to die,” you mumbled, your face buried in your hands. “You’re not dying,” he said, his voice full of amusement. “My mom already loves you.” His hands slid around your waist and he pulled you close to him. You put your arms on his shoulders pouting up at him.  “Mhm.”, he said tilting his head, “Pouting won’t save you darling.”  Sure. Thanks Jay, for those motivating words.  “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”, he quickly pecked you on the lips and then released you from his hold, just in time as his mother came into the dining room holding up a vase for the flowers, her excitement undimmed.

Jay’s dad appeared a moment later, his face lighting up when he saw you. He looked like an older version of Jay, his smile warm and kind. He approached you with open arms, and before you could overthink it, he enveloped you in a hug that was somehow both firm and gentle. “It’s so wonderful to meet you in person,” he said, pulling back to look at you with a smile. You smiled shyly. “It’s wonderful to meet you, too, Mr. Park. And... thank you,” you added, your voice earnest. “For what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “For everything,” you said, glancing down for a moment before meeting his kind eyes again. “For helping when I was dealing with all of that mess online. I know you didn’t have to, but you did, and it meant the world to me. Truly." Jay’s dad waved a hand dismissively, though his expression remained warm. “Of course we helped. We couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. And I’m just glad you’re doing better now.” “Me too,” you said softly, your voice laced with gratitude. His dad smiled, then glanced toward Jay, who was leaning casually against the counter, watching the exchange. There was a glint of mischief in his dad’s eyes as he turned back to you. “You know, you’re the first girl Jay’s ever brought home to meet us.” Your eyes widened slightly, and you glanced at Jay, who immediately straightened, his casual demeanor cracking just a bit.

“Dad,” he said, his voice slightly strained. “He always told us as a teenager that the first girl he’d bring home would be the one he planned to marry.”, his dad said with a chuckle. “Dad!” Jay said, louder this time, his ears turning a distinct shade of red. You blinked, momentarily stunned, before a small laugh escaped you.  “Did he really?” you asked, glancing at Jay with a teasing smile. “Oh, he was very adamant about it,” his dad continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Said it every time we asked why he never dated anyone in high school.” Jay groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze. “I was a kid,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know what I was talking about.” His mom appeared in the doorway, clearly having overheard. “Well, kid or not, you’ve always been a man of your word,” she said with a knowing smile. You couldn’t help but laugh, though your heart was racing at the implications of what his parents were saying. You glanced at Jay, whose flushed face and shy smile were a far cry from his usual confident self. “Is that true, Jay?” you teased gently, your eyes sparkling. He met your gaze, his cheeks still tinged pink, but there was a steadiness in his eyes that made your breath catch. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice low but sincere. “But I didn’t expect my parents to ambush me with it the first time I brought you here.” His dad laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re just happy to see you this way, son. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked this content.” Jay gave a small, embarrassed smile but didn’t deny it “Well, now that we’ve embarrassed Jay enough for one evening,” his mom said, stepping forward with a twinkle in her eye, “why don’t we get started with dinner? I hope you like Galbi JJim Y/N.” “I do Mrs. Park.”, you said while sliding into the chair next to Jay, grabbing his hand under the dinner table as his parents started excitedly talking about how they were so glad to meet you. He gave it a slight squeeze. 

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love PS: everybody who knows what books I am referencing gets a bick smack on the cheek! Peek book taste!

[cassyapper]

i will not rest until "marina" as the common fanon name for mrs kujo is obliterated SHE DOES NOT START AND END WITH JOTARO KUJO

[thebigqueer]

its so funny to me that she was like 'you deserve better' because little does she even know she genuilnely was best. like no one is ever going to top her. and i know with my full heart that she will find better than me and im supposed to want that for her but i really really dont. cuz i know theres so much better than me but theres no one better than her

[hsjxishbeoelwj]

tw: vent post, long long rant/vent post lmao sorry :3 im going through it fr fr!!!! 😜 (this is kinda cringe ngl, lol)

god, please let my sister still feel safe and comfortable around me even when I don't deserve it. She deserves so much more than me and my shit attitude and behavior towards her. She deserves to be loved and get out of this house because she's just a kid, my baby, though she doesn't deserve this life we've built for her. She deserves people who won't yell or snap at her for being a kid. I hope she never fears me. I hope she never feels her stomach churn because of the sound of my voice, and I hope she never knows me by the sound of my footsteps. Because, lord knows she deserves so, so much more. She deserves to feel safe in her own room with out me saying to get out (we share a room). And yet, I still can't help but feel that selfishness that screams at me from the darkest parts of my mind, the ones that scream "kick her out before she ruins the delicate system you have built in this room, she doesn't deserve to be here." And yet, I so desperately want to listen to the much, much smaller voice that says "this is her room to, she deserves to feel safe in here to without feeling like shes walking on eggshells. You swore to yourself that you'd never make her feel the way you did when you were her age. But look at you now. Horrible and basically as bad as you feared you'd be." I hate it. I miss knowing my little sister more than I knew myself. She just wants her big sisters attention. She just wanted my love and validation. I see the way she looks at me when she thinks I'm not looking. I hate it. I hate that she looks at me like I'm not the big sister she wants. I miss when she used to look at me with stars in her eyes and awe in her voice as she screamed my nickname so happily, the nickname only she's allowed to call me. It feels weird when she calls me by my actual name, even when it's not that different. Where was I going with this? I don't know. I just miss my baby sister, my baby. My dear sister. And maybe that's my fault. Scratch that. It most definitely is my fault. I pushed her away because I was scared of hurting her, but I hurt her anyway. It's hard not to when you both have shared a room since she was a baby. I've never had my own space. Maybe that's why I do this. Out of my own selfish desire for privacy. She doesn't deserve this. If only she were born earlier. If only she were closer in age. But, would that have changed things? I don't know. I wish I did. God, or whoevers listening, please, oh please, let there be a universe where I can live my baby sister like she needs me too. Where I'm actually a good sister. Where she doesn't fear my mood swings like they're a knife I'm about to stab her with. Where she never finches away from me in fear of what will happen. Where she never gets that long, sad stare when she thinks we aren't looking. Where I can protect her from all the bad, instead of being the bad she needs shelter from. Please, whoever is listening to this. Please, let there be a universe where I'm not a fucked up little kid who will never know whats wrong with me. I just want to know what's wrong with me. Maybe then I'll stop snapping and hurting the ones I love. I don't want to be my grandma. I don't want to be someone who snaps at the smallest things because they aren't how she left them. I don't want to make my loved ones sick of me because of how I am. I don't want to be someone who is feared by my siblings. I don't want my little baby sister (who is taller than me now? when did that happen?) to flea to her room so her big sister to be better just for her to realize I'm the one she's hiding from. I don't want her to feel like she'll never feel safe around me again. Please, lord, don't let me become like my grandma, who makes everyone drained when she starts talking. Instead, lord, let me be like my mother, the kind soul she is, and let me be an open space where I can't help but spill my guts too.

Please let me be a good sister.

Please don't let me become my grandmother and hers before her.

Please, let me be like my mother.

Pleaee let me baby sister feel like she is not wanted because if my stupid mistakes.

Please let her not take to heart what I said when I was angry and had no control over my words and emotions.

Please let her know that she will always have a place in my heart no matter what.

Please let her know that no matter what I say, her big sister will always love her, even if she doesn't love me.

Please let her know it's never going to be her fault for being and acting like a child, for wanting her big sisters approval.

Please let her know I will never, ever truly hate her (I genuinely don't think I can).

Please, lord above, tell me what's wrong with me so I can fix it and be a better sister to my older and younger siblings. If not, then, please, strike me down and send me to hell.

I can not handle hurting them again. I think it will kill me. I can not handle seeing my family cry because of my stupid, reckless, impulsive actions. I can't do this anymore.

Please let my family know that if I do eventually die by my own hand, it was never their fault. It was mine for being so weak.

Please let my sister know that she will never be at fault for what her big sister did.

Please let my baby, my little sister know that her big sister has always been proud of her.

Please, God, tell me what is wrong with me so that I may fix it.

(perhaps i wasn't cut out to be a sibling..?)

[rafesproperty]

Rafe Cameron x Shy GF <3

Rafe Cameron x Reader + a little platonic Barry x Reader cuz I just love Barry

Soo Rafe is an ESTP, which is probably the most outgoing personality type and they get along with introverts pretty well. Rafe would so adore his shy girl who’s just so dependent on him for everything. Luckily he’s always got you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Topper and Kelce didn’t really understand why would Rafe date you out of all people. You were always quiet, never speaking up, never showing up to parties, and if you did you’d stay glued to your friends' sides and never really speak to anyone.

It baffled them, actually.

But neither Topper or Kelce actually knew Rafe. He didn’t need a wild fire on top of his own messy chaos of a life. He needed the calmness. He didn’t need a girl who’d party her night away and dance with everyone and leave him hangin’ alone. He needed someone who’d be glued to his side, tug at his sleeve and beg for him to stay there and shield her with his body.

He needed someone he could just keep on his lap when he did lines and talked to people, and you'd just stay there, like an obedient scared puppy, playing with his fingers.

He didn’t need a girl that would be outgoing, speak up for herself, independent, talkative with other people. He enjoyed speaking up for you, ordering your food, picking your deliveries up, giving you rides everywhere because you hated public transport, holding you close to him, knowing feeling that you physically desperately need him everywhere with you. Even if you wanted ice cream that was sold two blocks down the street you'd ask him if he'd join you. Call him selfish, but he loves to be the one you constantly need and hide behind. He is obsessed with it. Always ready to provide and protect his girl.

And it’s not like you were like that all the time. The second you two were alone in his car, house or just away from everyone else you were joking around, dancing with him, calling him mocking nicknames like dude, bro, dummy, or the more intimate ones like baby, Rafey, my sweet boy, you'd jokingly call him my husband, my man, my love (all of these worked him up and you knew it), you’d tease the fuck out of him, crawling into his lap like a desperate bitch, grinding on him because you needed him right now. Pulling him in to kiss him. And God, he loved it. To be the only one to see this side of yours.

You were so polite to everyone too, always saying please and thank you in the quietest voice with a blush on your cheeks, but he knew you could be a loud, moaning, dirty mess under him. He knew you could ride him through multiple orgasms with zero shame. Only he knew you rocked your hips desperately against his mouth and squeezed your legs around his head to keep him there. Only he knew you'd get down on your knees and do absolutely everything for him.

You've met Barry a few times whenever Rafe needed cocaine from him and couldn't wait, he'd just drag you along and tell you to stay in the car. But the wait eventually got long and you followed after him.

Barry immediately offered you drugs and Rafe almost broke his face... but this little incident aside you actually clicked with Barry immediately. He wouldn't even let you speak, he just talked away, spilling info and gossip about Rafe as if he wasn't just standing right there.

"Ah shit, and you like this j-crew lookin' ass?" You giggled. "Yeah, I do," you gave Rafe a smile. "A lot."

You and Barry became friends. Rafe wouldn't let you hang out with him alone but the three of you actually hung out a lot at Barrys. He quickly understood how shy you are and he maybe had a little soft spot for you too, keeping an eye on you in public whenever Rafe needed to take care of something quickly.

You were getting a drink with Rafe at the Country Club, Topper and Kelce were there too, when Barry pulled up on his bike and made his way over to the two of you, ignoring all the Kooks that gave him dirty looks.

"Country Cluuuuub princessssss," he yelled in his accent and made his way over to you, "what's good with you girl?" He chuckled as you two did a quick handshake you've taught him.

Rafe rolled his eyes and immediately threw his arm around your shoulders in a protective manner.

Topper and Kelce stared in awe. You, who barely spoke any words to them, were all of a sudden buddies with the drug dealer?

[clamorybus]

its not fun to talk about, and i feel like such a dick talking about them like this, but it's fucking sickening how easily swayed my parents are

[auralino]

ok so i didnt realize the tags have a limit nor did i realize i wrote thirty fucking tags and i still wasnt done. so. tags cont 🥰🥰🥰

and like, idk it sounds like the wedding was all out, so like YEA. THAT'S A BIG THING TO JUST CANCEL. so ofc she had reservations about calling it off the closer they got, but im so glad she left him. cause like in the missing ring scene, it felt like she was more scared of *jung* and how he'd retaliate for the ring being lost more than the ring itself. like baby, forever isn't supposed to feel like a scary life sentence, and im so glad she realized it while spending time with min again. and idk! part of me does still think that maybe min should have taken time to go to his parents. that maybe just a little bit of time, just a little, for both of them to clear their heads and sort out their feelings. mc just kept digging and digging and digging this hole deeper and deeper and while yes, she did eventually dig herself out, she's still exhausted and covered in the debris of it all. and I know minho would hold her, clean the dirt off her himself while she rests in his arms, safe and loved and protected, it's so unfair to minho that he continuously has to be the one to bear the weight and the pain her emotional immaturity causes. like his frustration at the end where he was like *so u waited until the day before ur wedding to say something 🤨* I WAS LIKE RIGHT?????? like idk i just feel like he has every right to be wary of how mc actually feels about him, about them, about everything they'd been doing for the last two months, when she couldn't even be honest with herself for years.

i really do think this story feels *the most* human out of all your fics ive read so far. there is just so much realistic flaw within the mc and the people around her, and its not just magically changed or fixed or disregarded by the end. its there until the last moment, but minho looks at her and still wants her, mess and all. god.

also jung get fucked u stinky little man. he sounds like hes got the emotional maturity of a 10 year old with holographic pokemon cards or something like wtf. LIKE IDK IF I READ THAT PART WRONG BUT WHEN HIS BUDDY WAS MAKING THOSE COMMENTS DURING GOLF???? AND TOUCHED MC WITH THE CLUB????? mc is better than me bc i would have SWUNG. and jung didnt say shit!!!!! he was laughing!!! hes so fucking gross mc baby what did u ever see in this stinky little clown man

anyways this was a banger and once again im asking for ur hand in marriage bc wtf star ur so good at this AND IM SO SORRY ABT THE LONG TAGS AND THE RANT DOWN HERE I JUST HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABT THIS FIC

Begged & Borrowed

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 30.2k

Warnings: infidelity, drinking, smoking, use of pet names, unprotected sex, breast/nipple play, dry humping, clitoral stimulation

Synopsis: A turn of events causes you and your longtime best friend Minho to confront your true feelings for each other- except you’re already getting married to somebody else.

[this work was based off a request from “🌷” anon - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

For as long as Minho has remembered, he’s been in a constant state of grieving. But no one’s passed, nor is there any reason to believe something should happen. Nonetheless, the feeling remains, a cruel reminder of the phenomenon when it hits him suddenly, eating away at his thoughts and boring into his flesh.

Like a seed planted deep in his body, one that suddenly sprouted, and won’t stop growing, and growing. And in his mind, this grieving takes its form in viridian hues of ivy, thin stringy stems that wrap around his bones and constrict him to a life lived within the cage of his own body. Rubbery leaves of green with venules that mirror his own veins and seem to mock him as they replace what’s left of him. And Minho can do nothing except coexist with this heavy sense of grieving, let the ivy strangle him in its unsuspecting embrace and rob him of his last breaths. He’s still in there, trapped somewhere, breathing in labored breaths and stiff at the limbs. But he can’t breathe, and he fears one day this grieving is going to kill him.

*

Minho exhales deeply, balancing a small cardboard box which houses a white cylindrical cake in his hands, his eyes darting nervously over the crowd inside. There seem to be 20, maybe 30 people, already acquainted with the space, chatting amongst themselves with glasses of champagne in hand. He’s tried your cell phone twice, to no avail- of course he knows you’re probably making your rounds, chatting with guests and double checking the hors d’oeuvres are to your liking. But he tries one more time just in case, bringing the phone up to his ear and letting it ring once, twice, three times- voicemail.

There’s no way around this but to go inside and socialize for the next hour, Minho’s personal idea of hell on earth. He grips the box a little firmer with one hand, using the other to slip his cell phone back into his pocket and make sure he can access it easily, just in case he needs to look busy. And with one more deep sigh, he begins the journey inside, mentally preparing to pretend as though he cares about any of this.

The venue interior is spacious, and admittedly a breathtaking view at this proximity, much to Minho’s stubborn dismay. Round white tables line the wooden floors, wrapped in velvety cream tablecloths and glowing in the dim lightning of tea candles. Similar cream-colored lanterns line the ceilings in neat rows, parallel to the strings of bohemian bulb lights that serve more as decoration than to actually brighten the place. And by the marble wall fountain at the back of the open space, there’s you, all dressed up and chatting enthusiastically with a group of women. Minho pauses for a moment, not yet proceeding, as he takes in the sight of your elegant appearance. Your figure is hugged delicately by a slim-fitting dress, a pair of strappy heels complementing the loose curls and simple makeup you sport. And he sighs again, feeling as though this is all going to be in vain the second he approaches you.

Yet he doesn’t even have to- you spot him from across the room first, whispering something in another woman’s ear before making your way toward him, an enchanted smile on your face and such purpose in your step as you near him. Minho’s heart quickens in his chest the way it always does when he’s around you, though his demeanor seems to relax fully once you’re in front of him, your arms extending for a hug as he shoots you a saccharine smile and pulls you into his embrace.

“You made it!” You exclaim enthusiastically, your arms wrapping around the broad shoulders he flaunts under his white collared button-up. He smells familiar, a comforting mix between fabric softener and his musky cologne, and it brings you right back to your days spent alongside him in college, catching late-night movies together and hitting up all your favorite fast food joints.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Minho replies sweetly. He chuckles a little as he speaks, lost in the striking glow of your eyes at this proximity, your long eyelashes fluttering as you smile in response and nod.

“Thank god you’re here,” you voice, glancing around the room inconspicuously. “I think Jung’s friends have had one too many shots. And I asked for pink flowers on the centerpieces- do these look pink to you?”

You gesture to the bouquets of very magenta floral arrangements, shaking your head as Minho laughs in response.

“Hey, remember this is just to celebrate everything being finalized. You can get nit-picky when the wedding rolls around- for now, let’s just enjoy the magenta flowers.”

You smile up at him, always endeared at the way Minho finds the good in everything. He has a special way of taking your fears or reservations and making them seem so insignificant in contrast to the world around you. And he’s been that way for as long as you can remember, quick to fix things and stay by your side through the hardships whenever they crept up on you.

Like the time your car got impounded and he walked nearly two hours with you to get it back because neither of you could afford a taxi. Or the time your holiday office party was all but sleep-inducing, and he didn’t hesitate to drop what he was doing to take you out for burgers, instead.

And of course, being by your side throughout this very burdening wedding process. Minho’s the first person who got the news of the engagement when it happened, nearly shattering the dish he washed during a session of old cartoon reruns and fast food while you were out at dinner with Jung. And it was the last thing he’d expected, too, remembering how the week prior was spent lending a kindly ear to you as you ranted about Jung’s stubbornness and his poor temperament.

“Married?” He’d spoken into the phone, like the proposition of getting an engagement ring implied literally anything else.

And when you saw him again an entire week later, the marquis diamond hugged by delicate prongs and a sterling silver band around your fourth finger confirmed the words, as if your excitement over the phone hadn’t done so already. At first Minho was angry, declining invitations to hang out and forcing himself to stay asleep so as not to feel the sheer pain and regret that came with the news. What does she even see in him? He’d asked himself a dozen times a minute, mapping out the factors you complained about to him and weighing them against the likelihood that you’d actually follow through with this wedding.

He’s messy. He doesn’t like spending money on fancy dinners, so sometimes we’ll only do sides. My parents think he’s a little arrogant and when he’s with his friends, it’s like I don’t exist.

All signs point to negative. There’s no way you’d actually follow through with marrying Jung- at least not if it’s up to you. Maybe you had stars in your eyes, couldn’t say no to the sparkly ring and had thought back to the first date when he first got down on one knee. That has to be why you said yes.

The prospect of marrying him contractually is a headache when Minho thinks about it- and that’s not even inclusive of the idea that comes with spending the rest of your life cooped up in a house with him, with children and in-laws. It would mean years of him talking back to you, undermining you and rubbing his superiority complex in your face. Minho isn’t sure he could stick around for a lifetime of that.

At least he wasn’t sure before- and now, with just two months out till the wedding, Minho is panicking. It feels like some race against time to knock an ounce of sense into you, but the stars in your eyes are still there when he catches you glancing at your ring, or moved by Jung’s actions that scream the bare minimum.

“Did you see the champagne glasses? They’re iridescent! Jung got them just for tonight.”

Maybe that’s what you see in him. His noble trait of picking iridescent champagne glasses over clear ones.

“Cool,” Minho responds, giving you a small nod.

“What’s in the box?” You ask, gesturing to the small white box in Minho’s hands still.

“Oh, just a little something,” Minho replies a little softly, watching as you slowly lift the thin cardboard lid and peer inside. And the smile that grows on your face makes everything worth it again.

“From our favorite bakery? Minho! That place is so expensive, you shouldn’t have!”

“It’s a special evening,” Minho replies with a smile, watching as you admire the intricate icing display for a moment. White fondant ribbons and candy pearls line the frosted surface which enreathes decadent layers of chocolate- all your favorites. As Minho begins to close the box, he’s rudely interrupted by a finger prodding itself into the dessert, swiping across the frosting and moving the carefully placed cake toppers into complete disarray.

“Is this chocolate?” A voice asks from behind Minho, coming forward to sprawl an arm over your shoulders and lick the frosting off his finger. “Damn, that’s good!”

And Minho can practically feel every ounce of hope in his body dissipate as he watches you giggle enthusiastically.

“Hi, Jung,” Minho says flatly, observing your destroyed cake briefly before shutting the box again.

“What’s up, man? Thanks for the cake. Hey, wedding’s in two months- I hope you have your tux ready!”

Minho responds with a thin-lipped smile, not saying anything as Jung laughs loud enough to fill the awkward silence amongst the three of you.

“What do you say we go cut some real cake?” Jung asks, turning to face you as his grip around your shoulders tightens.

You smile back at him, turning to Minho and cocking your head toward the table by the wall fountain.

“You wanna join? We got a variety of pastries, too. There’s those little cream puffs you like, and macarons from the French bakery.”

Minho extends his arms, passing the box of cake to you and giving you both a small bow.

“I actually just stopped by to gift you the cake. I have a work thing really early tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?” You question, a small pout on your face as Jung scans the room around you, desperate to ditch the two of you, but also stubborn about maintaining his dominance in front of Minho.

“We’ll catch up soon,” Minho replies, trying his best to convey a smile that will make it seem like nothing’s bothersome.

“Okay, okay,” you respond, separating from Jung’s hold on you and pulling Minho in for another hug.

“Thanks for the cake, anyway. I’m still glad you stopped by.”

“Of course,” Minho says, averting his gaze from Jung. “And congrats on finally getting all the wedding plans finalized. That’s a really big deal.”

“She’ll be hitched in two months!” Jung chimes in loudly from behind you. “And then we’ll be on an island celebrating married life!”

Minho just nods at him, shooting him the same thin-lipped smile and bowing to both of you.

“Catch you later,” he says, finally pivoting to exit the way he entered. And he can still hear Jung’s obnoxious laughter from halfway across the room.

*

Fridays were always your designated days with Minho. In college, they meant movie nights and greasy takeout food. Post-graduation, they involved bars and gossiping about your entry level positions and your bosses. And after Jung came into the picture, they quickly became every other Friday, which soon turned to Sunday brunch on a monthly basis, which then transitioned to catching up over the phone or in brief passing. Jung made sure you were always busy doing something with him, his arm slung possessively around your shoulders and speaking far too loudly about your relationship for the whole world to hear.

Minho began to ditch the Friday group dates when Jung started inquiring about his own relationship status, getting drunk off one-too-many jägermeisters and slurring questions and demands about when he’d finally bring a girl to the function. And Minho never had the heart to tell you why he stopped showing- he simply conjured intricate excuses for every instance you invited him out.

I have a headache. I have an early day tomorrow. The cats are lonely these days.

Of course, perhaps Jung could see right through him into the green leaves of ivy that enwreathed his bones and swallowed him whole with this grieving. Grieving for you, grieving for himself, grieving for this life he knew was bound to come to a close the minute Jung made his move. Which Jung did, practically setting the relationship in stone so that Minho would now be subject to a lifetime of his offensive slurred speeches and unsettling presence. And although the grieving grew heavier after the engagement, it’s always been there, perhaps even longer than Jung’s even been in the picture.

“Jung said no male strippers at the bachelorette party, which is a bummer if you ask me. But we are having an open bar, so I’ll be too drunk to care about naked men anyway.”

Minho chuckles softly, bringing the straw in his iced coffee up to his lips and taking a sip from the corner of his mouth.

“But he’s having strippers at his bachelor party, isn’t he?”

You shrug casually, brushing off the question as you take a sip of your coffee, too.

“I don’t really care, either way. I mean we’ll be getting married regardless, so he can look at whoever he wants. I just need him to show up in a tux on the day of, and stand at the end of the aisle crying when I come to meet him.”

Minho doesn’t reply, a string of questions circling his mind, which he chooses not to ask in order to maintain the peaceful silence that now falls over you both. It’s one of the only days this month you two have been able to get some time alone, although it did require Minho taking off work early and you lying to Jung about your whereabouts. You find yourselves at the coffee shop you’ve been meeting at since your college days, an iced americano in Minho’s grasp and a latte in yours.

As Minho takes in his surroundings, everything feels vastly different than it used to- the distance between you two feels much greater, like there are miles separating the beverages you consume at this proximity to each other. The baristas don’t shoot you curious looks like they used to when they were certain you two were an item. And the shiny ring on your finger makes an appearance every sip you take, glistening under the beams of sun that dance through the windows and fall over your enthusiastic figure.

“What are you up to this weekend?” You ask finally, meeting his shy gaze as he taps his fingers on the wooden surface of the table.

Minho shrugs, toying with the lobe of his ear as he thinks of a random commitment to voice back to you.

“Oh, you know,” he stutters. “Moving stuff.”

And he’s completely unsure, himself, of what the words imply as they escape his lips.

“Moving stuff? To where? Where are you moving?”

“I’m not moving,” he emphasizes. “Just… moving stuff. Things. I want to rearrange some picture frames. And maybe reorganize my bookshelf.”

You sigh in response, a small smile tugging at your lips as Minho does his best to maintain the bogus narrative.

“Minho, you never leave the house anymore. Why don’t you go out with Jung or something? He’s doing a golf thing with some of-”

“No, thank you,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not a golfer.”

And you sigh again, cocking your head at him.

“Okay, mister ‘moving stuff.’ Will you at least call me when you’re done moving your stuff and your things?”

“I’ll call you,” Minho reaffirms.

“I mean it. I’m gonna call you when I get home from the party and you better not be asleep on the couch again.”

“I promise to answer,” he echoes.

You smile at him again, and Minho mirrors the action with a small smile of his own, his skewed teeth exposing from behind his plump lips as he grins sheepishly.

“Moving stuff,” you repeat, mocking his excuse.

“Moving stuff and things,” he emphasizes, chuckling lightly across from you.

*

Bachelorette parties are supposed to be one of two things: freeing, and cathartic. Luckily for you, yours checks both boxes, the two-day retreat to a luxury hotel in the city providing ample time to relax, and the shots you down at the open bar in your venue fulfilling the cathartic part of it. Your girlfriends shower you in presents, ranging from expensive dining sets and clothes, to humorous sex toys for you and Jung to try on your honeymoon. Even the bartenders join in on your two nights of dancing, parading your event with handmade signs and getting everyone in the bar to sing to you. And for the first time since the stress-inducing year of planning has begun, you feel excited, ready for your new life as a bride alongside Jung.

Husband and wife have a nice ring to it, you think to yourself, as you kick off your shoes and lie back on the thick white duvet of the hotel bed. And though you’re still a little tipsy, you keep your promise, selecting Minho’s contact in your phone and giving him a ring. The phone rings once, twice and then three times, before you conclude he’s definitely fallen asleep on the couch again, probably while moving around his stuff and his things. But you’re proven wrong on the fourth ring, a gentle click echoing in your ears as you hear him press the phone to his ear and speak in a tired voice.

“Hello?”

“You’re asleep on the couch, aren’t you?”

“…no,” he responds, after a short pause.

“You’re so predictable,” you chuckle back at him, shaking your head as you sigh into the phone.

“How was the bachelorette party?” He inquires, sitting up on the couch he definitely wasn’t asleep on, to speak a little clearer into the receiver.

“It was amazing,” you reply with a dreamy sigh. “We did karaoke, and danced and even the bartenders were wishing me good luck. It was like something from college.”

“I’m glad,” Minho responds, nervously picking at the hem of his ratty old t-shirt.

“I’m a little drunk,” you say with a gentle laugh. “But I couldn’t help but wish you were there. The girls are great, of course, but I feel like bars were our thing.”

Minho blinks nervously a few times, pondering your words and keeping his gaze locked on the array of neatly-placed picture frames on the wall across him.

“Yeah,” he settles on replying, his breath hitching in the back of his throat.

“Do you miss me?” You query, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. And Minho can’t comprehend what’s got you acting like this, flirting with him in the phone line while Jung isn’t around.

“I do,” he responds after a brief pause.

“I’m serious, Minho. As your best friend, I’d hope that you miss me sometimes.”

There it is- the clarification is enough for him to exhale the deep breath he’s been holding in all this time.

“Yeah,” he says again. “I miss you, as a friend. And I’m glad the night was enjoyable.”

“You hate bars,” you say to him. “But you used to let me drag you out to them. I miss you.”

And he nods on the other end, repressing the real emotions that eat away at him like, you might see them over the phone if he feels too deeply.

“I miss you, too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say sarcastically. “Goodnight. Thanks for answering.”

“Sure thing,” Minho replies before ending the call. And the room is eerily quiet now that he’s awake, the clock on the living room wall ticking with the passing seconds, as the ivy in his chest constricts a little tighter now.

*

Jung’s bachelor party is nothing short of insufferable. It’s loud, it’s rowdy, and it’s neither relaxing nor cathartic. Unless you define the two as getting lap dances in a smoke-filled limousine driving down the freeway a million miles a minute.

Minho sits quietly on one side, refusing every advance from the female strippers as they flaunt their beautifully-sculpted breasts in his face and dance to the loud rap music. He pretends to use his phone, having no service in this part of town, and yet still resorting to switching frantically between the compass feature and the weather app. And then he tips each stripper a generous amount, apologizing to them profusely as he gets off at the first stop and orders a cab. Where exactly the limousine is taking them, he doesn’t even care to know. Jung questions no part of it, not even having wanted to invite Minho in the first place. And while Minho waits for his taxi, he calls you, frantically wishing he could remind you Jung’s possibly the worst person you could have chosen to marry.

“Hi Minho,” you speak into the phone, shuffling about on your end as you tend to some household work. “I thought you didn’t get reception wherever you were going?”

“I found a way,” he responds, lying through his teeth.

You narrow your eyes, pausing your work to listen in to the phone call a little more closely.

“Minho, did you… leave?” You question, taking note of the way there’s not a sound in the background of the call- not Jung’s booming laughter, nor any music of any kind.

“No,” he says quickly, and you let out a deep sigh.

“Now you’re lying,” you remark.

“I’m not-”

“You’re talking in short responses, and I can’t see you but I know you’re doing that blinking thing. Why would you leave?”

Unfortunately for Minho, you know him like the back of your hand, always quick to clock when he’s lying to you through his nervous habits. The same habits you’ve studied since your days together in college, and ones he’s never been able to stop doing no matter how hard he tries. Minho lets out a deep sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look, it’s just not my scene, okay? I’m still going to the wedding, it’s not like ditching a bachelor party is going to ruin your marriage.”

You shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“What am I going to do with you? Why are you so opposed to just bonding with him?”

“I’m not!” Minho exclaims. “He wanted to go swimming. I can’t swim.”

Another lie.

“Look,” you begin. Would you just come over if you’re not going? We can talk about it here.”

Minho nods eagerly, the idea of spending time by your side sounding much more appealing than a weekend with Jung.

“I’m just waiting on a taxi,” he says. “I’ll be there soon.”

And when he hangs up, you stare briefly at the contact phone of you two, running your fingertips over the dimly lit screen. It’s an older photo, of you guys in college out at a bar, Minho smiling enthusiastically and giving you a piggy-back ride. And although it’s still Minho, it doesn’t feel anything like the version of him you know now.

*

“I don’t want this to set the precedent for the rest of our relationship.”

“Don’t want what to set a precedent?” Minho questions back.

“This! You running away from Jung every chance you get so that we’re only able to bond when he’s not around! You’re my best friend, Min. Why can’t you guys just make it work so that I don’t have to divide my time between the two of you like this?”

“You had no problem learning to divide it when we were in college,” Minho says frustratedly. “Now that you’re engaged it’s like I’m engaged to him, too. I don’t like the guy, okay? Whatever we make of that as friends isn’t in my hands, but it also doesn’t mean I’m gonna jump at the chance to go golfing with him every weekend.”

You’re quiet for a moment, his frustrated speech circling your mind as he remains sprawled out on your couch. He’s right, to some degree- you know very well that the two of them never got along well. And try as you might, they’re just incompatible in every way possible. Jung’s loud, he’s stubborn, he’ll never say no to a social outing and he’ll only make an effort to get along with someone for a finite amount of time before he’s disregarding their existence, much like he does Minho’s. And Minho is quiet, soft-spoken, only social when it comes to you and takes his stance on a person just minutes after meeting them. They’ve already reached the stubborn conclusion that they despise each other, and at this point in your life, there’s little you can do to change it.

“I just want to know things are okay between us,” you remark.

“Things are okay between us.”

“We haven’t had a proper hangout in months, Minho. I get married in a few weeks and then I’m afraid we just won’t see each other.”

Minho seems to understand the seriousness in your tone, sitting up from the couch to finally meet your gaze. You look disheartened, an expression Minho is used to seeing when you try to set him up with a date or when he can’t make it out to an event. But this time it seems like it has more weight to it, the way you sag your shoulders as you slouch over one of the barstools in the kitchen, completely terrified at the prospect of losing your best friend.

“I’ll tell you what,” Minho breaks the silence. “How about we plan something, just us? It’ll be like old times, and we don’t have to worry about Jung or your friends or anyone. Just for a weekend.”

You meet his gaze, too, promptly glancing at the ceiling as you think over his proposal.

“I don’t know, Jung probably wouldn’t like it-”

“This is exactly what I mean!” Minho interjects. “Everything you do is based on what Jung likes or doesn’t like. We used to go out together all the time- if you only want to hang out when he’s around then yeah, things might be a little different from here on out.”

And the words pierce through you like a dagger, yet again filling your mind with all the regrets that will come with shutting him out for the purposes of pleasing Jung. Minho is right- he’s been your best friend for years. Jung might be your future spouse, but that doesn’t mean your relationship with him has to be any more important than the lifelong commitment you’ve made to your best friend, too.

“Where would we go?” You ask reluctantly.

Minho shrugs casually, lying back down on the couch with his hands behind his head.

“Anything,” he responds. “Your pick.”

And you think over his offer again, mentally mapping out your schedule at work and what you guys might be able to do on a quick weekend together.

“Camping,” you say suddenly, straightening your posture.

“You hate camping,” Minho retorts, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, but you love camping. I’m just doing this to spend time with you, Min. I already spent my weekend in the city. Let’s do something you like and we can have an old friend trip like we used to.”

Minho can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips, endeared by the way you always let him drag you to his favorite places just like you used to drag him. And he knows you’re a city girl through and through- you’ve always been very vocally opposed to accompanying him on his camping excursions. But maybe going together, you’ll have some change of heart if it means you won’t have to listen to Jung share all of his unwarranted opinions.

“Let’s do it,” Minho says confidently. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I’m only doing this for you,” you reply with a smile. “I still maintain that I’m going to hate it.”

*

A yoga retreat.

Jung is made to believe you’re at a yoga retreat, three hours out from your shared apartment, with a close girlfriend you haven’t seen in months.

And maybe it’s because he genuinely believes you, or he simply doesn’t care, but he doesn’t press you for any information about the event, sending you off with a chaste kiss and turning his attention back to the sports he watches on television. He doesn’t even inquire about why you fail to bring your yoga mat, leaving it folded neatly in the closet of your bedroom alongside all your workout clothes.

You do pack warm clothes, blankets and even a matching set of flashlights for when it gets pitch dark like you know the mountains do at night. And as you make your way to Minho’s house with your backpack slung over your shoulders, you’re actually a little excited, the idea of getting some fresh air sounding like a well-deserved treat after the week you’ve had in the city.

“Well aren’t you all ready to go camping,” you say to Minho in an amused tone, admiring the outfit he’s put together for the occasion. He sports a simple white t-shirt and a loose-fitting pair of jeans, coupled with a black cap he wears backwards over his brown hair. He looks a lot simpler than usual- in fact, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Minho in a cap before today.

“You look nice,” you voice to Minho, as he loads his duffel bag in the trunk of the car.

“Me?” He questions, furrowing his brows in genuine confusion. “I’m just dressed for comfort.”

“Yes, you. That cap looks good on you. God forbid I compliment my best friend.”

He chuckles lightly, helping you load your backpack into his car and closing the trunk when he’s finished.

“Ready?” Minho asks, turning to you with a small smile.

“Ready,” you echo, climbing into the passenger seat beside him.

The drive to the campsite is just over an hour long, taking Minho’s vehicle through narrow paths of dirt roads surrounded by trees. The treacherous drive doesn’t seem to faze him at all, as he keeps just one hand on the wheel, while the other rests casually on the car console. You can tell he’s done this drive a number of times before, judging by the way he needs no form of navigation and doesn’t stop to read the directional signs at any point.

“Do we need to pitch a tent when we get there?” You ask, and Minho laughs in response.

“That’s how I can tell you’ve never come here before.”

“What?” You reply with a chuckle of your own. “It’s a totally valid question.”

“Yeah, maybe if we were on Survivor. There’s tents all over the campsite. And picnic tables, and bathrooms and I think there’s a gift shop somewhere.”

You nod at his response, a little more intrigued now that you know it’s not going to be as hands-on as you thought. And when he pulls into the parking lot, he’s right- there are cabins that span the perimeter of the parking lot, presumably bathrooms and information centers about the place.

Minho puts the car into park as he helps you gather your bags, and then you both enter the cabin closest to you, being greeted by an older woman who sits at an information booth.

“Welcome!” She exclaims in a cheerful tone. “Are you folks staying overnight?”

“Yes,” Minho answers, hoisting his duffel bag further up his shoulder. “We’ll be here for two nights.”

“Wonderful!” she replies, gathering a thin stack of pamphlets. She uncaps a red pen, circling a little graphic that indicates a tent, and then slides it over to Minho along the counter.

“You two will occupy this location here- it’s just a few minutes up the hill there. The bathroom is attached to the unit, and there are a few clean towels in the drawers there.”

She slides him two more pamphlets, gesturing to their titles and keeping her gaze on the infographics.

“There’s a guide on plants to avoid, and some wildlife you might run into. Any questions?”

Minho shakes his head, stuffing the pamphlet into his pocket and giving her a small nod.

“No, thank you,” he says, looking over at you.

And the woman shoots you a smile now, gesturing to your hand.

“That is a beautiful ring,” she states, clasping a hand over her heart emotionally.

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile. “I’m getting married.”

She laughs lightly, shooting Minho a thumbs up.

“Enjoy it while you can!”

You’re quick to shake your head at her, taking a step away from Minho.

“Oh god, no, he’s not my fiancé. He’s just a friend.”

And Minho takes a step away, too, giving her a nod.

“We’re just longtime friends,” he echoes your words.

“My apologies,” the woman is quick to say. “Enjoy your stay regardless.”

*

“It never ends,” you say to Minho as you exit. “I can’t believe people still think we’re a couple when we go out.”

“It’s just a common equation,” Minho responds. “Two people. Engagement ring. Camping trip.”

“I know,” you emphasize. “It’s just so weird being so close to my own marriage and still having to tell people we’re not a couple.”

Minho swallows nervously, not entertaining the discussion any further as he takes your aversion to the idea of it as answer enough.

“It’s just up here,” Minho says, gesturing to the narrow dirt path that leads up to your tent.

The tent is a long, rectangular space, the beige tarp even accompanied by clear vinyl windows that zip up for added privacy. The inside houses a small birch wood table pushed against the side, two white folding chairs, and a single bed, just larger than a twin-sized one.

“One bed?” You say as you scan the room, dropping your bags and looking nervously back at Minho.

“All the units have one bed,” he explains casually. “I’ll take the floor.”

“You’re not taking the floor, Minho. It’s freezing.”

“I’ve done it before,” he says, unzipping his bag and pulling out a smaller pouch. “I’ll be fine.”

“But it’s so awkward to have you on the floor while I get a whole bed to myself.”

He disregards your concerns, tossing the pouch to you, which you catch in two hands and examine.

“Bait,” he says with a small smile.

“Bait?” You echo. “You mean like…”

“Fishing,” he says confidently. “We’re catching our dinner tonight.”

*

It’s a fair assumption to say you hadn’t taken Minho’s liking to camping very seriously. Sure, you knew he was partial to the great outdoors and to catching his own dinners. Of course he knows how to pitch a tent and gut a fish. But seeing him do it in action, string a spinnerbait onto his fishing rod and cast his line, watching meticulously as the bobber pulls underwater and he checks if he’s caught a bass yet, you’re admittedly pretty impressed. He looks completely in his element like this, uttering remarks about his “monofilament fishing line” that you don’t understand in the slightest, but you listen to regardless. For a brief moment, you can’t help but feel bad, seeing how much this interests him, when all you’ve ever done in the span of your friendship is drag him to clubs and get takeout together. Maybe you should’ve taken this whole thing more seriously. Maybe you should have accompanied Minho on one of his offers for a fishing trip when you still had the chance to do it without being under Jung’s watchful eye.

“We may need a smaller hook,” Minho says, as he adjusts his rod and stares out at the lake. The atmosphere is lazy and restful, the gentle lull of the lake’s deep blue water sloshing against the rocks that line the shore and swaying with the breeze. There’s a distant buzz of cicadas at this hour, and the swallows circle the vast green trees overhead that rustle in syncopation with the water. You and Minho remain seated on the flat rocks that line the shore, a cooler of ice and a small pouch of bait between the two of you.

Minho’s gaze remains set on the lake, attentively watching the bobber and praying for a bass to latch onto it so that he can instruct you on the de-gutting and cleaning process. But there seems to be no sign of fish anywhere, the only movement being the little ripples that vibrate with the sporadic activity of water bugs.

“When was the first time you went fishing?” You ask Minho suddenly, catching his gaze as he turns to you.

“First time?” He echoes. “I don’t know, maybe age seven? My dad taught me.”

You nod in response, picturing a little Minho alongside his dad, learning the ropes of monofilament fishing lines and all that jazz. You can’t help but smile at the thought of it, knowing Minho was probably so quiet, yet full of curiosity, the same way he is now.

“I wish I would’ve come,” you say finally, letting out a small sigh as you speak. “I wish I came with you on one of these trips.”

Minho shakes his head and waves you off. “Solo camping is one of my favorite things in the world. I didn’t need it to be ruined by all your city girl antics.”

“Hey!” You exclaim with a small laugh, hitting him lightly, and Minho hits you back.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, admiring the way the sunlight glares overhead and sets the water aglow with glints of light that make it almost hard to look at. Minho takes notice of the more casual look you sport, too, void of any makeup and your hair tied back loosely. Similarly, the little imperfections that mark his skin remind you of the Minho you met in college, back when you were both riddled with zits and drank cans of soda for breakfast. And now across from you, acne scars and a handsome face he’s grown into so well, you can’t help but feel your heart swell at the fact that he’s still here, this many years later, regardless of the roadblocks your relationship has taken you through. It’s a miraculous thing to have someone stick by your side knowing you’re getting wed to a person he despises. And you refuse to part ways with him, too, despite the amount of outings he declines in the name of nothing important. What a fascinating prospect, to be reminded that your most unconditional form of love comes in the form of a best friend more than even your fiancé on most days.

You open your mouth to say something, being promptly interrupted by the reel of the fishing line being pulled back, the rhythmic buzzing of the handle startling you both as it’s pulled in circular motions to indicate a catch.

“Oh my god, what do we do?” You exclaim to Minho, a sense of urgency present in your voice as you await his instruction.

“I’ll teach you,” Minho says, as he rises from his spot and gestures to the fishing rod. “Grab the handle, like- yeah, just like that.”

And you do as you’re told, approaching the rod to steady the handle in your grasp. He guides you through the careful motions, steadying your hands a comfortable distance away from the reel seat, pulling back the handle with slow, yet purposeful movements and raising the fishing line away from the gentle current of the water.

“There’s a lot of resistance,” you comment, as you pull even harder.

“Really?” Minho remarks, his hands on his hips as he looks out upon the water. “I wonder if it’s going to be a big one. Keep pulling.”

And you do, heaving the rod desperately away from the water to pull in your catch. There’s heavy resistance at first, and then a generous amount of give to the force, as the line finally glides across the water and begins to pull up toward you.

“Get ready,” Minho says excitedly. “It’s probably going to be a little skittish, just hold tightly and don’t let go.”

As he watches you pull, he takes note of the way the line struggles to move past a barrier in the water, sending ripples down the shore as you continue to pull, to no avail.

“I need help,” you voice frantically. “Minho, take the rod-”

“Just relax,” Minho echoes, coming around behind you and placing two hands over yours. He stands close behind you as he helps steady the rod, gripping tightly and helping you reel it in.

The two of you watch with bated breath as the line finally begins to move again, erratic ripples of water vibrating in the otherwise still lake as you reel in the catch.

“Here it comes!” Minho exclaims, as he continues to reel over your hands with his, his veins protruding with every slight motion as his slender fingers work around yours.

And then the fishing line is promptly pulled out of the water, swinging in front of your view and slowing its swaying motions as you take a gander.

It’s a large, juicy, vibrant hunk of moss.

No fish in sight, no catch of the day, unless for a bottom feeder. Minho says nothing for a moment, placing his hands on his hips again as he takes in the sight of the forest green mass. And then you break the silence with laughter, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh at the ridiculous view.

“What’s so funny?” Minho inquires with a breathy chuckle, transitioning into his own fit of giggles.

“It’s fucking moss,” you exclaim, gesturing to the fishing rod and laughing again. “We’ve been here for hours and we haven’t caught anything besides a fucking byrophyte.”

Minho laughs, too, setting the rod down to clutch his own stomach.

“It’s not funny,” he says between laughter. “We don’t have dinner tonight.”

“Yeah we do,” you say breathlessly. “We have moss.”

And the two of you almost collapse on the gravel, holding your stomachs as you laugh endlessly at the ridiculousness of the situation. The fishing rod remains propped up against the rocks, the slab of moss dangling and dripping murky water back onto the gravel.

When your laughter dies down, Minho sprawls out onto one of the big rocks, the palms of his feet flat against the warm stone as he meets your gaze again. You occupy the spot beside him, your knees bent too, keeping your gaze locked on his as you smile.

“I missed this,” you say after a moment of silence. “I missed hanging out with you.”

Minho responds in a breathy chuckle, running his hands through his hair and rolling his eyes in a joking manner.

“You should’ve come camping with me ages ago,” he says. “We could’ve been eating moss for dinner instead of fast food.”

You chuckle too, and the sunlight beams over your listless bodies sprawled out on the rocks, glints of light hitting Minho’s golden-brown hair and his sparkling eyes. He looks so angelic in this atmosphere, so at peace with the nature around him and in tune with his emotions. For the first time in a long while, there’s nothing present between you and Minho that hinders the relationship you have to each other. He’s just as important to you in this moment as you are to him. And not even the knowledge that you’ve lied to your fiancé to be here with him can come between that.

*

Lucky for you, Minho always comes prepared. Of course he’s dealt with the situation of catching nothing while fishing and needing a plan to fall back on for dinner. So it’s no surprise to you that his backpack contains cups of instant ramen and bags of chips.

“Shrimp or chicken?” Minho asks, as water boils on his portable kettle.

“Surprise me,” you shoot back, getting comfortable in one of the two camping chairs across the bed. You feel a wave of tiredness wash over your body instantly, but you also feel fulfilled, having bonded with Minho more in the last few hours than any of your double dates with Jung and one of Minho’s picks from a dating app.

Minho shuts off the kettle, tearing open packets of vegetables and mixing them with your noodles as he pours hot water in both cups.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Minho remarks, handing you a cup and sliding a pair of chopsticks across the table to you.

“Today was fun,” you say to him, as you blow on a generous serving of noodles and guide them into your mouth with the wooden chopsticks.

“You’re not half bad at fishing,” Minho states. “I think it’s just emptier this season. But your technique’s good.”

“Really?” You query. “I feel like you did most of the work.”

Minho shakes his head, slurping a portion of his noodles before speaking.

“Maybe if you ditched your lame golf nights with Jung and came camping with me more, you could get some practice.”

“Ha ha,” you muse sarcastically. “His golf nights aren’t lame, they’re actually pretty fun. You’d know if you came out to one.”

“Please,” Minho retorts, gathering more noodles with his chopsticks. “Artificial grass and polo shirts aren’t really my thing. Of course they’d be Jung’s, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means even his favorite sport is as fake as he is.”

“Minho!”

“What?” He says in a breathy chuckle. “You asked what I meant.”

You shake your head, stirring broth around in your cup with your chopsticks. You normally don't entertain Minho when he insults Jung like this, knowing he’s just going to get mad and list everything he despises about him. But tonight, being so far away from Jung, it somehow feels permissible. It’s not like Jung is going to materialize out of thin air and find out about his little remarks. You don’t get cell reception out here, and it’s possibly one of your last few intimate moments with Minho to just let loose and joke with him. So you don't say anything, allowing him free reign as he cracks jokes about Jung at his expense. And you don’t feel bad about it, either, knowing Jung wouldn’t hesitate to do the same back at Minho.

The tent falls quiet for a moment as both of you finish your meals, the only noises present between the two of you being slurping the remainder of your noodles and setting the cups aside. Minho runs his hands through his hair and spreads his legs out in front of him as he slouches back in his camper chair.

“I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married,” he says with a breathy chuckle. “That’s still so weird to me.”

“Imagine how I feel,” you emphasize. “The word ‘wife’ still kinda grosses me out.”

“Well you have about a month to get used to it,” Minho replies. And then he gets quiet, averting his gaze from yours as he blinks. “Or a whole lifetime, I guess.”

You stay quiet, too, pulling up your legs to cross them in your chair and nodding reluctantly.

“Yeah. ‘lifetime’ kinda sounds like a scary word, too.”

Minho purses his lips, and then he turns to meet your gaze again, a solemn smile on his face.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he voices. “It can also imply a lifetime of happiness. And of love. Permanence isn’t a bad thing.”

You smile at him, comforted by the optimism he brings to the atmosphere, despite his dislike for Jung, and especially the prospect of you getting married to him. He doesn’t change- he’s still the Minho you know very well, the one who takes your problems and makes them seem so small, so unimportant, until you can’t, in good conscience, worry about them anymore.

“You’re right,” you say back at him. “I’ll remember that when I say my vows.”

You think over his words momentarily, and then you meet his gaze with a knowing smile.

“Do you remember when we had to write an essay about where we’d want to travel if we won the lottery? In our literary analysis course?”

Minho’s eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks for a moment, and then he nods.

“Yeah. You wrote about Europe or something.”

“I did,” you recall. “And you wrote about that one historical town. What was it called again?”

“Shirakawa,” Minho responds. “Small mountain village in Japan where it snows a ton and there are little farmhouses everywhere.”

You chuckle lightly, remembering the countless images Minho had shown you when he was producing his paper on the subject. You can still picture the little brown houses and the vibrant green hills in the summertime. And the winter photos looked like something out of a Christmas movie, fresh snow blanketing the village and painting the town with bright hues of white.

You think over his essay for a moment, remembering just how many times you’d peer edited each other’s papers, and Minho wound up getting the best grade in the class for how poetically he spoke of Shirakawa. He talked about it for several months after the assignment, too, always voicing his desire to visit one day and see all the farmhouses for himself.

“I wish we still had time to go,” you say finally. “I always pictured we’d go one day.”

Minho purses his lips in a thin line, your statement echoing in his ears and the words stinging. It’s moments like these he’s especially regretful you’re getting married to Jung- all the stupid, likely intangible plans you made together and promised you’d fulfill sometime down the line. And now with Jung’s obnoxious presence indicating that of permanence, Minho knows there’s zero possibility you’ll be able to fulfill any of the plans you made together.

“You have a whole honeymoon planned on a tropical island,” Minho says somberly. “That’s far better than little old Shirakawa.”

You say nothing in reply, nodding at his words and thinking back to the plans you and Jung have already booked for your honeymoon.

Honeymoon. Even that word sounds foreign.

“Maybe we’ll plan for when I get back,” you tell Minho. “Little camping excursion in the farmhouses. We can get shitfaced and pet all the little goats.”

He laughs lightly, giving you a smile.

“Sure,” Minho affirms. “We can do that.”

And then his gaze darts to his backpack which sits on the floor, his eyes widening as he sits up.

“Speaking of shitfaced,” Minho says. “I think I brought boxed wine.”

“Boxed wine?” You repeat with a chuckle. “Jesus, we really might as well be back in college.”

He rises from the camper chair to make his way over to his backpack, unzipping the larger pouch and pulling out two small black cartons of wine, giving them a small shake before scanning the room as though he’s looking for something else.

“What?” You query, waiting for him to say something.

Minho says nothing, standing up again and taking long strides to where his fishing rod is, grasping it in one hand and fiddling with the hook.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as Minho’s expression turns serious again. His slender fingers toy with the small hook, the two cartons of wine balanced in his other hand.

You watch as he unfolds one tab on the box of wine, and then brings down the fishing hook to pierce it through the thin cardboard and string it through securely. When he’s finished, he gives it a little tug, and then raises the box of wine as he lifts the fishing rod once more, reeling the handle in the counter direction to move it out toward you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask again, chuckling softly as you watch Minho struggle to balance the carton of wine.

He reels the carton out further, and then slows as he drops it into your lap, moving the rod around in erratic motions and pretending to stabilize the line.

“Get it!” Minho exclaims. “It’s getting away, you have to get it!”

You play along, grasping the carton of wine in your two hands and pretending to steady its slippery grip as it flaps around helplessly.

“It’s slippery!” You exclaim back, holding it up with two hands and angling it toward Minho.

Minho gasps, and then sets his rod down to applaud you generously.

“Congratulations,” he says in a proud voice. “Your first catch. You caught your own dinner.”

And the dark night around you seems to be set aglow as laughter fills the entirety of the tent.

*

Two hours later, it’s half past midnight, empty cartons of wine on the table between you as you talk through your starkly different lives.

Minho shares tales of work you’d missed out on, dating app horror stories and recounts days from college when you’d go to nightclubs together and use fake IDs. You listen attentively for the first time in a long time, no sense of urgency present, nor the desire to set him up with somebody else. It’s you who wants to be here alongside him, rekindling your friendship and reliving your glory days. And Minho feels the same way, a gentle buzz swirling his mind from the cherry merlot and your sweet laugh in response to his tales.

“They so thought we were lying when we turned 21,” you say through laughter. “In hindsight, it’s pretty lucky we didn’t get thrown in jail for a night.”

“Yeah, only because you flirted with the bouncer,” Minho says. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t throw you in jail after offering you a drink.”

You laugh lightly, remembering the bizarre encounter, and then you slouch back in your chair as you shut your eyes.

“We should get to sleep,” you say to Minho. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he responds. “I’ll get my sleeping bag on the floor.”

“Don’t be such a fucking drag,” you protest.

“What?”

“Just sleep on the bed with me. It’s big enough and there’s less of a chance that you’ll wake up with a broken back. I’m not listening to you complain about your fucked-up joints on tomorrow’s drive home.”

Minho laughs lightly, and then he gestures to the bed.

“If you snore, I’m throwing you to the bears,” he says plainly.

“Yeah, well you kick me, I’m dumping you in the lake.”

*

Minho brushes his teeth over the small steel sink in the corner of the room, swapping out to fix the bed sheets while you brush your teeth, too. When you’re finished, you meet him at the foot of the bed, pulling your corner of the blanket down and climbing in beside him. The ceiling of the tent is barely visible in this level of darkness, just an indistinguishable outline of fabric visible as you cross your hands over your chest and exhale deeply. Minho does the same, and though he’s right beside you, he feels miles away, his exhale sounding distant as he focuses on the ceiling of the tent, too.

“It’s really dark,” you comment.

“Yeah,” he says back. “That’s the outdoors for you.”

He thinks for a brief moment, and then he breaks the silence that washes over the two of you.

“Are you excited for the honeymoon?” He asks quietly.

There’s no answer for several moments, the only sound coming from the gentle sway of the trees just beyond your tent.

And you are excited, but you’re more nervous, uncertain and disappointed knowing that everything will be so different upon your return. It’s like exchanging an old life for a new one- one that could be far worse, for all you know.

“I’m nervous,” you say candidly.

“Why?”

“Because marriage is a big deal. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m even doing the right thing.”

It’s Minho’s turn to remain quiet now, his hands folded over his chest as he ponders your words.

“Are you happy?”

There’s no response from you. Not now, not after a minute and not even after several minutes have passed. And you are happy, but you’re still much of the same- nervous, uncertain and disappointed that this new life implies change.

“Jung hates me,” Minho says suddenly.

“He doesn’t hate you-”

“He hates me,” Minho reaffirms a little louder. “The way he looks at me, or interrupts us whenever we’re talking. I’m sorry that I’m so distant from you when he’s around. The guy hates me.”

You stay quiet, knowing he’s right, but not wanting to fuel the fire that burns between the two of them.

“He probably thought we had something going on,” Minho says. “He’d kill me if he knew I was in the same bed with you.”

You scoff lightly, dismissing Minho’s claims with a wave of your hand.

“Please,” you emphasize. “He hasn’t even touched me in a month.”

And you regret the words the second they leave your lips, bringing two hands up to cover your mouth as Minho props himself up to look at you.

“What? Why?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, I genuinely want to know,” Minho reiterates, keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You’re getting married and you haven’t had sex with your fiancé in a month? Who does that?”

“He told me it was a punishment,” you say in exasperation. “We had a fight, and he told me he wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t admit to being wrong.”

“What?” Minho says, turning audibly irate. “Are you serious? What kind of cruel and unusual punishment is that?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? Let’s just not talk about it-”

“There go your excuses,” Minho says. “Your future husband won’t touch you, and you’re still defending him. Jesus Christ, it’s worse than I thought it was.”

“Would you stop?” You say to him, sitting up as he slings his elbows around his knees and shakes his head.

“Stop what? Stop being concerned for my best friend who’s clearly suffering at the hands of her own fiancé? Not gonna happen.”

“I’m not suffering,” you relay to him.

“Sure,” Minho says sarcastically. “So you never wanted to have sex in the whole month he’s kept this punishment going.”

You say nothing, swallowing nervously as you keep your gaze locked on Minho’s. He’s at a painfully close proximity to you right now, one strand of hair falling loosely in his face as his eyebrows furrow together in anger. His plain black t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders as he sits up, his basketball shorts riding up to expose a generous amount of his toned thighs. And his lips remain parted, waiting for you to say something, which you don’t. You simply stare at him blankly, your eyes darting over his gaze, down to his lips and then back up to his eyes.

Minho’s expression turns serious, too, unable to look away from your conflicted expression as you watch him.

“Not… really…” you manage to say in short words.

“Maybe not…” you continue, leaning into him a little as his arms loosen around his knees.

He somehow looks so tantalizing right now, in a way you’ve never seen him before. Sure, you’re aware Minho is good looking, and he always has been. And maybe your fleeting crush back when you first met him was short-lived, quickly moving on to date somebody else you met at a party. Maybe you were a little jealous the time his former girlfriend remarked how good he was in bed, or that she got to touch him when he wore that suit you loved so much at graduation. Maybe you even touched yourself once or twice to the thought of him, conjuring some stupid fantasy in your mind for the sole purpose of getting off to it. But nothing was ever going to come to fruition, not when he’s been your friend for years, you have Jung and you’re about to get married.

…At least not with any intention besides being fucked by him the way Jung has neglected of you for a month now.

“Maybe not until now,” you finally breathe out, your heart beating erratically in your chest as you await an answer from him.

Minho’s gaze flickers down to your lips, and then back to your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as he makes sense of your words.

“Are you drunk right now?” He asks simply.

“No,” you’re quick to respond, shaking your head to affirm the answer.

“Good,”’Minho says. “Me neither.”

And the two of you meet in the middle, his lips crashing against yours roughly as you kiss him for the first time, hands flying to tug at his t-shirt as he brings to hands around the small of your back.

He tastes like wine, transferring the robust flavor of cherry merlot back onto your lips as you kiss him, his plump lips working perfectly against yours as you pull him closer. You want so badly to position yourself differently, to adjust your body’s awkward spot on the bed so that you can be a bit closer to him, so that you can cup his face and pepper it in breathless kisses. But you fear that the minute you pull away, Minho’s going to somehow realize that it’s you he’s kissing, his best friend of so many years, one who’s already engaged.

It’s Minho who pulls away briefly first, getting a little closer to you, while you scoot further back and lie flat on your spot on the bed.

“This is just to prove a point,” Minho says breathlessly, as he hovers over you now and steadies himself over your body with one strong arm. “It’s not cheating,” he emphasizes, and you nod eagerly at the words, suddenly aware that it’s not even the cheating aspect you were worried about. It was solely the possibility of ruining your friendship with Minho, who’s always been so vocal about his distaste for disloyalty.

“It’s just to prove a point,” you repeat, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him back down to kiss you. “Nobody has to know.”

Minho grins against your lips, pressing repeated, chaste kisses to your already swollen lips and trailing down to paint a line of kisses down the column of your neck. Your heart beats in ways you’ve never felt before, a rapid arrhythmia brought on by the sheer terror of being found out, by the knowledge that this is the one person who could single handedly ruin your engagement to Jung. And yet you couldn’t care less in this moment, as his teeth take your flesh between them and suck bruises down your neck, a generous purple color painting the goosebumps that rise upon your skin.

Are either of you in any place to return with hickeys painting your skin like you spend the weekend at a frat house? Not in the slightest. And yet you can’t help but feel this is what you missed in college all that time, the same actions Minho repeated with the few girlfriends he ran through. Fucking them sweetly in his dorm bed, roping scarves around their necks when he’d send them off and his ears turning a bright shade of red when you’d point them out in your 7am college lectures.

Was there ever a hint of jealousy present between the two of you? Maybe, you think to yourself, as a string of spit connects Minho’s lips to your bruises, peppering them in light kisses. You could never help but wonder what it was like, what those girls had experienced each time they disappeared from his dorm in the early hours of the morning. And Minho, being the gentleman he was, was never one to kiss and tell. The sex was intimate, private, the details living and dying with him only, even if the relationship went awry or fizzled out suddenly.

“We probably shouldn’t go any further,” Minho interrupts, pulling away from you to maintain eye contact. His eyes are hooded with lust, his lips pink and swollen from kissing you so passionately. And his eyebrows arch up in a state of concern, mostly worried you’re going to protest him taking it any further than this. But it’s all you’ve occupied your mind with now, wanting so badly to know what little tricks Minho wears up his sleeve, if he’s just as intrigued with the idea as you are, if he even wants to have sex with you.

“It’s not like we’re dating or anything,” you say to Minho, desperately searching for the words to indicate how badly you want this. “It’s just… some drunken hookup. It’s probably nothing Jung didn’t do at his party last week.”

“But we’re not-” Minho begins, promptly silencing himself. He begins to tell you that he’s not drunk, and you aren’t either- but he’s already caught on to your little plan.

“Yeah,” Minho then says. “I’m a little tipsy.”

“Me too,” you say with a soft chuckle. “Too much wine.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning into kiss you again. “And I get really horny when I’m drunk.”

“Me too,” you say between kisses. “It’s not like we can just leave each other hanging. Unless you want me to rub one out beside you, and that would be more awkward.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Might as well… help each other out, right?”

“Right,” you affirm, pulling down your panties as Minho separates to pull off his shirt.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, already having witnessed him in this level of undress at every pool party and when you’d come over to his dorm unannounced. But it feels different at this proximity, his tanned skin hovering over yours and brushing against your flesh with every eager kiss.

Minho begins to ask you if he can touch you, but you’re faster than he is, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to your aching clit, letting him circle two fingers around your bundle of nerves as he pulls back to look you in the eyes.

“Jesus,” Minho remarks. “You are wet when you’re drunk.”

And your breath hitches in the back of your throat as he rubs you gently, a smirk growing on his face as you let out little whimpers. It’s been so long since somebody’s touched you like this, Jung hardly even giving attention to the foreplay on most days. His nimble fingers rub at a steady pace, his eyes boring into yours as he makes you writhe in pleasure beneath him. Minho’s eyes are sparkling at this proximity, his big brown pupils exuding curiosity and tenderness as he gauges your every reaction to his touches.

“Minho,” you breathe out desperately, arching into his touch to chase the friction.

“What?” He asks sweetly, his expression shifting into that of concern as he waits for you to speak. But he knows what you’re going to ask, also aware of the tent pitched in his boxers as he works you.

“Don’t make me ask,” you say with a sheepish chuckle.

He chuckles softly, too, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling his hand away.

“Let me get a condom,” Minho says in a serious tone. And you’d completely forgotten about protection, not even having used a condom in ages, since your only partner for several years has been Jung.

With the painful ache between your legs, you wish so badly you could ask him to fuck you raw and help ease the weeks of waiting you’ve had to do just to feel some sense of relief. And a part of you can’t help but think back to your days of college, when Minho would always ensure he kept a new one between the crisp bills in his wallet. Ones that were put to use with other women, Minho always so careful not to make any stupid mistakes or take risks the way you and Jung often did.

But you can’t let him fuck you raw, being in the middle of nowhere, no access to pills and admittedly not the most punctual at remembering to take your birth control. The last thing you can do right now is show up to your own wedding with Jung- pregnant with Minho’s child.

Minho’s cock is fully erect as he fishes around his backpack for a condom, pulling out his wallet and sorting through the bills for one. You briefly wonder what would happen if he didn’t have one- you’d likely ask him to fuck you anyway, and to finish on your face or your tits. But it’d be such a waste not to let him finish inside of you, not when you’re both this aroused and desperate for some sense of relief

You silently pray he won’t think too hard about any of this. Don’t think about who I am to you. Don’t think about how this will complicate things, and don’t think about the fact that I’m engaged to another man. Just fuck me, and we’ll deal with whatever consequences arise tomorrow.

“Got it,” Minho voices, and you feel yourself exhale the breath you’ve been holding this whole time.

Minho approaches you again, pinching it between his two fingers, tearing open the silver packet with his skewed front teeth and pulling out the white rubber. You watch with bated breath as he rests a knee on the bed beside you, steadying himself with one hand and rolling the condom onto his length with one hand.

It’s the first time you’ve properly taken note of the appearance of his cock, and he’s bigger than you’d imagined. His thick, veiny girth is tinted a bright shade of red in anticipation, his head leaking a bead of precum as the rubber grazes his tip and coats every inch of his flesh. You’re a little disappointed at the sight being obscured by the protection, but you take a sharp breath, anyway, wanting nothing more than to just feel it inside of you.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Minho asks, as he hovers over you again and props himself up with two hands. “If you think we’re making some mistake-”

“We’re not,” you say quickly. “It’s not a mistake. I promise you I’m not drunk or out of my mind or anything. I’m just really fucking horny.”

Minho chuckles lightly, and then he leans into graze his lips over yours just barely, delivering a painfully light kiss as he positions himself in front of you.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another light kiss to your lips. “I promise I won’t get mad or anything.”

You nod eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck, and then you both maintain eye contact with his hands as he carefully guides the tip of his length inside of you. You feel like you could cum at the sensation of his tip alone, your walls contracting around him desperately as he shuts his eyes in pleasure.

“Jesus,” Minho breathes. “You’re tight.”

“It’s been a month since he fucked me,” you admit shyly. “I haven’t even touched myself.”

And Minho takes it as a signal to snake a hand down between your bodies, latching the pads of his fingers to your clit once more and rubbing in gentle circles.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Minho says plainly. “What a fucking joke.”

You weave your fingers in his golden brown tresses pulling him in for another kiss as he begins to thrust in and out of you with gentle movements so as not to hurt you. And it feels heavenly, like nothing you’ve ever felt with Jung before. There’s so much fear circling your mind, but it simply elevates the arousal you feel at the same time, your mind and body contracting in syncopation to echo the same sentiment that maybe you have indeed, been jealous of some of the other girls he’s fucked. Maybe your jealousy forced you to shut out the idea of anybody being pleasured like this by your best friend. You silently pray it never felt half this good for any of them, that he simply couldn’t get hard for them or maybe he’d neglected the same parts that drive you crazy in this moment. Because the thought of his cock inside of anybody except for you drives you mad, it feels so unnatural to think about when he’s fucking you so sweetly in the privacy of your tent, here in the middle of nowhere. Virtually impossible to feel an ounce of guilt when the nearest human is likely miles away, made even harder considering the only man who’d even care is much, much farther.

And Minho hopes you can’t feel that he’s been trying to stave off his own orgasm for the better part of 20 minutes now. His cock twitching with every thrust, his eyes shutting tightly to give attention to the sensation of your cunt clenching desperately around his thick girth. He can’t remember how he’d imagined it all those years, but he knows this feels much, much better than any fantasized version of you that ran rampant in his thoughts. One he had to stop himself from staring at a little too long when you’d opt to wear short skirts and tight little shirts to the clubs you’d frequent. A version of you he swore would one day come around to the realization that Jung isn’t meant for you, that he doesn’t fulfill you emotionally, or intellectually or even physically. Even a version of you that found exhilaration in fucking Minho behind Jung’s back, because having any version of you belong to Minho in one form or another would always take precedence over your inevitable absence following the wedding.

“Talk to me,” Minho says, as his thrusts slow a little. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” you’re quick to respond. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Minho captures your lips in a drooly kiss, gasping into your parted lips as he thrusts in again and holds it there for a moment.

“Is it still okay?” He asks, like he hasn’t already been fucking you for several minutes now.

“It’s more than okay,” you respond, folding your leg at the knee beside him so that he’s hitting an entirely new angle.

“Jesus Christ,” Minho breathes, squeezing his eyes as his cock grazes your cunt even deeper.

Your breaths are labored now, involuntary gasps escaping your mouth with every thrust inside of you. His cock is completely buried to the hilt inside of you, the condom completely coated in your juices and working out of you with complete ease as he fucks you.

And he fucks you like he’s yours, like he’s the one getting married to you, perhaps subconsciously to prove a point to both you and Jung. He could never fuck you like this. I’m willing to bet he never has. He could never want you the way I do so passionately and unrelenting.

“Minho,” you call to him, arching into his touch as he moves a strand of hair out of your face.

“What is it?”

“This is okay, right?,” you state, though your tone takes the form of a plea, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “It feels so good, I don’t want to ruin things-”

“It won’t ruin things,” Minho emphasizes. “We’re drunk, remember?” he says with a light chuckle.

His face is promptly buried in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along the flesh and whispering promises against you that exist only in the intimate space of your shared tent.

“I’m just helping you out while we’re here,” Minho repeats. “And then you have a wedding to run off to.”

You smile up at him, fingers massaging his scalp lightly as he stays still inside of you, his cock pulsating lightly inside of the rubber as you take him.

“I would’ve asked for help a lot sooner if I knew it’d be this good,” you say with a saccharine smile, allowing your fingers to loop in his hair and tug lightly.

Minho chuckles down at you, his smile instilling an almost immediate sense of comfort once more as he begins to move again, his cock grazing your cervix with every slight movement as he lets out little gasps over you.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” you breathe through labored pants. Your tone sounds surprised, almost, at the prospect of your best friend coaxing an orgasm out of you.

And maybe you are, never having thought that this camping trip would end up with him inside of you, making love to you the way you picture the events of your honeymoon to unfold. Your best friend since college, and the most vocally displeased person at the reality of your engagement to Jung.

And the moment Minho’s been fantasizing since he first confronted his own feelings for you, a time completely unbeknownst to him now. Maybe it was the time you let him stay in your dorm bed when he wasn’t feeling good, or the time you baked him his favorite cake for his birthday most people seemed to have forgotten about. But the pinpointed time doesn’t matter right now- he’s here, your entire being is his for the night, and love or not, he’ll take any form of you he can grasp so desperately at.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, too,” Minho says back, his hands digging into your waist as he moves a little faster.

For several moments, nothing else is said between the two of you, only the echoing sounds of skin and drool and his toned body working itself in and out of you teeming around the dinky little tent like an erotic film on low volume. The sounds are muffled, both of you doing your best to remain hushed in your words and your breathy exchanges to each other, almost as if it’ll all be too real if you voice it any louder than this.

But all of this is very real, the actions serving as a sealed promise between the two of you to maintain this remarkable relationship you’ve developed with him. One in which you traverse the complexities of dating a man who’s never quite fulfilled you the way Minho caught on to very early on. And in turn, Minho uses the opportunity to fulfill you in every way he’s able to, whether it means being there at 3am to lend a kindly ear, concocting your favorite dishes after waking up hungover as a result of drinking to mask Jung’s shortcomings. And even to fuck away the stress Jung instills inside of you. To meet you halfway with his version of intimacy, one Jung has withheld from you for so long, and to remind you that although the marriage implies permanence, things could still be so, so different.

“Cum for me,” Minho says to you, leaning in to keep his lips pressed to yours. “Just let go of everything. Don’t think about him right now.”

And somehow it’s those words that assist you in reaching your finish, the subtle command to eject Jung from all your thoughts and replace him with Minho and Minho and more Minho.

It’s Minho easing the pain, Minho kissing you so tenderly, Minho thrusting his hardened cock in and out of your soaking cunt as you whimper helplessly beneath him.

And it’s Minho who finishes first, squeezing his eyes tightly as he feels his tip releases strings of cum into the constriction of the rubber condom, the finish feeling as though it’s the heaviest he’s had in months.

And the gentle pulse against your flesh coaxes out your own release, contracting around his wet girth and dribbling cum along the length of the condom as he fucks you through your fervent moans.

“God, you’re amazing,” Minho voices, as he pulls you in for a much gentler kiss. He holds his lips there momentarily, grazing them softly over yours, every part of him wanting to stay right here inside of you.

But as his cock begins to soften against him once more, he pulls out without another word, stripping off the condom while you watch him.

Strands of sweaty hair hang loosely in front of his face, framing his flushed appearance as his nimble fingers work to tie the condom off. He looks so attainable, so forgiving as he moves, and every part of you wants nothing more than to pull him close again and keep him tangled in your needy embrace.

“Minho?” You ask, as you sit up on the palms of your hands to meet his gaze.

“Hm?” He hums in response, discarding the condom and running two hands through his disheveled hair.

“Would you stay like this?”

He chuckles softly, occupying his spot again and pulling the blankets up to his chest.

“I’m not taking the floor anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, would you stay... close to me?” You ask shyly, your eyes flickering over his figure as he lies beside you.

He sits up to meet your gaze, reaching a hand out to you, his palm facing upward as he shoots you a sweet smile.

“I can stay close to you,” Minho reaffirms, pulling you close to his chest as he lies flat again, your head resting on his broad chest.

His chest rises and falls with every breath, his eyes shutting gently as he revels in the sensation of you seeking comfort beside him like this. And he can’t help but press a series of soft kisses to your temple, smiling when he hears a soft giggle escape your lips.

When the tent falls quiet once more, your listless bodies welcome the sleepiness that washes over you, euphonious melodies of crickets engaging in the sounds of nightfall outside. And Minho’s hand rubs gentle back and forth motions along the small of your back, reassuring for one last time that you have nothing to feel guilty about.

*

It’s like a moth to a flame, the way you’re drawn to Minho in the morning, despite the promise of it being just one night with him.

You’re hypnotized by the way he pulls on his sweatpants, chuckling as he nearly trips over himself in the confined space of the tent. His veiny hands working nimbly to chop vegetables and crush herbs as he prepares you one of his signature omelets. The silence that falls over you both while you eat, two fascinated gazes stuck on each other knowing very well you’d let him do it all over again if you weren’t so pressed for time. And when he’s helping you hoist your heavy backpack over his shoulders, the pressing urge to kiss him is present again, as though you seek a reminder that what occurred was indeed real and not some lucid dream conjured up within the darkened campsite.

An urge which you act upon, leaning into press your lips to his as he turns to ask if you’re all packed. And one which is reciprocated with a smile from him, grinning against your lips as he takes his time cupping a hand to your cheek and grazing his fingertips along your skin tenderly. With no real purpose, no sexual implication, no rush. Simply a kiss to conclude the trip, which may very well have been everything you needed as it precedes the wedding.

And with shared smiles between the two of you, Minho leads as you make your way back through the informational center. The same woman is sat at the desk, except she says nothing as you pass her by, a scowl on her face at the sight of you. You watch as she bows politely to other guests, inquires about their stay and offers them hard candies from the glass jar in front of her. Except she says nothing to you, almost appearing to shake her head as you pass her by.

“She was nicer yesterday,” you voice to Minho, your concerned gaze scanning his expression for a reaction. But he doesn’t give one, shrugging lightly as he holds the door for you on the way out.

“She’s probably having a bad day,” he says back. “Don’t worry about it.”

And it’s not until he takes your hand in his again that you realize it- this woman who you’d so confidently corrected on the fact that Minho is not in fact your fiancé, has witnessed you kissing him and holding his hand on your way out. Like a scarlet letter you wear upon your chest, except it’s you who put it there. Confirmation that you’re disloyal- a cheater, simply put. You want to defend your actions, but realistically, to whom? Not to Minho, who actively facilitated it. Not to Jung, who would kill you both if he knew.

And not even to the elderly woman, who you can’t explain it to, because it’s different. It’s not cheating, not when it’s Minho. He’s not some drunken hookup from a dive bar, or someone who’s relentlessly pursued you despite your protests. He’s your best friend, one who did you a favor in the absence of your fiancé’s desire to satisfy you. It’s different, you want to say to her. It’s not cheating with Minho- he’s different.

But you settle on the uncomfortable silence that remains when you climb into the passenger seat of Minho’s car, watching the trees melt into a blur of green hues as he backs out of the parking lot. And his hand meets yours over the center console, intertwining your fingers to put your mind at ease like he can somehow read your mind.

Perhaps he can, being the person who’s known every one of your thoughts so intimately since your time in college. And he also reads into your dismissal of the event when you finally let out a gentle sigh, lacing your fingers with his and allowing him to press a kiss to the back of your hand.

*

The arrival home is a non ceremonious one, Minho dropping you off a block before your shared apartment with Jung to avoid the interrogation he knows he’ll get.

He assists in gathering your bags, consolidating your items to ensure you can comfortably carry them up the block. And for a minute, the two of you say nothing as he sends you on your way, a kind of sparkle present in his eyes as he stares at you. He looks different today, a saccharine smile on his face and a much calmer demeanor overall. Every bone in your body wants to jump him and pepper him in kisses, to thank him for relieving the pent up sexual frustration in you and affirming that your fears surrounding this wedding are valid, but they don’t imply that you won’t enjoy married life, either. They’re just… feelings, ones you often find trouble confronting in the presence of Jung, and ones that you realize you’ve probably never confronted at all, if not around Minho.

The fears are valid, and they’re not fleeting in the slightest. But they are lessened with the reminder that Minho’s beside you every step of the way- regardless of how it manifests in your relationship. And the silence remains, as Minho shoots you a small wave, his eyes flickering briefly over the distant outline of your apartment.

“Hey,” you call out to Jung, who’s lazily sprawled out over the sofa, his feet laid flat upon the coffee table.

“How was the trip?” He asks enthusiastically, not taking his eyes off the sports channel that echoes loudly in front of him.

“Oh, you know,” you reply casually. “Just yoga. Always good to see old friends, though.”

“I’ll bet,” Jung replies, chuckling sarcastically as he speaks. “Seems like the only person you’re around these days is Minho.”

And then he reaches for the remote, lazily flipping through channels as you set your bag down.

“He’s my oldest friend,” you say casually, hoping he won’t notice the audible shakiness in your tone. It feels like he can hear how loud your thoughts are, the fears circling your mind, an expression on your face painted with incrimination. You think of your heart racing while Minho kissed you, the way his cock felt inside of you, your clit pulsating gently at the mere memory of it.

“Yeah, well, change is good,” Jung finishes. As you turn the corner, to meet him in front of the couch, you take note of his lap- a small, white cardboard box propped upon his sweatpants, the top ripped to keep it open and his hands working and out of it in rushed motions.

It’s the cake, you quickly realizing, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the frosting in complete disarray, almost half the dessert either smeared around the sides or piled on the fork he brings up to his lips.

“Listen,” Jung says, between a mouthful of food. “I have a golf thing this week and I want you to come see a couple buddies of mine.”

“This week?” You echo, your mind pondering all the potential excuses you can use against him. But nothing comes to mind, as Jung sets the box of cake aside and stands up from the couch.

“Yeah,” he says casually. “My buddy from college is gonna be in town, and he wants to get together before the wedding.”

You want so badly to protest his offer, knowing very well that Jung’s friends are nothing short of insufferable. They very seldom like you, openly voicing their concerns with your flaws, and they’re protective of him, as though Jung is the one who’s sacrificing more by being wed to you.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, a small smile on your lips to offset the anger that could very well erupt in response to your statement.

But Jung just brings two hands up to your shoulder, rubbing the sides as he turns his attention back to the television.

“Not really. Hey, the game’s on again but make sure to clear your calendar on Thursday for me. And let’s bring that wine we got recently.”

“The white one?” You question, sagging your shoulders a little at his lack of hesitation to offer your favorite wine as a housewarming gift to his friends.

“Yeah, that one,” he says plainly, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and slinging his body back over the couch.

“By the way,” Jung voices, motioning for you to move out of the view of the tv screen. “Where’s the cake from? Shit’s good.”

Your gaze lands on the box again, completely torn apart, the icing letters indistinguishable and the fondant ribbons in disarray on the cardboard. You can’t help but think of Minho and his careful attention to detail- the way he picked all your favorite colors, the flavors he knows you love, all from your favorite bakery you very seldom even visit because of the steep price points.

“Babe?” Jung calls again, spooning a layer of frosting into his mouth. “I asked where the cake was from.”

And you shrug casually as you pivot on your heel to exit the room.

“Minho picked it,” you say as you stride away from his still-slouched figure. “I wouldn’t know.”

*

“You have to freeze your cake and eat a piece of it every wedding anniversary,” Jung’s friend Kwang explains, as he brings a cigar to his lips and inhales generously. “That’s what we did, and we still have enough red velvet to last fucking years in there.”

“I love it,” Jung replies in a chuckle, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nudging you harshly. “Course, I’m not sure this one could stop herself from eating the rest of our cake for a whole year. She’s got a bigger sweet tooth than I do.”

You distance yourself from Jung a little, fiddling with your golf club as the men share echoing laughter between puffs of smoke.

The golf course Jung frequents is massive, spanning several hectares of land, which means you’re often stuck here for a long while during his golf sessions. His friends are the same detestable group of men he’s usually out with, all old friends from college you’ve since been forced to get acquainted with. And together they talk each others’ ears off about sports, food, making subtle digs at their own wives or partners, and of course, golf. The blinding shade of green hills contrasts harshly against a pale blue sky and depicts an almost cartoon scenery, and you can feel the headache in your temples worsening with every loud chuckle that escapes Jung’s lips.

He hasn’t asked once about your yoga retreat- which may be a blessing of sorts when you recall the events that unfolded. But you know it’s got nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t give a shit.

He probably doesn’t even remember you were gone, nor does he care to fill you in on the details that unfolded while you were away. And it wouldn’t matter, because you know it would be exactly some version of this- his obnoxious friends, golf, sports on tv and bragging about his proximity to a married life with you. Strangely enough, you’re normally able to stomach these conversations when you’re forced to go out with Jung. But somehow today, every word he utters aggravates you, and you’re desperate to find some excuse to make it home again.

Except you also know very well that it’s something else eating away at your mind this afternoon.

“Y/n?” Kwang questions, and you snap your head to look at him, realizing you’ve tuned out most of his talking points up until now.

“Yes?”

“It’s your turn,” he says, gesturing to your golf club. Jung watches you and chuckles, almost embarrassed with you, as he mirrors Kwang’s gesture.

“Go on,” Jung says condescendingly. “Remember how I taught you last time.”

And with the golf club in your timid grasp, you approach the tee, positioning your club out in front of you and doing your best to mimic the way Jung taught you. Or rather the way he yelled at you to memorize, always taking his sports endeavors far too seriously.

The club head rests gently against the golf ball, pulling back momentarily as your hands shift and tighten around the grip again. And Kwang exhales another puff of smoke, a light chuckle escaping his lips as his eyes bore into your standing figure.

“Her form’s gotten a little better,” he remarks to Jung.

“Yeah, because of me,” Jung says back.

“And good thing, too,” Kwang voices. “If she’d gotten better without your help it’d mean someone else was helping her.”

He laughs as he finishes speaking, transitioning to a coughing fit as you turn to meet Jung’s gaze. But Jung doesn’t look back at you, he simply pats Kwang’s back and exchanges laughter of his own.

“That’s true!” Jung echoes through a fit of laughter, like it’s the best joke he’s heard all century.

“Could you imagine if she pulled up here better than you?” Kwang says, flicking stray ashes off his cigar. “Some other man doing your part for you?”

Jung chuckles again, pulling a box of cigars from the pocket inside of his blazer and thumbing at a fresh one. You watch as he flips open a small bronze Zippo lighter, a small metal clink emitting from behind his cupped hand, as he brings the cigar head to the little yellow flame and holds it there momentarily.

“Fuckin’ A,” Jung remarks with the cigar hanging between his lips.

When it’s lit successfully, he pockets the lighter again, taking a generous puff and blowing smoke just past the direction of Kwang’s still-laughing figure.

“They say that’s how you know your wife’s disloyal,” he remarks. “Her sports form never worsens.”

You stand awkwardly, your fingers grazing the rubber of the golf club grip as you say nothing. Their laughter continues to swirl the atmosphere around you, the sound of the birds and the buzzing cicadas drowning out amidst their cackles. The sun beams entirely too bright down over you, the artificial grass seeming to turn an even more obnoxious shade of green as you wait for them to finish.

“Better hope this one’s not disloyal,” Kwang says amidst his jokes, nudging your upper thigh with the tip of his own golf club. “That’s a lot of planning down the drain.”

And somehow the words trigger the familiar arrhythmic beat in your chest, flashbacks of Minho crossing your mind instantaneously. It’s like they know, the way their jokes seem to run on forever, their wicked cackling taunting you with every passing second. They speak of your form and your position, and you can’t help but picture the way Minho had you sprawled over the bed for you, his toned body looming over yours as he fucked you like he was consummating a marriage.

Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead as the sun glares over you, and the feeling is reminiscent of your sweaty bodies tangled together in the confined space of the tent. Was it you who came first? Was it Minho? The details are a little blurry right now as you try to steady your breathing, every single fear coming to life as you use your golf club to keep upright.

Disloyal. Another man. Cheater.

Their words replay in your mind and produce offspring of new ones, alluding to implications of broken trust and shattered plans. Hypothetical talks of one whole year of planning down the drain, another man with his hands all over you fulfilling Jung’s role in his absence and improving your form.

They know. They know you cheated, this is Jung’s way of humiliating you in front of his closest friend before he publicly calls off the marriage. He’s going to confront you about it any second now. He’s going to drag Minho’s name through the mud, and possibly also his corpse when he’s done with him-

“Y/n?” A voice interrupts, and your head snaps in the direction of their still gazes. The atmosphere is quiet now, birds chirping overhead once more, cicadas buzzing rhythmically in the distance again.

“Huh?”

“You want to forfeit your turn?” Jung asks with a chuckle. “We’ve been waiting for you to start for ten minutes now.”

Your gaze falls down to your hands, gripped tightly around the rubber of the club still, the ball remaining immobile on the little red tee.

“Uh, sure,” you reply, handing the golf club to Jung as he shakes his head.

You watch with an embarrassed expression as Jung grasps the club skillfully, pulling back and twisting his heel as he produces a robust hit, the ball lifting off its tee and soaring into the distance over the green hill.

“She can’t be disloyal,” Jung says with a chuckle, as he prods you with his golf club for the nth time today. “She can’t even complete one round successfully. Any other man would’ve taught her that’s not how you golf.”

*

At the one week mark since you’ve seen Minho, he’s aware something is wrong. You haven’t picked up his calls, haven’t responded to a single one of his texts, and you feign tiredness or some made up illness when he offers to stop by at hours he knows Jung isn’t home. But you don’t entertain any of it, fearing still that Jung knows, and that this is going to be the end of your marriage.

A fleeting physical endeavor caused by your fiancé’s stubbornness, and yet it’s effectively going to be the end of what was supposed to be your entire future. Seeing Minho will only reignite every fear present inside of you, causing it to coax the truth out of you and confront your fears in the presence of Jung.

The fear of what a lifetime of marriage implies. Are you meant to feel like teenagers in love for the entirety of it? Do the fights last a lifetime? Are you supposed to find a middle ground, or will there always be a need for somebody like Minho to provide some clarity and help you rekindle things to the best of your abilities?

What if in a week, you hate the cake flavor you’ve picked? What if you find yourselves so comfortable it doesn’t feel like love anymore? What if you spend a lifetime picturing it’s Minho fucking you instead of Jung, just to get off at night?

What happens to the marriage then? Does the love fizzle out until it’s a comfortable state of tolerance, one in which you’re sacrificing happiness for stability? Or does it simply exist somewhere else- or with somebody else? What’s implied by a lifetime of this?

Minho’s always been a worrier at heart, though, and he won’t let up until he’s certain your relationship to him isn’t at risk of dissipating, too. So at 11pm on a Friday, when he knows Jung is out with the same group of friends, he makes his move to confront you.

The living room is completely quiet at this hour, a soft ticking noise from the clock overhead as you flip past a page in your book. A romance novel, one littered with smut and cheesy dialogue, true to the lonely housewife you’re already conditioning yourself to be. And as your gaze falls over the first sentence of a new chapter, a knocking at the front door interrupts you.

It’s not Jung- it can’t be at this hour, his return home always signaled by his loud stumbling through the doorway, the jingling of his keys and drunken steps over the shoes he so conveniently forgets to put on the shoe rack.

You wrap your arms around the knit holes of your sweater, approaching the door hesitantly. It’s likely one of Jung’s friends, late to the party, or even one of your own girlfriends, here for a late night gossip session. But when you unlatch the door and pull it open, your heart drops at the sight of Minho, his hands shoved in his pockets and his figure standing slouched as his head looks up to meet your gaze.

“Hi,” says Minho, giving you a thin-lipped smile.

You give him a small nod, unsure of what to reply.

He looks handsome tonight, in a dark denim jacket and a pair of jeans. His golden-brown tresses fall loosely around his chiseled face, and his eyes look a little tired, like he hasn’t gotten much sleep.

“Minho,” you say plainly, fidgeting with a loose hem on the inside of your sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

Minho shrugs, peering into the doorway behind you, and then his eyes lock on yours again.

“I never taught you how to gut a fish,” Minho replies.

“I was just- what?”

“A fish,” Minho repeats. “I never taught you how to gut one.”

“Yeah, because we didn’t catch any,” you reply, a short chuckle escaping your lips.

“I know,” Minho says. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over and gut one.”

“Now?” You reply, glancing at the darkened street behind him. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, and Jung isn’t home until early morning. There’s a salmon defrosting on my counter as we speak, assuming the cats haven’t gotten to it. And I was wondering if you wanted to gut it.”

And he’s doing that thing again, where he takes the problem at hand and makes it so much more miniscule than it actually is. This state between disloyalty and tension you feel toward Jung, and the conflicting feelings you have toward Minho and the trip’s subsequent events. But he doesn’t address any of that- instead, he takes issue with you never having gotten to gut a fish. And that’s a relief, when you think about the other option of verbally confronting the emotions you keep at bay.

“Is it messy?” You ask with a little smile.

“It’s messy,” Minho replies.

“What if I’m bad at it?”

“Then you’re bad at it. But I’ll help you. Mess and all.”

You turn around to peer back into the hallway, at the book lying open and flat on the couch, the second hand on the clock moving painfully slow and the dim lamp illuminating the room around you. There’s not much of anything to stick around for, not when Jung’s still going to be out for hours on end. And not when a part of you is dying to confront the situation with Minho in the privacy of his place.

“You can’t laugh if I’m bad,” you say to Minho as you turn back to face him, slipping on your shoes in the process

“I won’t laugh,” he retorts. “No promises, of course.”

*

Two hours later, the kitchen is littered with napkins, plates, gloves, filet knives and scales. Minho walks you through how to remove the roe and the milt, discarding them for you as you prep your filet knife. He verbally instructs you how to descale the fish, and when you make minimal progress, he guides your hand up and down the length of the salmon with his, giving a little nod as the scales fall off with ease and uncover the smooth finish beneath.

He’s understanding when your reluctant hands fail to cut through to the back bone, chuckling lightly as he helps you cut that, too. And when you successfully pluck the remainder of the pin bones with tweezers, he nods proudly, giving you a thumbs up as you dispose of the fish parts and slide the plate of pink slabs to him across the counter.

“You did really well,” Minho says comfortingly. “You’re very attentive to detail. I don’t think there’s a single pin bone still on there.”

“It’s a little gross,” you say, shaking off your hands and chuckling lightly.

“But the end result will be worth it,” he replies. “Somebody plucked the pin bones off every filet you’ve eaten.”

You hit his arm lightly, as he laughs, coating the slabs in seasoning as you pull your gloves off.

“Minho,” you voice nervously, as he keeps his attention on the plate of fish in front of him.

“Hm?”

“Should we… talk about what happened?”

He sprinkles dried parsley atop the filet, not looking at you as you hold your breath for an answer.

“We can talk about it,” Minho replies simply. “Or we can choose not to. It was just a favor I ran you.”

You nod in response, watching as he swaps out parsley for onion powder and sprinkles lightly.

“Can we talk about it?” You say finally, twiddling your thumbs together.

Minho sets down the glass jar, turning to face you and pulling off his gloves, too.

“Sure,” he says, leaning back against the counter and giving you his undivided attention. Your heartbeat quickens momentarily at the sight of him focusing solely on you, and you struggle to find the words to say. But Minho is faster, taking reins of the conversation and breaking the deafening silence between you two.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Minho finally says, a kind of sadness evident in his tone.

“I was scared,” you reply. “I felt like Jung knew. It could ruin all of our wedding plans.”

“There’s no way he can find out,” Minho says. “I haven’t said a word to anyone. Unless you felt inclined to say something-”

“God, no,” you reply quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say anything.”

“Good,” Minho then says. “Then it was just a mistake in the heat of the moment. There’s nothing to worry about.”

And somehow the words sting a little, this conclusion that the affair was a mistake. Was it a mistake? You’re not sure- though you are sure of the complete sense of ease it instilled in you, and the fact that it hasn’t left your mind in a whole week.

“Are we okay?” You ask him, a nervous expression painting your face as you wait for an answer.

And Minho nods confidently, pulling on a fresh set of gloves as he reaches for the salt and pepper shakers.

“We’re fine,” Minho reassures. “If you think anything is getting in the way of a decade of you being stuck with me, then you’re mistaken.”

You laugh lightly, pulling on another pair of gloves too and joining Minho in front of the plate of fish.

“You want to pan fry this?” Minho asks, changing the subject. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Your eyes scan the well-seasoned strips of salmon, and then Minho’s comforting figure beside you, as he slides you a pair of tongs.

“Yeah,” you say to him. “Let’s finish this thing.”

Minho’s right- the end result is worth it. The fish is tender, well-seasoned, paired beautifully with his favorite bottle of white wine over an old comedy movie.

And everything feels like it’s back to normal once more as you sit beside him, your plates completely void of food as you finish your glasses of wine and sit back comfortably.

As the end credits roll, Minho lowers the volume, but he doesn’t shut off the television yet, taking another sip from his glass as your gazes fix on the names disappearing on screen.

Your eyes scan Minho’s mostly-vacant walls, at the things and the stuff he’s moved around. And he has, a couple new photographs displayed neatly on the wall in gold frames.

Most of them are black and white photographs you recognize to be cityscapes. And among the collage, placed right in the middle, the only photo with an ounce of color catches your eye.

“Shirakawa,” you say to Minho, cocking your head at the photograph.

It’s a wide shot of the town, bright green grass contrasting the traditional brown farmhouses that span the entirety of the landscape.

“Mhm,” Minho affirms, giving a little nod as he looks over the photograph, too.

You remain like that for a moment, reveling in the view, and then you finally break the comfortable silence once more.

“Could you tell me about it?” You ask him sweetly. “Just anything.”

Minho thinks back to the facts of Shirakawa he stores in the corner of his mind for a moment, sorting through facts and tales he’s held onto since college. Little stories he’s always wished to pass along again one day.

“Those are called Gasshō-Zukuri houses,” Minho says. “Which directly translates to hands in prayer.”

You cock your head in the other direction, nodding at his words, and seeing exactly what he speaks of. The houses do resemble two hands in prayer, the triangular thatched roofs almost reminiscent of a church’s.

“The roofs were designed to prevent heavy snowfall,” he continues. “Which the town is notorious for receiving. But apparently it’s like a little winter land when you’re there.”

His voice trails off a little at the last syllable, getting quiet again as he folds his hands in his lap.

“Which is pretty cool,” Minho finishes, pulling back from divulging too much information about the town he could go on about forever.

And he doesn’t know you’d gladly listen to him talk about it forever, being continuously fascinated with his appreciation for the centuries-old town across the world from you two. You nod in response to his words, imagining the winters those tucked away in that little town must experience- blankets of snow and freezing temperatures, and yet so warm inside those historical homes loved by people all around the world.

“We’ll go one day,” you say to Minho finally, turning to meet his gaze.

He turns to look at you, too, a somber expression on his face as he listens to you speak.

“We’ll go to Shirakawa one day. I promise it.”

Minho swallows nervously, well aware of how close you are to him on the couch now. Your face at such a close distance to him, your limbs resting right beside each other as his eyes flicker over your parted lips.

Minho engages in the nervous habits he always does, blinking nervously a few times and toying with the lobe of his ear. But he doesn’t act on anything, not wanting to push the boundaries you’ve practically just set in place. The same boundaries that concluded it was a mistake in the heat of the moment. So then why do you feel so inclined to kiss him all over again, let your body tangle with his and ease your stress as he assists in confronting all your fears preceding the wedding? Why does the idea of a lifelong commitment feel so much less intimidating when you’re in the presence of Minho? And what are you doing having these thoughts about your best friend when you’re getting married to somebody else in a month?

Thoughts that fail to induce an answer from you- instead interrupted and subsequently silenced by your lips on Minho’s again, kissing him with such desperation the way you did before.

And though desperate, it's still tender, his eyes shutting instinctively as his hands cup your cheeks and pull you closer. And you’ve nowhere to go but his lap, straddling his waist with your legs as you refuse to break away from the kiss, your kisses turning hungrier by the second as his hands find your waist.

This implication to fuck you is far greater this time, a pressing urge between the two of you to mirror the night’s actions and confirm it really did happen. That he did fuck you that night in your tent, and that you both came with each other and for each other, your bodies releasing the pent-up frustration you’re now certain has existed for years.

“Is this okay?” Minho begins to ask, his hands grazing your sides, and your kisses trail down his neck to provide a clear answer to his concern.

“Please,” you plead, nibbling a light bruise into his flesh. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty-”

“I don’t,” you say, moving to meet his lips again. “It feels so right with you. Please, could we do it again?”

Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as you palm him over the fabric of his jeans, his erection already visible for you.

“I want to,” Minho gasps. “But you’re getting married. I don’t want you to make another mistake-”

“It was never a mistake,” you say breathlessly. “Not the first time, not now. It feels so different with you. Do you feel it too?”

You pull away momentarily, hands cupped around the back of his neck as you wait for his answer. And Minho shoots a nervous smile in response; sheepishly toying with his hair as he struggles to voice his feelings.

“I… do,” Minho begins. “But I want you to-”

“Don’t worry about me,” you say, leaning in to resume pressing kisses along his neck. “Just fuck me like he doesn’t exist,” you finish, your lips working against his once more and guiding his hands down to your waist.

Although you were the one worried of getting found out, you can’t keep your distance from him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you all over again. Coaxing your own arousal out of you, encouraging you to forget all about him the way you’ve been trying to do in the absence of Minho. But with him here in front of you, you know the only way to shut Jung out of your mind is to fill it with thoughts of Minho, and Minho and more Minho.

“I… can do that…” Minho says with another nervous chuckle, as you unzip his jeans and palm him through his boxers.

“Call me something other than my name,” you say to him, pressing a series of chaste kisses to his lips. “Say it like I’m yours.”

And Minho reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pulling away again to look into your eyes.

“Baby?” He questions nervously, eliciting a smile from you.

“Yeah. Like that.”

“Yeah, baby?” He says again, reciprocating confidently now as you stroke him over his boxers. “You want me to make you forget about him?”

“Please,” you beg again. “You’re so much better than him.”

And amidst the ego boost, Minho can feel his cock swell, painfully hard in your firm grasp now as you stroke him.

“Wait,” Minho says, wincing slightly as you slow your movements. “I don’t want to cum yet.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me,” you smirk down at him, looping your fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tugging slightly. And Minho sits up straighter, smirking back, as he moves to press you down against the couch and hover over you.

“You want me to fuck you?” Minho asks, using one hand to tug his jeans down to his thighs. “God, you haven’t stopped thinking about it, haven’t you?”

“Not once,” you admit, wrapping two arms around his neck and pulling him down toward you. “I would’ve asked you to fuck me years ago if I knew what I was missing out on.”

The two of you share giggles as his jeans are discarded on the floor, followed by his t-shirt, and then your pants and your t-shirt, leaving him in just his boxers, and you in your bra and panties.

Minho lowers himself against your clothed core, rubbing ever so gently against you to provide some relief to his aching shaft as he works his kisses against your drooly lips. And he smiles in between every slight movement, completely satisfied at the fact that it’s him rubbing against you like this and taking care of you instead of Jung. For the second time this month.

The idea that Jung is completely clueless to this game you play behind his back, that he still comes home thinking you belong to anyone except Minho. Both in mind and body, your entire being is intertwined with Minho in every way possible.

And you both know it, judging by the way you grab at each other like a pair of horny teenagers on a first date, trying everything in your ability to hold onto the feeling. Also by the way he’s so patient and forgiving with his movements, stil careful not to move too fast in case you decide you want to stop. And an unspoken promise between the two of you, that no matter what happens, the friendship will remain, that it simply can’t slip through your fingers after a decade of promises to each other.

“Let’s go to Shirakawa,” you say to Minho in a whisper, finally tugging his boxers down and freeing his erection against abdomen.

“You want to?” Minho asks, tugging your panties down, too.

“Yes, I want to,” you reply. “We’ve talked about it for so long. Tell me what we’ll do there.”

“Well we’ll definitely go fishing,” Minho begins, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he discards your panties on the floor beside you. “And I’ll help gut all the salmon with you.”

“Mhm,” you voice in a dreamy tone, massaging his hair with the tips of your fingers.

“And then we can see all the animals there,” he continues, positioning himself over you and lifting your leg a little to get a better angle. His hand massages gentle circles in your inner thigh, careful not to enter without ensuring you’re comfortable first.

“And when it snows,” Minho says. “We’ll be trapped inside. But we can occupy the little attic space, where the walls slant inwards. And I promise to make love to you until it stops snowing.”

“When does it stop snowing?” You ask, as Minho pumps his cock gently over you and positions himself in front of your entrance. He chuckles lightly as he leans in to kiss you, your entrance quickly swallowing his tip and caressing his girth with your arousal as he leans in to push himself even further.

“It doesn’t,” Minho replies finally, thrusting himself into you and letting his hands find the small of your back to steady himself. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, quickly drunk on the feeling all over again. The mesmerizing sensation of his body hovering over you, of his cock inside of you, exactly the way you remembered it from the other night.

And it’s not right, but it feels so right to have him those close to you again, your best friend closing the gap of uncertainty between you and shutting you up with the confirmation that your souls have always belonged to each other this way.

“Fuck, Minho,” you breathe out, beads of sweat dripping down your temples as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and holds it there, pulsating harshly against your cervix.

“Will you go faster?” You ask him, running your fingertips down his back in encouragement.

“Are you sure?” he says between labored breaths, still careful not to hurt you.

“Please,” you practically beg. “I’m so eager for you, please just do something about it, baby.”

Minho’s eyebrows raise a little at the utterance of a pet name. He’s never heard it from you- not in all your years of friendship. He’s hardly secured a nickname from you in all that time. And yet here you are now, taking him so fully obediently, throwing words like baby at him and begging him to fuck you so that you won’t have to think about Jung.

“Baby?” Minho says curiously, capturing your lips in a kiss.

“Baby,” you reply, rutting your hips up against his as he begins to move a little faster. “Baby, and honey, and fiancé.”

Minho chuckles a little at the last word, cocking his head as he digests your response.

“Fiancé?”

“Yeah,” you say back between little moans that escape your lips. “If we were in Shirakawa I think we’d be engaged. And you could fuck me whenever you wanted to.”

Minho feels his cock twitch at your words, his mind running rampant with the fantasy of being engaged to you. The implication of a lifetime of this, fucking you sweetly in the comfort of a shared home and coaxing all your stress out of you. And furthermore, a lifetime of you- of being dragged to all your favorite bars, takeout meals and cheap comedy movies, camping when the leaves turn orange and gutting salmon alongside you.

A lifetime of security, stability. One of sheer, unwavering happiness.

“What a dream that would be,” Minho voices, moving a little faster at your words now.

“You think?”

“I know,” he affirms, his hands finding the mounds of your breasts and cupping them gently to unclasp your bra.

“What a fucking dream it would be to have you like this every night.”

Your bra is promptly discarded alongside you on the couch, the cool air grazing your erect nipples as he brings his mouth down to latch around one in gentle sucking motions. You can feel yourself clench around his cock, taking in the sight of his drooly lips wrapped around your chest and working you in eager motions. It’s still the same Minho you recognize from years ago- still the dorky, yet handsome figure of permanence always present somewhere in your life. And it feels even less unnatural than the last time you slept with him, simply instilling another wave of eased stress and tranquility deep inside of you. It’s like this is supposed to be the relationship between the two of you now- you live your life catering to the stubborn, unmoving personality of Jung’s. Minho tends to his monotonous life away from you. And when you reunite once more, relishing in tales of your separate lives from each other and laughing over glasses of chenin blanc, he concludes the night with a slow, intimate session of love-making, one to seal the promise between your souls that regardless of where the future takes you, this is still permanent.

Neither the college girls Minho’s fucked so well, nor the shitty men you promise yourself to could come between that. And it’s a comfortable truth you both come to terms with as he gives himself to you so lovingly and wholly.

“Are you close?” Minho asks, moving to your lips once more and indulging you in a slow, sensual kiss.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, wrapping your arms around his neck a little stabler and bringing your gaze down to his cock, where he disappears inside of you with complete ease.

“Where do- fuck- where do you want me to finish?” Minho asks, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. “I don’t want to pose any risks to you right now.”

And he’s right, both of you knowing very well that just because you’ve addressed your mutual attraction to each other, doesn’t mean you can run around with Minho’s arousal catching in your walls like you just aren’t engaged.

You still have a wedding to tend to, another person to return home to and a promise in the eventual holy sanctity of marriage that Jung is your only lover. But right now that no official certificate holds you to that, you can’t find it inside you to care, wanting nothing more than to be filled by Minho, and Minho and more Minho, and yet knowing it’s simply not a possibility.

“Wherever you want,” you finally breathe out, placing the option in the hands of Minho. Your breasts, your mouth. Inside of you. You don’t care- all you care is that he’s here, and he’s upholding his end of sealing the permanence between you two.

Minho gives a few particularly harsh thrusts, and then he brings a hand to the base of his cock, pulling out carefully and wincing as he staves off his orgasm. Your hands remain wrapped around the back of his neck, your gaze fixed on his as he works himself in quick strokes and leans in to kiss you.

“Can we go to Shirakawa?” You ask him again tenderly, as he continues to pump himself over your lying figure.

“Of course we can,” Minho responds with a sweet smile, his breaths labored as he nears his finish. “We can go wherever you want.”

“As long as you’re there,” you say to him, smiling up at him as he leans forward to kiss you again.

“As long as it’s the two of us,” Minho clarifies. “We can go anywhere.”

His eyes shut once more, his long eyelashes grazing his eyelids as his lips part open, and then he lets out a whimpered moan as he finally reaches his finish, coating your stomach in the milky white release of his orgasm. He kisses you when he finishes, smiling against your lips as he brings a hand down between you and rubs your clit in gentle, circular motions.

Your moans turn whimpered, too, as you reach your finish, clenching around what you wish was his cock and letting go for him.

And the credits on the television reach their end, transitioning to the hushed echo of a commercial playing. But neither of you are in any rush to leave or clean up just yet, allowing your listless bodies to intertwine lazily on the sofa as your giggles fill the quiet space between you and reverberate off the walls with such mutual fondness.

*

Mondays are heavy with work. Tuesdays, Jung works late. Wednesdays and Thursdays are dedicated time for his friends from college, and every day after that is a toss-up, but they’re often days you spend with Jung, watching movies in your apartment, going on little dates or in uncomfortable silence alongside him as he spills details of his work and his friends.

And he believes this to be your schedule, because he’s clueless otherwise.

Mondays are really for late-night phone calls with Minho, where you run off to the patio for a few minutes of privacy while Jung catches up on sports broadcasts. Tuesdays, Minho cooks you intricate meals at his apartment, alongside old comedy movies and concluded always by his gentle love-making to you. Wednesdays and Thursdays feel like college again, Minho finally agreeing to accompany you to all your favorite bars again and paying for your drinks as he watches you dance for him, his hands all over you as the two of you exchange needy kisses for everybody to watch.

And though the lights by the bar are far too dim for anybody to recognize you’re out with somebody beside your fiancé, a part of you doesn’t care.

Bastard. Facilitator of cheating. Homewrecker.

Sometimes you and Minho joke about the names they’d call him if they found out. Every derogatory term under the sun, like they haven’t already thought it of him for being quieter than Jung’s douchebag friends. And yet they also fail to see he’s more kind, more attentive and more loving than any of them could ever bring to the table in the presence of their own wives.

You also know they won’t find out- not when you’re virtually invisible to Jung and his friends when he’s not showing you off like some trophy to be won. When corporate holiday parties arise, or the need for an even number of golf participants makes itself known, Jung’s there without hesitation, grasping your hand between his clammy fingers and recounting days of when you’d met.

And yet none of his stories involve the present you. They fail to include your successes at work, or the books you’ve taken a liking to recently, or even the valiant efforts you’ve put into decorating your shared space with him, despite his complete lack of assistance. His stories of you exclude the liking you’ve taken to “yoga retreats” recently. And they definitely don’t know you can gut a fish like your life depends on it.

“This wine is better than the last one,” you say to Minho, as he pours himself a glass and slips a crystal stopper into the spout.

“It cost me less than the loaf of bread,” Minho replies with a breathy chuckle. “I don’t think we’ll ever stop favoring cheap convenience store wine.”

You swirl the cherry red color around in your glass, admiring the way the liquid forms a little whirlpool and settles once again, the strong scent wafting upward in the process.

“Notes of cherry, wood, french vanilla and… pocket money,” you say to Minho wafting the scent up even further with a wave of your hand.

He laughs at your words, taking a sip from his own glass and smacking his lips together once.

“Undertones of fruit and nuttiness. And maybe penny pinching, like in our college days,” Minho replies, the two of you chuckling as you set your glasses down.

You look out at the view from his balcony window, the darkened sky providing little to see at this hour, but still outlining the silhouettes of the trees and the bushels that line his apartment terrace.

“The time passed us by so fast,” Minho says in a somber tone, not turning to face you. You keep your gaze on the trees outside, thinking over your shared actions over the past few weeks. It’s been nothing short of thrilling going behind Jung’s back the way you do, but you’re also aware that with every meetup, you’re a day closer to tying the knot with Jung, preparing for a lifetime of permanence alongside the same person you’ve never felt so unsure about before now.

You turn to face him finally, a sad smile on your face as he waits for your answer.

“I wish we did something about this earlier,” you respond finally, taking note of the glow in his eyes as you speak. He looks marvelous at this proximity to you, so attainable and so enchanting all at the same time.

“Did something about what?”

“This,” you emphasize. “Us.”

Minho blinks nervously a few times, and then he cocks his head slightly as he waits for you to continue, too scared to affirm your words with thoughts of his own first.

“All this time I was trying to validate the fears inside of me surrounding this wedding,” you explain to him. “And then there was you, the same person who makes them nearly nonexistent. I wish we did something about it earlier so that maybe the fear was just lessened to begin with.”

Minho nods nervously, as he understands very well now that you’re on completely separate pages.

Minho, who wishes he could shake some sense into you and confess that this isn’t just some physical endeavor soul-searching the way it is for you- that he’s so madly in love with you, and that he chases the reminder of your permanence because the ivy that constricts his veins will surely kill him in your absence.

And thus, he takes what he can get- you, at your most vulnerable moments, unloved and uncherished by Jung, just seeking a kindly ear and maybe a warm body to remind you that there is some semblance of comfort to be felt in the interim.

And yet you, who only partakes in this fleeting act of physical yearning because you’re scared of commitment to Jung, who maybe doesn’t fulfill you every way you wish he would all the time. So you go behind his back, and you chase the fulfillment yourself, and you act upon the fears and the anxieties that have always circled your mind in the presence of Minho.

Maybe he likes you, maybe he’s jealous, maybe he wants to fuck you.

Statements you’ve heard throughout the entirety of your friendship, ones you couldn’t help but ponder, too, as Minho would grow painfully quiet with Jung in the room. But ones you always brushed off, telling yourself that the two just don’t click. And yet the arousal present with the fear makes for some of the most pleasurable moments together in the privacy of Minho’s home, albeit for Minho, on time begged and borrowed from you. The affair with Minho is not indicative of permanence in any form, and yet it exists to confront your very fear of permanence.

Selfish? Surely. Contradictory? In every sense of the word. The concerns raised to you by Minho himself in any way? Never.

So it remains, this tragic cycle of sleeping with your best friend behind your fiancé’s back, blind to the fact that he’s irrevocably in love with you, in a comfortable state of mind knowing that at least you’ll have felt this state of peace for even just a finite amount of time before you give yourself away to the marriage completely.

And yet it’s a beautiful thing in essence, this shared love between the two of you. A trust instilled so deeply on both sides to give yourselves away to each other every night and close a chapter of what once was, regardless of the differences in how it’s perceived.

The incandescent glow Minho’s tender embraces bring forth in you, no matter the fact that he’s simply grieving a very real, living love that still exists between the two of you. Green leaves of ivy that constrict his throat and force words back down them again, so that he may never admit that he’s jealous, and it’s you, it’s always been you. The same suffocating feeling he ponders late at night, asking himself why he’s been so magnificently cursed to only love you under these circumstances, and never in ones that promise him your permanence in return.

But when you're across from him, a glass of cheap wine in hand and your gentle laughter accompanying his, he can’t help but embrace the grand feeling- tarnished, but still grand.

“Maybe it worked out the way it was supposed to,” Minho settles on saying. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be more than this little period of time.”

And there’s a pang of pain in his chest as he utters the words, but he’s met with your small nod in response, visibly comforted by the prospect of his implications.

“Hey,” you say after a moment of silence, sitting up straight and swirling your glass of wine around in your hand again. “There’s a dinner thing Jung’s hosting with some people from the guest list. Don’t say you didn’t get the invite.”

Minho exhales with an audible groan, slouching back in his chair and running his hands through his hair.

“I don’t even like his cooking,” Minho admits frustratedly. “He’s just going to make me feel like an idiot the whole night.”

“But I want you there,” you say to him in a pleading tone. “You’re my best friend. I can’t do this stuff without you.”

“I know you can’t,” Minho replies. “And I don’t want you to have to. But it’s going to be awkward, and painful.”

“I won’t let him cross any boundaries,” you reason with him. “I’ll diffuse anything that comes up. I just want you there, even if it means you’re going to sit there and say nothing. Even that would make me happier than seeing your empty chair all night.”

Minho groans again, swirling his own glass of wine around in his hands and averting your gaze. He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he speaks again, in a reluctant voice.

“He would kill me if he found out, you know. We would never see each other again.”

You feel your heart sink at his words, even the thought of it beyond unnerving to you.

“Why do you say that suddenly?”

“Just… thinking,” Minho finishes.

“Well he has no way of knowing,” you console him. “And I promise to keep things civil.”

Minho thinks for a moment, wanting to press you for more answers about what this even is, about why you’re choosing to let him waste his time like this and what possessed him to agree to attend your pre-wedding dinner as the other man.

But he says nothing, letting a generous sip of alcohol serve as the answer to the requests you press him for- yes, of course he’ll be there, albeit with his long list of fears and reservations. But he’ll do anything, twice even, at your behest.

*

The ebony wood dining table looks particularly elegant when it’s set up for guests. You line the seats with ceramic white platters, shiny silverware and iridescent glasses, paying special attention to even minute details, such as the direction of the prongs for each fork you place on white nylon napkins. Mixed peonies and birchwood make up the long centerpiece, and tall white taper candles are lit in the bronze candleabras.

And the mood is largely set by the guests, who laugh loudly around the table with glasses of expensive beverages in their hands. They speak of their jobs, and their spouses and pop culture references you can’t be bothered to pay attention to. Your eyes scan the emptiness in their eyes, most of them living lives you can tell they’ve simply settled for. And you wonder, briefly, if they’ve ever experienced the unwavering happiness you do in the presence of Minho. Do they ever crack open a bottle of convenience store wine? Do they still let loose at clubs every now and then? Could they gut a fish if they caught one?

You respond to their stories with little nods and fake chuckles, and your head snaps in every direction past your guests to the front door.

Minho’s fashionably late tonight, or at least you hope he is, still holding on to the promise that he’s going to be here. And Minho’s many things- but he’s not dishonest. He’ll show if he says he will, albeit for a few minutes each time when it involves Jung. But he’ll still show, dropping by with a timid smile and greeting the audience before sending you off with a lousy excuse again and leaving his spot vacant for the remainder of the evening. But tonight is different- tonight he’s here as the other man. And you can’t decipher whether that indicates a change in his subsequent actions, that perhaps he won’t show after all, and you’ll be left to your own devices with Jung and his obnoxious friends.

“… And one of our clients is an intern this quarter,” Jung says loudly, as he rants about his work in typical fashion. “Which means I’m going to be carrying most of our partnership.”

The guests laugh and raise their glasses, and you can’t help but wonder how on earth the comment warrants even an ounce of laughter. As Kwang’s wife begins to voice a response, the doorbell rings once, and your head snaps in the direction of the echoing bell.

“I’ll get it,” you say quickly, rising from your seat and smoothing down your skirt. “Excuse me.”

The guests glance briefly in your direction, and then turn their attention back to Jung, who begins to voice another chronicle of his inadequate colleagues. As you march down the hallway, your heart quickens in your chest, admittedly a little nervous to confront Minho after the recent events. You wonder if he’s going to be more awkward, or maybe even shut down entirely around the group. Maybe he’s just here to drop off another cake and send you off with a wave. Endless possibilities you’ve never had to consider when you weren’t actively sleeping with him. You unlatch the front door, taking a deep breath, and then pull it open, your gaze falling instantly onto the standing figure.

And it’s a wave of comfort when he smiles at you, his eyes forming little crescents as he grins and exposes his endearing set of skewed teeth, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he does. He’s much more dressed up tonight, in a black collared button down and a black tie, his light brown tresses framing his chiseled jawline so well. And seeing him is more exciting than any other guest you’ve seen tonight, a present urge to pepper him in kisses and remain right here alone, with him.

“Hey,” Minho says in a shy voice.

“Hi,” you respond, trying to stifle the giddy expression on your face from the guests around you who might be looking. “I saved you a seat,” you continue. “Come on.”

Minho enters reluctantly, glancing around the room and giving a small nod to the guests as you direct him to the vacant seat beside you. And somehow, he looks a little more confident, his posture much straighter and a knowing smile on his face as he occupies the seat beside you.

“Hi,” he says to the guests as they meet his gaze, and he even gives a small nod to Jung, who shoots him a subtle scowl.

“Jung,” Minho voices, gesturing to the table. “Pleased to be here.”

Jung just nods at Minho, and then goes back to telling a story of his business accounts.

But your attention is everywhere except for Jung’s story, hardly even able to take your gaze off Minho’s. His eyes sparkle under the hanging pendant lamp, his lips pulling into a little smirk as you watch him with such fascination. There’s something so enticing about the prospect that nobody here knows he’s fucked you, several times since the last time they saw him, and he’ll likely do it tonight when Jung thinks you’re out with a group of girlfriends. They don’t know the world you two have effectively built together, romantic nights of cooking intricate dinners together over glasses of cheap wine. And they don’t know the history you two share, years of walking through your fears and uncertainty alongside one another and bettering yourselves in the process. He’s your other half in so many ways, and you’re not sure it’s something anybody except the two of you could even begin to comprehend.

You watch as Minho picks up a bottle of wine from the table, rotating it in his grasp and examining the contents. It’s one of Jung’s favorites, an expensive bottle of zinfandel he picks up from a special market a few hours out of the city. And it all tastes the same to you anyway, pairing just fine with steak or fish or even fast food at 3am. In fact, it’s subpar in comparison to Minho’s favorites, which taste like safe intimacy, laughing at comedy reruns and love-making under the warmth of his blankets.

“Anyways,” Jung voices loudly, finally garnering your attention from beside him. “We’ve never been more ready for this honeymoon. I need tropical weather and some margaritas.”

“Amen to that,” Kwang chimes in, raising his glass for the nth time tonight.

I hate warm weather, you want to say. I wish it was Shirakawa, under the safety of the prayer hands thatched roofs and blankets of snow.

“If we don’t come back, just know we opted to stay,” Jung then says. “I’ll stay golfing on the beach and you guys can tough out the rest of winter here.”

Cue the obnoxious laughter, fake smiles, raised glasses.

“You’ll have the whole trip to help on her form,” Kwang says loudly, gesturing over to you with the wine bottle in hand.

“We went golfing the other day, and let’s just say there’s ample time for improvement.”

Roaring laughter, unsightly grins and clinking glasses.

And Minho glances over at you, who keeps a smile on your face at the stupid remark.

It’s exactly this that keeps him from acting upon the urge- you look content. You don’t argue, you don’t maintain a blank expression. Instead you smile, and you agree with his friends and your eyes look like they’re still on the same page of devoting entirely yourself to this less-than-desirable relationship you flaunt. Minho knows he’s just a stepping stone in this chapter, and that he’s going to come out of this hurt. But he also knows that despite your fears, you’re content, and he’s not going to insert himself between the love that you deserve, though it may take a while to materialize fully.

You glance over at Minho with a nervous smile, silently hoping he’ll say something. Just ask me to run away with you, you want to say. Tell me to run, and I’ll meet you there. Wherever.

But you know he won’t dare, too set on the idea that this is still what you want. So he’ll remain like this, in the unfamiliar atmosphere of a dining table you share with another man, and he’ll let himself face what becomes of it in due time.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks quietly, leaning in to fill your glass with more expensive wine.

“Peachy,” you say with a smile. And one he returns, shooting you another gentle smile and nodding at your confirmation.

The two of you listen as Jung segues into another story about his business client, and Minho’s leather heel finds your ankle under the table, grazing it softly as you stifle a smile.

There’s no sexual implication rooted in his actions, maybe not not even romantic implication, as his heel moves up and down the back of your bare calf. It’s just a reminder to say this will always be of permanence.

*

Minho’s hands work up and down the sides of your waist as he kisses you, smiling against your lips as you slot yourself between his legs and grasp the back of his neck.

He kisses Jung’s expensive wine back into your mouth, the flavor complementing the mouthwatering look he sports this evening, and you have to remind yourself several times to slow down.

“This looks so good on you,” you say with a smile, fidgeting with his tie and loosening it from around his neck.

“It’s the same one I always wear,” Minho says with a chuckle. “I can’t be bothered to buy a new one.”

“Don’t buy a new one. I want this one. I want it to be this one every time.”

Minho laughs lightly, a form of verbal agreement, and then he pulls you a little closer to him, rubbing little circles in the small of your back as you stay close in his embrace. He’s sprawled out on his couch, strands of hair hanging delicately in his face as he steadies you in his hold over him, his pink lips visibly swollen from having kissed you for the better part of an hour now.

“Tell me something about Shirakawa,” you ask him innocently, unfastening the first few buttons of his collared dress shirt.

”Anything?” Minho responds, bringing an arm up to rest casually behind his head.

“Anything. Something dreamy.”

“Hm,” Minho hums in response. “There are rice fields, and lily ponds and green orchards,” he says finally. “We can walk through all of them without a care in the world, and we can get drunk off little glasses of sake.”

“And the whole town can be ours,” you chime in, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his toned chest.

“The whole town,” Minho echoes. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

“As long as you’re there,” you tell him, trailing your kisses lower and undoing the line of buttons as you near his navel

“Anything you want,” Minho exhales in a dreamy tone. “Say it and it’s yours.”

His eyes shut instinctively as the last of his buttons are undone, exposing his chest to you and promptly covered in eager kisses as you trail down to his hardening cock in his pants.

And his arms rest lazily behind his head, feeling completely taken care of, so needy always for your delicate touch. Your nimble fingers work to graze in slow back and forth motions over his flesh, and then you hoist yourself up a little higher to straddle your hips over his crotch.

“Thank you for showing up tonight,” you say to him in a sweet voice. “It means everything to me.”

“Anything you want,” Minho says for the second time tonight. “Say the word and I’m there.”

“You’re my best friend,” you voice to Minho. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

And the utterance of a friend doesn’t even sting for him anymore. It’s fact- you belong to each other, time and time again, as friends, and lovers in the evening, and everything else in between. He doesn’t fight it, because he’s grateful for any role he can play amidst the grand role you play in his.

“Are you hard?” You ask a little quietly, a knowing smile on your face as you rock your hips gently over his.

“A little,” Minho replies, though he’s in no rush to have you take care of it. It’s enough exactly like this, your bodies intertwined together and infatuated with each other in the secrecy of his home.

“You want me to take care of you?” You then ask, one hand trailing up to wrap lightly around his throat.

And as your slender fingers graze the column of his neck, it’s clear to you at this angle. Sticking out like a sore thumb, so glaringly wrong and indecent from this proximity.

Your left ring finger, completely bare, your engagement ring nowhere to be seen.

At first you’re sure you’re hallucinating, pulling your hand back quickly to examine the thin tan where your finger meets your knuckle, one that’s usually covered by the gleaming jewelry. But as you rotate your finger around under the dim lighting, you confirm it’s not in fact some illusion- your engagement ring is gone.

Minho sits up a little, craning his neck a little to examine your worried expression.

“Y/n?” He questions, taking note of the way your eyes remain fixed to your hand. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s not here,” you say simply.

“What? What’s not here?”

“My ring,” you say a little more panicked, climbing off him and glancing around the coffee table.

“Where’s my ring?” You question, moving aside stacks of books and magazines atop the glass table. Minho sits up, glancing around too, searching desperately for the little piece of silver jewelry.

“Let’s stay calm,” Minho says as he stands up. “It has to be around here. When was the last time you saw it?”

“I can’t remember,” you say in a panicked tone, now scrambling to the kitchen and searching the marble counters.

“Okay,” Minho says calmly. “Was it- do you ever take it off to wash it?”

“I never take it off,” you reply. “I never take it off, why the fuck isn’t it on my finger?”

“Let’s stay calm,” Minho repeats. “It has to be in here-”

“Calm?” You finally retort, turning to face him with tears pricking your eyes. “You want me to stay calm? Jung’s going to kill me, do you know how fucking expensive that thing was?”

“Of course,” Minho says, buttoning up his shirt as he continues to search. “Which is why we’re going to find it.”

And you don’t reply for several moments, still frantically scanning the kitchen counters for any sign of your ring. But it’s a moot point, every napkin you unball containing nothing, nothing in the trash cans Minho searches through, even the dishwasher thoroughly searched, to no avail.

And you can’t help but to cry, tears falling nonstop from the corners of your eyes as you rush about the kitchen and think of every worst-case scenario. This is it. Confronting Jung about it means he’s going to know what’s been going on, chew you out about the cost of the ring and your carelessness toward it. And then call off the wedding, and every single one of your friends will know you’re a cheater and a liar.

“It’s not fucking here,” you cry out to Minho, halting your movements to bury your face in the palms of your hands, letting yourself emit muffled sobs into the sleeves of your sweater.

“It has to be,” Minho says, glancing once more around the room, and then approaching you to pull you in for a hug.

“Don’t,” you order, pushing him away from you, and Minho furrows his brows together. “Just don’t fucking touch me right now.”

Minho gives a breathy chuckle, thinking at first you might be joking, and then his expression softens as he realizes you’re being completely serious.

“What- seriously? That’s it?” Minho questions.

“What?” You say with a choked sob. “I can’t find my fucking engagement ring. The one I was given to get married, in case you forgot. Sorry I’m not in the mood.”

Minho scoffs lightly, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. And then he meets your gaze once more, a solemn expression on his face.

“What are we doing?”

“What?” You query in response.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Minho repeats. “What the fuck are you doing here if you’re getting married?”

You shrug frustratedly, wiping tears with the back of your hand and saying nothing in response.

“No, answer me,” Minho commands, his voice raising a little. “What are we doing, going behind his back like this? You come here almost every night spewing your bullshit about Shirakawa and suddenly it’s my fault that you can’t find your fucking engagement ring? I mean, who even cares?”

“Who cares?” You retort. “I do. I’m getting married-”

“Exactly,” he interrupts. “So then what the fuck are we doing? Go get married, for fuck’s sake. Will you just leave, for good then?”

“You want me to walk out of your life just because I’m getting married?”

“I want you to leave because I’m in love with you,” Minho says finally, and a deafening silence washes over you two.

For a moment, all that’s heard are your echoing sniffles and Minho’s heavy breathing, as he struggles to find the words to continue.

“You really don’t see it in the way I look at you? You really haven’t realized I’m only okay being the other man because I’ll take any fucking version of you I can get at this point?”

Your gaze fixes on his, taking note of the way tears prick at the corners of his eyes, too.

“I’ve been in love with you for all these years,” Minho says, his voice coming out in a choked sob. “And what a waste, all these talks of Shirakawa when I’ve known all along it was always going to be him in the end.”

His words circle your mind with a sense of urgency, as you struggle to respond.

You have known it, maybe even reciprocating by this point, but knowing that you can’t, not when you’re getting married in mere weeks. You’re happy, and you’re safe here with Minho. But in terms of love, this isn’t permanent. It’s a fleeting thing, one that has to end like this as you approach the next chapter of the rest of your life.

And yet it hurts, like a knife pierced deep into an existing wound, like thick vines of ivy that caress your veins and pull tightly with every thought of it being Minho all this time, all these years.

“I love you,” Minho says almost sheepishly, throwing his hands at his sides in defeat. “I’ve always loved you. I love you in loud bars and over cheap bottles of wine. And I’m jealous- god, I’m jealous,” Minho admits in a choked sob. “And it’s killing me. I can’t do anything about it except watch you plan a life with somebody I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing was me instead.”

Your lips part to say something, but you can’t, simply wiping the tears that fall onto the sleeve of your sweater.

“I love you in the hands of another man and I’ll still love you if you choose him. But I can’t do it at this proximity to you anymore.”

“Minho, please-”

“There’s nothing else,” Minho says, gasping back his tears. “This is it for us.”

You watch as he exhales deeply, wiping his tears and gesturing back to the kitchen.

“Did you check the soap dish?” Minho then says in a quiet voice.

“What?”

“The soap dish,” he clarifies somberly. “For your ring.”

And Minho watches as your gaze falls to the stainless steel soap dish across the room, a bristle pad sponge occupying the rectangular dish, alongside the familiar glint of your silver engagement ring.

One you removed to ensure you didn’t lose it among the plate of pin bones from the cod you helped Minho prepare. And one you hadn’t even realized has been missing from your finger for several hours now.

Your gaze falls back to Minho’s before you retrieve the ring, and his eyes are swollen and mournful. There’s not a glint of hope present between you two- not in friendship, and certainly not in love.

And neither of you say another word as you pivot on your heel to collect the symbol of yours and Jung’s ode to permanence.

*

The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress is much itchier than you remembered it to be. It’s a simple white piece, long and cascading behind the heels you’ve chosen, a generous v-cut enhancing the curve of your breasts as you adjust the hem in the mirror.

“Is it more comfortable than your wedding dress?” One of the bridesmaids questions with a smile.

You shoot her a somber smile, nodding at her and fidgeting with the long sleeve of your dress.

“Yeah. It is.”

“It should be,” she responds kindly. “Remember, try not to step on the bottom or we’ll have to get it cleaned off before the real thing.”

You nod at her, checking your reflection once more in the full-length mirror across from you. You love the woman you embody- she looks elegant, and sure of herself and well on the path to a lifetime of stability and happiness.

And yet the girl inside of you can’t feel further from the perception.

You want nothing more than to climb out of the tight-fitting dress and leave all of this, damn this rehearsal dinner to hell and call off the wedding. But this is it- the final stretch. Guests at every corner assume their positions and practice where they’ll stand and how they’ll move about so elegantly as you say your vows.

Jung seems so sure of himself, adjusting the cuffs of his suit and shooting you a wink from across the room as you stare blankly. And you can’t reciprocate, still far too preoccupied with the events of last week to care about any of this. Minho sending you off, the ultimatum to choose between your fiancé and the best friend you’re in love with.

Of course you couldn’t choose Minho, whose role in most of this has been to help lessen your fears and prepare you for a lifetime of giving yourself to Jung. And yet somewhere along the way, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was even true, completely smitten with every part of him, too. The fact remains that you’re in love with him, and yet you’ve both been so magnificently cursed to keep it at a comfortable distance and pray that in some version of this story, it’s you guys in the end.

Your family saunters about the venue in their fancy dressed and suits, and your guests chat amongst themselves and sample the foods that have been laid out for them. And your mind circles with images of Minho, and Minho and more Minho. And what he would look like, instead of Jung, waiting at the end of the aisle for you with a toothy grin and tears in his eyes. The cheap wine you’d choose to cater, just a handful of guests the way you know he’d want it. And an innocent, undemanding love shared between the two of you, sealing your promise to each other with a tender kiss and his breathy laugh.

Yet the fantasy is fleeting, it’s rooted in the delusion of a cheater, in every sense of the word, and it would effectively ruin your life had it come to fruition.

“Which way do we go from here?” Jung questions loudly, and your head snaps up in his direction.

“From here you’ll go to the right, just past the foyer there,” a coordinator responds. “Make sure to smile when you’re walking down an aisle at any given point.”

Stupid. The whole thing feels stupid.

“Did you get that?” Jung questions, and you nod meekly.

“Sure.”

“Let’s take five,” a coordinator says, clasping her hands together.

Jung resumes a conversation with the groomsmen beside him, and your eyes fall to the vacant seat across the table, where Minho’s meant to be sitting. A small white folded card rests delicately on a white platter, his name scribbled in loopy cursive to reserve his spot.

Lee Minho.

And you read his name over a dozen times, replaying every last word of your conversation in your head and wondering what he’d do if he were here. Probably criticize the wine, or make faces at Jung’s phony speeches. And love you from afar, but with his entire heart, regardless.

“What do you think so far?” Jung leans in to whisper.

“Yeah,” you reply, nearly evading the question altogether.

Your eyes scan the room at the carefully placed decorations- rows of lantern lights, white tablecloths and organized dishes for the guests, tapered candles are lit at every table. And in the center, bushels of magenta flower arrangements in cylindrical glass vases.

Magenta.

Your eyes do a double take, carefully examining the color as you furrow your brows. Magenta. Neon, obnoxious shades of magenta at every table. Nothing within the realm of the baby pink you requested. Harsh on the eyes and contrasting repulsively against the rest of the decor.

“The flowers are magenta,” you say to Jung quietly.

“Hm?”

“The flowers,” you repeat. “Are magenta.”

“Yeah,” Jung says, audibly a little confused. “They’re nice, right?”

“I said pink,” you respond. “Baby pink. These aren’t pink.”

Jung furrows his brows together, and then he cocks his head at the floral displays set upon each table.

“You’re right,” he then replies. He snaps his fingers at a staff member, and then he gestures to the floral displays.

“These aren’t pink,” he says harshly. “She requested pink and not magenta. Could we get these swapped out, please?”

A coordinator jots something down in a small notepad, and then gives him an understanding nod.

“That’s what we’re paying you guys for, right?” Jung asks sarcastically. “Come on, don’t let us settle for magenta flowers.”

And when he turns back to you, his chuckles get quieter as he observes the displeased expression on your face.

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” You ask him quietly.

“What?”

“Why are you ordering them around like that? They’re just flowers.”

“What? But you just said-”

“You never make things feel like less of a big deal,” you say quietly, a little scoff escaping your lips as you speak.

“What are you talking about?”

“You just take something and run with it. You don’t make things feel like less of a problem than they are. You’re supposed to comfort me, or find the good in magenta flowers. Not yell at the service workers.”

Jung laughs nervously, taking your words for a joke at first, and other guests begin to stare across the table as they watch you rise from your seat.

“And why is the wine so fucking expensive?”

“Please, sit down,” Jung says nervously, waving the guests off as they shoot him concerned looks.

“No, I don’t want to.”

And as you search for the words to say, your heart beating erratically, you realize it’s exactly this that you’ve stopped yourself from doing all this time. Fighting back. Using your voice the way Jung so comfortably weaponizes his against you. Letting your emotions spill out from the years they’ve been bottled up inside of you, and finally coming to terms with the fact that this isn’t the life you want at all.

It’s Minho you love, it’s always been Minho and it’s always going to be Minho.

“I don’t want this,” you say to Jung, as you smooth down your dress and stand up.

“Please, sit,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” you say in a shaky voice. “You don’t fulfill me, you haven’t touched me in weeks, I don’t think you even know that I asked for baby pink flowers, because you’re too busy showing off to all the shitty people you call friends. I don’t think we have ever been friends.”

All of the guests keep their gazes on you, taken aback by your words, but you don’t care, continuing your rant while they watch in horror.

“I hate expensive wine,” you say to Jung. “I want to go on a honeymoon somewhere it snows. I want to watch comedy movies, and go camping and be so madly in love it hardly feels like it some days, because we’re also such good friends when we’re not completely infatuated with each other.”

Jung doesn’t say anything, glancing nervously around the table as the coordinators maintain their silence, too. Your chest rises and falls with gasped breaths as you try to hold back from crying in front of them. And then you shrug, before finishing your speech.

“At the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf,” you say in a shaky voice. “And there’s the man who guts a fish alongside me, mess and all.”

Jung frowns at your words, visible confusion painting his features.

“What?”

“I have to go,” you say to him, sparing him any sort of explanation.

The hem of your dress is balled into the palms of your hands and pulled up to give yourself room to walk, as you kick off your heels and begin to exit the venue. And before you do leave, you pivot around one last time, letting your gaze meet Jung’s visibly irate expression.

“Here,” you announce, pulling the silver band off your ring finger and setting it down on the tablecloth.

“If you’re going to make a big deal out of anything, at least let it be this.”

*

The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress isn’t made to run in. It’s much too long, the fabric bunches up at the sides and its bright white color begs to be kept indoors only. And yet you run- and you don’t stop, not even for a second, until the reception building is completely out of your sight, disappearing beyond the trees and the tall grasses that surround it.

Your bare feet scrape the squelching mud that surrounds the grassland after the recent rains, and overhead, the piercing blue sky and a harsh sun beams down over you in encouragement. And you normally hate blue skies and green grasses like this, always equating them to Jung’s stupid golf courses and the corporate events he’s dragged you to for years.

But today it serves as a sort of blessing, like the world is brighter, lighting your path and guiding you to the beacon that is Minho, and all his unconditional, unwavering love for you. Maybe it took you years to finally acquaint yourself with your emotions like this, and maybe you hadn’t even realized what true love was until Minho. And there’s the possibility, of course, that you’re also too late, and that Minho has already settled on the tragic fact that Jung would always remain a part of you.

And that’s true- he will maintain a role of permanence in your life. He was your first serious boyfriend throughout college, your first fiancé and your first true love before you understood it in a less superficial form. And yet he will also permanently remain the man whose life you walked out on, because he helped you realize he’s nothing near what actually fulfills you.

Once the paved roads are in view again, you waste no time waving down a taxi and uttering Minho’s address to the driver with such urgency. Your dress is caked in mud up to the ankles, and your hair is in complete disarray as you glance out the window at the rows of cars, all belonging to guests here for your dinner rehearsal. And you chuckle briefly, at the thought of them emptying the lot and walking out of your life forever.

Contrastly, Minho’s apartment is in complete disarray, too, as he hoists the last of his immediate belongings into a leather bound suitcase and latches it shut.

What a waste, he thinks to himself. What a waste to have spent so much time comfortably in love with the idea of a finite soulmate, and at such close proximity, too. You’re probably off at your rehearsal dinner, sampling finger foods and laughing at all of Jung’s surface-level conversation.

And he’ll never know you the way Minho knows you. He will never comprehend your fears, your reservations, all your little quirks and the things that make you tick. He’ll never fully understand the prospect of being so bound to somebody in both friendship and love that it’s almost indistinguishable what you are to each other. Perhaps that’s where you went wrong, too- because Minho knows it, that his role in your life has always been to love you, near, far and at every point in between. And yet you deem it just a fleeting thing, one implying an end.

There is no discernible point between the end of my friendship and my love for you, Minho wishes he could tell you. Just like the promise of my friendship to you, it’s a blossoming thing, this beautiful phenomenon. And we can run with it, or we can let it die like this- but it will always remain of permanence.

The chestnut suitcase is hoisted into the trunk of his car, also littered with boxes and duffel bags of his belongings. It’s a vulnerable feeling, to pack up and move on like this. Not forever- just for the duration of which you’ll be uttering your vows to Jung. He can’t bear to be in the same city as any of it, he refuses to let himself love at the proximity of you dolled up in a wedding dress, in the sacred environment of a church surrounded by your family. How could a higher power accept the felicitations of the same man who’s been fucking you behind the groom’s back? Within the four walls of which transforms hate to love, and sin to virtue?

What a waste, Minho concludes again. What a waste to have loved this deeply, and to pacify your fears only for another man to reap the benefits. Try as Jung might, he’ll never know you the way Minho does. And the vast trench that separates you from Jung, one which paints a clear divide of friendship and his superficial love for you- that will remain permanent, too.

As Minho starts up the engine, the last of his belongings all packed and ready to go, he glances around the neighborhood with a somber expression. The sun glares down on the empty concrete roads, birds circling the sky like there’s any reason to celebrate. Maybe they’re ravens, and maybe they circle in a mourning ritual. The only event fitting for an afternoon like this one, as Minho prepares to leave for his parents’ house- like the coward he knows he is.

His apartment grows smaller with every passing inch he drives down the concrete road, and a trembling hand reaches up to adjust his rear view mirror, letting out a deep exhale as he prepares to leave all this behind.

And as the faint outline of his apartment grows smaller, a white figure behind him grows bigger.

It starts as a fleeting blur, maybe a shadow, or perhaps the glint of the sunlight in his mirror. But as he quickens the push of his foot to the gas pedal, it grows faster, too, catching up to the drag of his car along the concrete and approaching him with such purpose.

An apparition of sorts, he thinks momentarily.

I’m fucking seeing things. I’ve officially lost it.

But as the frantic call of his name floats through the air and into the crack of his car window, his eyes widen, the lag of his brain finally reaching a halt as he slams on his brakes and throws open the door.

And in rushed motions, he’s climbing out to face you, doubled over as you catch your breath and hold a hand up in surrender.

“Stop!” You shout, waving your hands and motioning for him to cease his movements.

And Minho’s eyes don’t get any smaller, maintaining their shocked expression as he waits for you to speak.

Your white dress, tainted brown up to your knees in mud and grass. Even your face is muddy, streaks of it painting the otherwise stunning face of makeup you flaunt. And you speak in pleading gasps as you finally break the silence between the two of you.

“It’s you,” you say to Minho sheepishly.

“What are you-”

“It’s you, it’s always been you,” you breathe out. “I was so stupid, and I left as soon as I could comfortably come to terms with it. It’s you I love, Minho. Not Jung and not the idealized version of that life I created in my head. I can’t do any of this without you, and I can’t live the rest of my life without having said something. I love you- now, and in ten years time and I want to spend the rest of my life gutting fish alongside you- mess and all.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment- in fact, he wears a poker face as he watches you continue to catch your breath. And then he scoffs lightly as he shakes his head.

“You waited until the day of your wedding to say something?” Minho retorts frustratedly.

“Rehearsal dinner,” you correct him. “This is just a dinner dress.

“Regardless,” Minho says. “I mean, what are we doing? There’s another man waiting for you, and we’re here doing something we should’ve done years ago if it was meant to be in the slightest.”

You feel your heart drop at his words, confirming the theory you’d feared the most. Too late.

“Please,” you beg, and Minho shakes his head.

“We’re terrible people,” he then states, his voice trembling in the process. “Cheaters, and liars. And this is far too rooted in dishonesty and selfishness to be love.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you watch Minho scan your expression. And perhaps he’s right- but it can’t be anything except for love, not when it feels this right with him.

“Where are you going?” You ask Minho quietly, moving a strand of muddied hair out from your eyes.

“My parents’ place,” he replies.

And you give him a small nod, pivoting on your heel to walk out of his life, forever.

Except it’s the realization of this that causes you to turn back around-

There is no forever in the absence of Minho- not when he plays a role of permanence.

He will forever be the man you fell in love with, the man you’ve been in love with for years, one you risked your life to come find and one who’s defined the limitations of what it means to be a best friend and simultaneously a lover.

That will remain with you always, and near, far and everywhere in between, the love will exist the way it always has.

“Loving me was the most selfish thing you ever did,” you call out to Minho, and he turns back around to meet your gaze.

“And yet you did it anyway,” you continue. “You made love to me and you drank my fiancé’s wine and we’re in love so selfishly at this proximity to each other. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in love, and that I’m not going back to Jung. And leaving here- depriving yourself of the love you’ve wanted for so long, that’s also a selfish move. You can go as far as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that the love is still here between us.”

Minho’s lips part to say something, but he doesn’t, instead blinking nervously as he waits for you to finish.

“And at the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf, and there’s the man who teaches me how to gut a fish, mess and all,” you finally finish.

Minho stays silent, pondering your words, and scanning your expression.

And truth be told, he wants to take you in his arms and run, hearing the words he’s longed to hear all his life. But he stops himself, instead emitting a breathy chuckle from his lips and shaking his head.

“Well what do you propose?” He finally asks, cocking his head as he awaits your reply.

And his response is a weight off your shoulders, as you sigh deeply and shrug in his direction.

“I propose we let ourselves be selfish,” you say to him. “And we spend the rest of our lives seeking forgiveness together.”

Minho chuckles, taking careful note of the way your eyes sparkle as you approach him. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you so relaxed before, and certainly not so sure of yourself. You look like the woman he’s loved both near and far, exuding confidence and passion and unwavering comfort in your demeanor. His best friend and his lover, he thinks encouragingly, as he cups his hands around your cheeks and pulls you in for a tender kiss, one that confirms your proposal and implies all of this permanence.

The roads are still empty in the dull afternoon of the hour, Minho maneuvering the car with one hand as you sit beside him in the passenger seat, your hands intertwined over the center console as the harsh blue sky and bright hues of green grass melt into blurs of color beside you. And he speaks only of Shirakawa as he drives, promising you beautiful snowfalls and chilly walks along the lily ponds upon your arrival.

You can picture everything as the tales escape his lips, full of life as you imagine the brown farmhouses and green hills, where you and Minho promise to love selfishly under the prayer hand thatched roofs, the very place your forgiveness will coincide alongside the permanence.

And as he brings the back of your hand to his lips for a chaste kiss, he can feel the green vines of ivy loosen around his soul, but this time you feel it too, viridian leaves finally putting distance between your venules and their harsh grasp. And perhaps it wasn’t grieving all along, but love for you- love which you’re full of, too.

And the vines tangle themselves beautifully between your seated figures, blossoming flowers and color and placing life back into you both.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Minho can finally breathe.

[hypnagogics]

THE WAY YOU WRITE IS JUST SO YUMMM so yeah🧍🏻‍♀️can you write something about streamer ellie <33

☆: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. definitelyyyy hasn't been...months...anyway. positive this is one of the worse things i've written, but didn't wanna leave you hanging forever! ngl it's pretty filthy..heh.

◇: 18+ pretend those twitch guideline things don't exist. remote control vibrator use, orgasm denial, sub-ish!ellie?? plot twist at the end bc i think im so funny. 1.6k wc. don't mind the layout of this idk what else to do...

You watch your girlfriend stream her game from your fluffy and comfortable spot on your shared bed—you observe how focused she was on her screen, how her skilled fingers were flying across the keyboard and mouse. It would certainly be a shame to disturb her in such a high tension moment but you think it over, running your finger over the small buttons of the sleek little remote in your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, got 'em! Look at that guys, I fuckin’ aced that!" Ellie rejoices in her victory, and gleefully boasts to her viewers, adjusting her microphone closer and leaning back in her chair.

You're glad you were far off camera, her fans didn't even know she was in a relationship—Ellie made it clear she wanted you to be separate from her hobbies, not because she wanted to keep you a secret, but because she wanted to keep you safe. And you enjoyed watching her stream from the sidelines like this, you saw how her personality captivated viewers and how much fun she really was. But you also enjoyed messing with her on the occasion. Like today.

"Can I watch tonight's stream again?" You asked her eagerly. "Yeah, why not? I'll be doing some tournaments and stuff though, so no distractions." Oops. You bit back a laugh. Ellie immediately sussed out the mischievous look on your face and she sighed, expecting the worst.

Then you showed her the box you've been hiding, "Please let's try, I won't click it too much, I promise." She stared at you for a whole minute, maybe more, before sighing and reluctantly agreeing, rubbing her hands all over her face. "God, fine. Just 'cause I love you. Damn you're evil."

Fast forward to now—the device was snugly inserted inside her pretty pussy, tested out to prove it does in fact work, and works well at that.

So off Ellie went to play her game, getting so caught up in everything she seemingly forgot about the device entirely. In between games she was talking to the viewers, reading the chat and joking back and forth. You decided it was a good enough time to click it so you pressed the button, only for a miniscule zap.

She jerked in her seat, gasping, but quickly recovered with a strategic cough. "Phew sorry guys, something got caught in my throat." You saw a bright berry blush spread across her face, and the way she fought to turn and throw a glare at you. This was going to be fun.

"Alright, the next round’s gonna start, we gotta lock in! Hopefully nothing pops up and this goes smoothly. I can taste the win already.” She put a certain warning tone to her voice in the last part of her sentence, you knew it was meant for you, but were you going to listen? Absolutely not. "Oh yeah chat fun fact, this old area of the map was inspired by ancient ruins just of—ah!" As if her body had a mind of its own, she squirmed in her seat and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan when you hit it again, but this time you didn't turn it off right away. You kept it going for a few more seconds, to prolong the terribly delicious sensation.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and held her breath until you turned it off, mumbling to her viewers about "having hiccups". "The game is starting now, so we really gotta get serious." Her voice had an unsteadiness to it only you could hear, she was keeping her composure rather well so far. But likely wouldn't be able to keep up the act for much longer. Even she has her limits.

As her match went on, she got quiet when she was focused, mashing the keys with a speed fast as sound. Of course, you hit it again, just a short one, causing a choked "guh" to escape from her lips and she twitched when you did so, her facade starting to crack. The effort to keep her voice stable was showing, she was huffing and struggling to get her words out clearly, they were laced with obvious irritation.

"Fuck missed the shot, dammit. Yeah I don't know, somethings up today, sorry guys...off my game." You decided to be nice to her until the game ended, not pressing it further or adjusting the intensity. She played for a little while longer before losing the match, leaning forward on the desk with her face in her hands. This was the perfect moment, so you cranked it up, increased the intensity to maximum, and held the button for the longest time yet, making her whine—a low, drawn out sound she couldn't stifle this time.

You could hear lots of messages being sent, pings in rapid succession, they were probably clipping that moment. Perverts, you thought. 

Her chest was noticeably heaving up and down, her legs spread as she rocks her front against the chair, and she kept her head lowered until you decreased the intensity but didn't turn it all the way off. Her hands were shaking, and her face was a vibrant cherry red, the screen even reflected the sparkle of a couple tears in her eyes.

“What? Oh, I'm just so sad about the loss guys, we were so close—hnn- so…so closeahh—I mean, we should've gotten that…” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip and tapping her fingers on the desk’s wooden surface. “Y’know what, I'll be right back.” She paused the stream, made triple sure her camera and microphone were turned off, then whipped around in her chair to face you, glaring silver daggers your way.

You just giggled innocently and turned the device off again. “What the fuck is wrong with you, this shit is not- not light on you at all.” Her voice was breaking, her pretty features contorted in a beautifully needy expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes all watery. Nearly as wet as the mess in her pants. You feigned innocence and shrugged at her, “Well I didn't know it was that strong.” “You knew damn well.” She's fed up with your antics, but you have fun playing with her. She covers her face and leans back in the chair, the embarrassment in her voice the only thing you could hear, “Fuck you...turn it up again, wanna cum.”

You couldn't contain the laugh that burst forth from your chest, then said, “Only if you stream it.” The shock that flickered across her face was priceless, you wish you could have snapped a photo.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, nah forget it.”

“Hey, you gotta finish your stream either way, they're waiting. Would you wanna be so awful and deprive those darlings of your presence?”

You flash her a sugary smile, and she shoots you a murderous look again, before wordlessly scooting back to her setup, fanning herself briefly and readjusting her coppery hair.

Then she turns the stream back on. “Sorry guys, I had to get up for a second. Anyway, let's play one more game. I'm getting kinda tired today. Let's make this one count, lock in like never before.” She takes a deep breath, cracks her knuckles, and begins smacking away at the keyboard buttons. You're able to see the way she looks tense, on edge, anticipating your devilish interruption.

You debate whether you should torture her, but the answer quickly becomes clear. Click.

“Ah—fuck!” She sputters, and roughly slams her fist on the desk. The pleasure was hitting her with full force, she was in her own, lewd, world now. Her head is thrown back, back arched and hips stuttering, the release was about to sneak up on her.

You watch the scenario unfold, licking your lips and pressing your thighs together to deal with the pressure between them. Her unapologetic moans get louder, but for a second she snaps out of the trance to sit back upright, turn the stream off, before the peak hits her like a truck.

“Holy, fu—hah!!” With a squeal she cums, not caring about how fucking loud she was being, wanting to be selfishly absorbed in ecstasy.

She started to jolt around in her seat, the throes of overstimulation making her whimper like an animal in heat, it truly was a sight to behold. You wish you were in between her legs, lapping up her sweetness straight from the source, but in a way, just watching from the sidelines was satisfying enough. You'll clean her up afterward.

Finally you turned it off once and for all, and gazed at her, she was panting heavily, the post-orgasm glow making her rosy skin shimmer in the low light.

“Hmmm, thanks babe, that was so good…” She tried to talk, her head was in the clouds, but she looked at peace.

“You're a whore.” You chortled, and you two shared a laugh.

Although, a flurry of shrill sounds brought you both out of the fantasy. Ping, ping, ping.

Unfortunately she wasn't able to enjoy the aftermath of a mind-numbing session, because her eyes shot open and she began scrambling to find the source of the sound. Your stomach dropped as you watched her panic, her neuroticism infectious.

She looked at you, her eyes wider than saucers, nothing but fear in her voice, “I wasn't able to turn my mic off…”

What was she going to do now?

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading. asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @elliesapple

[princesssmars]

can you do submissive reader x vi

oh my god vi who just loves how submissive you are for her…nsfw.

it was the little things that tipped her off about the other side of you she’d yet to on see.

your relationship was new, only a few weeks since she’d asked you to officially become her girlfriend. the two of you still hadn’t had sex, only a few intense make outs that were promptly stopped when she notice your tense posture. she made sure you knew that she’d never push you to do anything you didn’t want to do.

but she had to admit that while being respectful she noticed things that made her eager to nudge you a bit. you were always a strong willed person who gave her a run for her money when it came to being stubborn, but behind closed doors she notice just how obedient you could be.

a lazy murmur of asking for a drink the next time you grabbed one was met with her hand filled with a glass of water before she could blink. a casual reminder not to forget your jacket in the morning and wrapping the fabric around your shoulders leads to a far off look in your eyes that she just can’t ignore.

your first time together she’s oh so sweet and gentle, asking repeatedly if you’re sure you want to go through with it while she’s leaving trails of kisses up and down your body. but she can see how your anxiety deflates, how pliant your body becomes as she moves and guides different parts of you to her will.

and then with a desperate voice you beg her, give her the permission to do whatever she wants with you, that you’re literally aching for it. and how could she say no to that?

she’s on cloud nine and she’s dragging you up with her as she manipulates your body using her hands and words. a simple command to take off your clothes and lay down for her has you laid out on the bed willing and waiting for her.

you follow her instructions so smoothly it almost seems like you were made to do it, made specially to be obedient to her. a weird thrill goes down her spine at the thought and the same happens to you when she voices it, giving you endless praise about how well you follow her instructions.

“cmon, do one more for me, okay?”

her eyes nearly roll back into her skull at the sound of your whine mixed with the sound of her fingers thrusting into your cunt, the squelching and sloshing after multiple orgasms she’s ripped out of you sending her brain into a frenzy.

“v-vi, please, violet, wan’ it, need you-“

she pushes her lips into yours to capture more of your moans while she groans into your mouth and speeds up her fingers, putting her all into giving you yet another orgasm. she feels your legs twitching against hers, your hands grasping and shaking against her back. right when she feels you about to trip over she pulls back and looks into your eyes to burn the look of you into her brain.

“cum for me, cum for me right now pretty girl,”

she barely finishes her sentence when your clamping down on her and moaning like she’s tearing your soul from your body. she has to muffle her own sounds against your neck when she realizes you’re squirting against her hand and soaking the bed underneath.

once you both catch your breaths she finally loves her body from slouching into yours to flopping onto the bed next to you. you gently kick her when she sticks the fingers that were inside you into her mouth with a comical groan, laughing as you fake being upset at her crudeness.

“gods, you’re such a pervert.”

“says the one whose shown me how obedient she is. you think if i ask to go again you’ll let me?”

“…for my own sanity i’m not going to answer that.”

vi chuckles. she can’t wait to see just how pliant for her she can make you.

[aceyalonso]

your brother won't like this - MAX VERSTAPPEN

pairing : max verstappen x norris!reader kinktober day 13 - deepthroating

summary : max can't seem to escape the norris' after that terrible race in Austria. The only difference? Y/n was actually worth Max's time (and stamina)

warnings/notes : story is set during the Austrian grand prix, swearing, drinking, smut, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!) choking, slight overstimulation, praise kink, degrading kink, name-calling, squirting, creampie, dirty talk

word count : 3.4k

a/n : god i love this trope

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist

After Lando and Max's disappointing crash in Austria, Max was fuming as he stormed into the hotel bar near the pool, his 5th-place finish feeling like a bitter defeat. As he approached the bar, he collided with someone, spilling his drink.

"Watch where you're going!" Max snapped, glaring at the person. But as he looked closer, his anger faded, replaced by surprise. Standing before him was a stunning young woman who looked remarkably like Lando.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there," she apologized, her voice soft and melodic. She bent down to help clean up the spilled drink, giving Max an eyeful of her ample cleavage straining against her low-cut dress.

"Let me buy you a drink," Y/n insisted, her dark eyes meeting Max's gaze. "I should have been paying more attention. Please, allow me to make it up to you."

She gestured to the bar stool beside her. "Have a seat and let me buy you a drink. It's the least I can do."

Max hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and sat down, intrigued by this mysterious woman who seemed so familiar. As she signaled the bartender, he couldn't help but admire her figure, her curves accentuated by dress that she wore.

"I'm Y/n, by the way," she introduced herself, extending her hand. "And you are?"

"Max," he replied, shaking her soft hand. "Nice to meet you, Y/n."

As the bartender brought over their drinks, Y/n leaned in closer, her perfume tantalizing his senses. "So, Max, what brings you here tonight?" she asked with a playful smile, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm.

He sighed and took a swig of his drink, the cool liquid soothing his throat. "Just a rough day at work, you know how it is. Some asshole really got under my skin today."

Y/n nodded sympathetically, her dark eyes filled with understanding. "I'm sorry to hear that. Work can be so stressful sometimes."

"What about you?" Max asked, curious about the beautiful stranger. "What brings you to Austria?"

"Oh, I'm just passing through," Y/n replied casually, sipping her own drink. "Visiting my brother actually. He's here for some kind of race or something."

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "Figures. Seems like everyone and their brother is in town for that damn race."

As they continued to chat, Max found himself drawn to Y/n's warm personality and easygoing nature. She had a way of putting him at ease, her laughter like music to his ears.

As the night wore on, Max and Y/n continued to drink and converse, their initial tension melting away into a comfortable camaraderie. The alcohol flowed freely, and soon they were laughing and joking like old friends.

Y/n regaled Max with tales of her travels, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she described the various places she'd been. Max, in turn, shared stories from his own life, the stresses of work momentarily forgotten in the company of this captivating woman.

Their knees brushed under the table, sending a jolt of electricity through Max's body. He glanced at Y/n, noticing the way her lips curved into a coy smile as she caught his gaze. The air between them crackled with a palpable tension, a mutual attraction that was becoming harder to ignore.

Y/n leaned in closer, her hand resting lightly on Max's thigh. "You know, Max," she purred, her voice low and seductive, "I've really enjoyed talking with you tonight."

Her fingers traced lazy circles on his leg, inching higher with each pass. Max swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he met her smoldering gaze.

"I've enjoyed it too," he managed to say, his voice rough with desire.

Y/n's hand slid further up his thigh, her touch bold and unapologetic. "Maybe we should take this somewhere more private," she suggested, her lips hovering mere inches from his. "Somewhere we can... get to know each other better."

Max's breath caught in his throat, his body responding eagerly to her advances. He nodded, his eyes dark with lust as he imagined all the delicious things they could do together.

Without another word, Y/n stood and took Max's hand, leading him away from the crowded bar.

As they waited for the elevator, Max's hands found their way to Y/n's waist, pulling her close against his body. She let out a soft moan as his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, his tongue tracing the delicate curve of her throat.

Y/n tilted her head back, giving Max better access to her neck as she pressed herself against him. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she lost herself in the sensation of his touch.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal an empty car. Max swept Y/n inside, his mouth never leaving her skin as he backed her against the wall, his body pinning hers in place.

The doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent to its destination. But Max and Y/n barely noticed, too consumed by their growing desire for one another. Max's hands roamed her curves, squeezing and caressing as Y/n arched into his touch, desperate for more.

The elevator reached their floor, the doors sliding open with a soft ding. Max and Y/n stumbled out, their lips locked in a passionate kiss as they made their way down the hallway to her room.

Max pushed Y/n against the wall as soon as they entered her hotel room, his lips trailing hot kisses along her shoulders. He tugged at the straps of her dress, letting them fall to the sides, exposing her smooth skin.

"You know, you never gave me your last name," he murmured between kisses, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. "It's not fair, since I gave you mine."

Y/n let out a breathy moan, arching into his touch as his hands explored her body. "Mmm, maybe I wanted to keep some mystery," she teased, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot against her skin. "Well, I think it's time you revealed all your secrets to me," he growled, his hands sliding under her dress to cup her ass.

She hesitates for a moment, moaning as his lips make contact with the skin on her neck. "Norris," she breathes out. "That's my last name."

As Max's lips trailed along Y/n's neck, leaving a path of hickeys in their wake, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "Norris... as in Lando Norris's sister?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Y/n's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and guilt flashing across her face. "You know my brother?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Max chuckled darkly, his hands gripping her hips possessively. "Know him? That asshole is the one who ruined my day," he growled, nipping at her sensitive skin. "But it looks like his sister might just make it all better."

Y/n let out a breathy moan, her head falling back as Max's lips and teeth worked their magic on her neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more of his touch.

Max led Y/n to the bed, sitting down on the edge and pulling her to kneel between his legs. He leaned back, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked down at her with a hungry gaze.

"I want you to make me feel better, Y/n," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I want you to show me just how sorry you are for your brother's behavior."

Y/n bit her lip, her eyes dark with desire as she looked up at him. Slowly, she reached for his belt, her fingers making quick work of the buckle. She tugged his pants and boxers down, freeing his hard, throbbing cock.

"I'm so sorry, Max," she purred, her hand wrapping around his shaft. "Let me make it up to you."

With that, she leaned forward, her tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. Max groaned, his head falling back as he savored the sensation of her warm, wet mouth on his most sensitive flesh.

Y/n released Max's cock from her lips, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to the tip. She placed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his shaft, her tongue swirling around the sensitive skin.

Max watched her through hooded eyes, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she worked her way down his length. Her hands gripped his thighs, her nails digging into his flesh as she took him deeper into her mouth.

"Fuck, Y/n," Max groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily as she deepthroated him. "Your mouth feels so fucking good."

Y/n hummed in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. She bobbed her head up and down, taking him to the back of her throat with each movement.

Y/n took Max deep into her throat, her nose pressing against his pelvis as she swallowed around his cock. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, coating his shaft in a glistening sheen.

Max's hands flew to her hair, gripping the silky strands as he guided her head, thrusting shallowly into her mouth. "That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take it all like a good girl."

She moaned around his cock, the sound muffled by his thick flesh. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as her tongue swirled around the sensitive head. Her hands slid up his thighs, fingers teasing the sensitive skin behind his balls.

Max looked down at Y/n, his eyes dark with lust as he watched her worship his cock. "Fuck, Norris," he growled, his grip on her hair tightening. "You look so pathetic like this, choking on my dick."

Y/n's eyes watered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gagged on his length. But she didn't pull away, instead doubling her efforts, determined to prove herself to him.

Max's hips rocked faster, fucking her face with abandon. "I bet your brother would be ashamed to see you like this," he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "His precious sister, nothing more than a slutty little cocksucker."

Max's eyes glinted with malicious glee as he continued to fuck Y/n's face, his grip on her hair unrelenting. "Keep this up, and maybe I'll let your brother win the damn championship," he sneered, his words laced with cruelty. "Wouldn't that be nice? To have your slutty little mouth wrapped around my cock, all for your brother's success?"

Y/n whimpered, the sound muffled by his thick shaft. Tears streamed down her face, her mascara running in dark rivulets. But she didn't resist, instead hollowing her cheeks and sucking harder, desperate to please him.

Max's hips snapped faster, his cock hitting the back of her throat with each brutal thrust. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good," he groaned, his head falling back in ecstasy. "I might just keep you as my personal little cocksucker."

His thrusts became more erratic, his balls tightening as he neared his climax. "I'm gonna cum down your throat," he warned, his voice strained with impending release. "And you're going to swallow every last drop like a good little slut."

Y/n moaned in response, the vibrations pushing Max over the edge. With a guttural groan, he exploded in her mouth, his hot seed filling her throat. Y/n swallowed greedily, her tongue lapping at his shaft to catch every last drop.

Y/n released Max's cock from her lips, a mixture of cum and saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed with a heady mix of submission and desire.

He grinned down at her, his spent cock still twitching with aftershocks of pleasure. "You did well, Norris," he praised, his thumb wiping away the stray drops of cum from her lips. "Maybe your brother will have a shot at that championship after all."

Max pulled Y/n to her feet, his hands roaming her curves possessively. "If you really want your brother to win though, you'll have to do more than just suck my dick," he growled, his eyes dark with lust.

He pushed her back onto the bed, crawling over her and pinning her wrists above her head. "I want this tight little pussy," he demanded, grinding his hardening cock against her clothed core. "I want to fuck you until you're screaming my name."

Y/n looked up at Max, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I don't care about my brother's career," she declared, her voice strong and unwavering. "He's his own person, and I'm mine. My pleasure is what matters to me right now, not his success on the track."

She bucked her hips against Max's, her core aching for his touch. "Fuck me because you want me, not because my brother pissed you off and you want payback," she demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Make me feel good, Max. Make me forget about everything except the feeling of your cock inside me."

Max captured Y/n's lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth to taste her. He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire as he ordered, "Take that dress off. I want to see every inch of your gorgeous body."

Y/n sat up, her hands trembling with anticipation as she reached for the zipper of her dress. She pulled it down slowly, revealing the creamy skin of her back inch by inch. The dress fell away, pooling at her feet and leaving her clad in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties.

Max's eyes roamed over Y/n's body, taking in the constellation of moles that dotted her skin. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to each one he encountered, his lips lingering on her sensitive flesh.

She shivered at the sensation, her body responding to his touch. She arched into him, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. "Max," she breathed, her voice heavy with desire. "Please, I need you."

Max stood up, his eyes hungrily devouring Y/n's exposed body. "Get on your hands and knees," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see all of you."

Y/n complied, positioning herself on the bed as instructed. Max stepped behind her, his hands gripping her ass and spreading her cheeks apart. He pulled her panties down, exposing her glistening pussy to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned, his fingers dipping between her folds to tease her entrance. "I can't wait to bury my cock in this tight little cunt."

He thrust into Y/n with a single, powerful stroke, his thick cock splitting her open. The combination of her wetness and the leftover saliva from her earlier ministrations served as a makeshift lube, allowing him to slide in deep.

Y/n let out a sharp cry, her body struggling to accommodate his impressive size. "Slow down," she pleaded, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. "You're so fucking big."

Max paused, giving Y/n a moment to adjust to his size. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he whispered in her ear. "Relax, baby," he cooed, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her hips. "I'll make you feel so good, I promise."

With that, he began to move, his hips rocking against her ass in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through Y/n's body, her walls clenching around his thick shaft.

Max picked up the pace, his hips slamming against Y/n's ass with bruising force. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard banging against the wall as he fucked her with wild abandon.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good," he grunted, his fingers digging into the meat of her hips. "So fucking tight and wet."

Y/n could only moan in response, her body rocked forward with each powerful thrust. "Yes, yes, fuck me harder," she cried out, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the sheets. "Ruin me with that big fucking cock."

Max obliged, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their moans and grunts of pleasure. Y/n's pussy clenched around him, her orgasm building with each stroke of his cock against her G-spot.

Y/n's moans grew louder, her curses echoing off the walls as Max pounded into her. He brought his hand down on her ass, the sharp slap of skin on skin punctuating his thrusts.

"Fuck, you're so loud," he growled, his voice strained with pleasure. "I can't have you alerting the whole hotel to what a dirty little slut you are."

With that, he wrapped a hand around her neck, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp for air. Y/n's moans turned to whimpers, her body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm as Max continued to fuck her through it.

Max's grip on Y/n's neck tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh as he growled, "Shut the fuck up, you dirty little slut."

Y/n whimpered, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. She tried to nod, but the lack of oxygen made it difficult. Her vision began to blur, the edges of her consciousness fading as Max continued to pound into her.

Just as she thought she might pass out, Max released his grip, allowing her to gasp for air. "Breathe," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "I'm not done with you yet."

Y/n gasped for air, her lungs burning as she struggled to fill them with much-needed oxygen. Her moans mixed with her ragged breaths, creating a symphony of pleasure and desperation.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, her body trembling as another orgasm crashed over her. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

Her words dissolved into a scream as she squirted all over Max's cock, her pussy clenching and fluttering around his thick shaft. The sensation pushed Max over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him like a freight train.

Max fucked Y/n through his orgasm, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside her. His cum flooded her pussy, so much that it began to leak out around his still-twitching cock.

Y/n whimpered, her body overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled so completely. She could feel Max's seed dripping down her thighs, marking her as his.

Max collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He nuzzled into her neck, pressing soft kisses to her sweat-slicked skin. "Fuck, that was intense," he murmured, his voice hoarse with satisfaction.

He noticed Y/n's labored breathing, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. He pulled back, his eyes searching her face for any signs of distress.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "Did I push you too far?"

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "No, I'm fine," she assured him, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "It was intense, but in the best possible way."

Y/n's body went limp, her thighs quivering as she collapsed onto the bed. She cursed under her breath, her words a jumbled mix of expletives and praise for the mind-blowing sex she had just experienced.

"Fuck, that was so good," she moaned, her hand reaching down to touch her sensitive, well-fucked pussy. "I can't believe how hard you made me cum."

Max laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he looked down at Y/n's trembling form. "I may have gotten a bit carried away," he admitted, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip. "Your brother really pissed me off today, and I guess I took it out on you."

She shivered at his touch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, if this is what happens when you're mad at him, maybe he should piss you off more often," she teased, her voice still hoarse from her earlier cries of pleasure.

Max chuckled, his hand sliding up Y/n's side to cup her breast. "Careful what you wish for," he warned, his thumb brushing over her nipple. "I might just have to find more reasons to get angry with your brother."

Y/n arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips, "As long as it means I get to feel this good, I think I can live with that."

taglist

for all posts; @nepobbylver @wobblymug @xoscar03 @irishmanwhore @nitiii

kinktober masterlist; @cloud-55 @emryb @sie17136 @jaimeleannavanlloman @wosof1 @wholetmewritethat @glitterbitch1 @under-seasoned-pasta @sinners-98-world @lewishamiltonismybf

[buckyalpine]

18+ af, minors dni. Dub con elements, please ignore if it's not your thing. Back at it with a dark Bucky who has the biggest corruption kink and loves to manipulate the sweet doll across the hall who makes him have the most unholy thoughts. He can't help how badly he craves for her to take care of him, comfort him, all while he pretends he has no idea what's happening with his body after all the abuse from Hydra. His mind is too fried. He's just too innocent with so many big feelings. So many big, thick, achy, leaky feelings-

Oop-

It started off with small things. Patching him up after a rough mission. Making him dinner. Feeding him. Falling asleep in her lap. Seeking her out when he has bad dreams. Calling her mommy when he was especially needy and just wanted to be held. Feel extra close. Around her, he's just a clingy little baby Bucky who loves to nurse from his pretty mommy for comfort.

It's all perfectly innocent. Sometimes after a nightmare. Sometimes before bed. Her nipples are so warm against his tongue, his pink lips sealed around every bit of her peaked bud. Who was she to deny him with the way he cuddled his face into her chest with the quietest "Mommy, please?"

Of course she lets him take her top off, it's nothing sexual, purely to comfort him, his gentle gurgles quickly turning into soft snores within minutes.

She'd always take care of him.

Like now when you were watching tv, lounging in a loose tank top. He splays himself across your lap and you idly play with his hair while he gets comfy, only wearing his boxers. He’s so cute and precious, reaching up to latch onto your breasts, tugging at your top so you'd take it off. He nuzzles his face in, struggling to maintain his facade of just needing to be held, no longer able to ignore the way his cock needed attention too.

You're so used to letting him take what he needs, you don't notice his extra squirming, still focused on your show until he takes your hand to show you where he actually needs you.

"Mommy, it’s hard" he whines while your eyes grow wide. It's always fuckin' hard around you, pretty girl.

He’d never done that before, spreading his thighs further so you could see where he needed you most, blinking up at you innocently while his thick cock pressed against the fabric, rubbing your hand over his bulge.

"B-Baby?"

"Mommy, help" he continues to pout before going back to sucking while shoving your hand down his boxers to his achy erection. You feel your heart beat out of your chest with your hand now wrapped around his velvety shaft, absolutely torn over what to do. It wasn't his fault his body was reacting this way. He was asking the one person he felt safe around to take care of him. He obviously didn't know any better.

God, you felt awful over how frustrated he would have felt not knowing who else to turn to when he was in such a cloudy headspace. You stay frozen until he puts his hand over yours, showing you how to touch him, stroking up and down with just the right pressure.

"S-sometimes I do this by myself" He moans between tugging your nipples between his lips, lifting his hips up to take off his briefs. His balls are heavy between his thighs, full and aching after waiting months for this very moment. "It feels good, is it bad?"

"No sweet boy, it's normal" You coo, giving him exactly what he wants while his body runs hot, his hips rutting up to chase more of your soft hand, "I got you, don't worry, relax Jamie" You pet his hair while stroking his cock, his mouth working between your breasts, lost in his own world. Even now, he looked so innocent, a deep blush on his cheeks while you made him feel good, it was going to take years to help him remember-

"It feels good here mommy" He wraps your hand around his dripping, swollen head, his hips pushing up, eyes nearly rolling back at the way his cock feels in your hand. He knows he's gonna blow-

"R-right there, m'gonna-make a mess" He moans between a shy pout and of course you reassure him you'll clean him right up because he's doing nothing wrong and all of this was perfectly natural. His body was responding to touch exactly the way it had to, he was safe with you-

"MMPHHHH" He cries out as the first stream shoots out, load after load still pouring out of his stiff cock. You wipe him down and he spends the rest of the night cuddled up with soft blankets, hiding his smirk with his face tucked into your neck while you rub his back.

I could stop here but just imagine what happens when he decides to get more bold.

"Do you ever feel like this?" He asks innocently and you nearly squeak in surprise. He waits intently for an answer and you pause before answering, carefully considering your words.

"Um, sometimes baby"

Liar, he thinks. I hear you pretty girl, always playing with that pretty pussy thinking I can't hear you.

"Can I help you?" You swear his voice drops an octave and so does your stomach. It felt so fucking wrong, why were you responding to him like this, he wasn't thinking clearly and you were getting turned on-"Like how you helped me?"

"No! No Jamie, you-you don't have to"

Oh, but he wants to because you're so good to him and it's not fair he doesn't help you too. That's how he manages to get you naked and spread out on his bed, shoving his cock in your pussy.

"M'I doing it right?" He still looks at you with the sweetest lost expression but you can't help but notice there's something darker in his eyes. His whines melt into groans, his pace growing faster. "M'so hard mommy"

"J-Jamie, I-" You're so confused over what to do, moans escaping your lips, your pussy swallowing his cock back in each time he thrusts.

"Tell me to stop mommy" You swear you hear a smirk in his voice, his movements suddenly more calculated, his hips perfectly rolling to hit that spot your fingers can never reach, "Tell Jamie to stop"

"St-Jamie, oh God" You pant, your orgasm barreling towards you and you want to scream stop because something is off but his hands snake between your bodies and he finds your clit- "Please!"

"M'gonna think about this when I touch myself, mommy" He rubs you faster, needing you to cum instead of worrying your pretty head, "Can I? Can I think of you when I make a mess? M'gonna make one now, I-

He couldn't wait for you to tell him why your belly would be getting bigger and bigger over the next few months.

Lord I'm sorry.

[bratzkoo]

diet pepsi | seungcheol

Author: bratzkoo | beta read by: @spnyin Pairing: F1 driver! seungcheol x model ! reader Genre: fluff, smut Rating: NC-17 Word count: 8.7k Warnings/note: inspired by addison rae's diet pepsi. who here is a slut for seungcheol? 🙌 CAUSE I AM. sexual content. car sex, public sex, kitchen sex, just... they're horny. minors please for the love of God, I have a lot of sfw fics... read those not this.

summary: seungcheol just wants every excuse to have sex with his girlfriend, let him be.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The screech of tires against asphalt filled the air as Seungcheol Choi crossed the finish line, clinching yet another pole position. The crowd's roar was deafening, but inside his helmet, Seungcheol heard only the pounding of his own heart and the steady rhythm of his breath. As he pulled into the pit lane, a sea of red-clad mechanics swarmed his car, their excitement palpable.

Climbing out of the cockpit, Seungcheol removed his helmet, revealing a shock of tousled dark hair and a face flushed with exertion and triumph. Cameras flashed from every direction, capturing the moment for millions of fans worldwide. Seungcheol's eyes, however, scanned the crowd for one face in particular.

There she was. Y/N stood at the edge of the paddock, her platinum blonde hair catching the sunlight, emerald eyes locked on him. To the world, she was just another beautiful face in the crowd, perhaps a fan or a pampered guest. But Seungcheol knew better. The slight quirk of her lips, the intensity of her gaze – these were for him alone.

As he made his way through the throng of reporters and well-wishers, Seungcheol maintained his media-trained smile, answering questions with practiced ease. "Yes, the car felt great out there. The team has done an amazing job." "No, I'm not thinking about the championship yet. We're taking it one race at a time." All the while, he was hyper-aware of Y/N's presence, like a magnetic pull on his senses.

Finally breaking free from the press, Seungcheol headed towards his private trailer. As he passed Y/N, their eyes met for a brief, electric moment. No words were exchanged, but the message was clear: Meet me later.

Inside the trailer, Seungcheol peeled off his racing suit, the cool air a relief against his skin. As he stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away the sweat and tension of the race, his mind wandered to Y/N. A year together, and still, every moment felt as thrilling as the first.

He remembered their first meeting, at a charity gala nearly fourteen months ago. Y/N had been the face of the event, her billboard-sized image greeting guests as they arrived. In person, she had been even more stunning – all graceful curves and sharp wit. Seungcheol, usually so confident on the track, had fumbled his words like a teenager.

A smile played on his lips as he recalled how Y/N had teased him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I hope you drive better than you flirt," she had quipped, before slipping him her number on a cocktail napkin.

Their relationship had ignited quickly, burning hot and bright. But with their rising stars came increasing scrutiny, and they had made the difficult decision to keep their love under wraps. For a year now, they had been living a double life – stealing moments whenever they could, always looking over their shoulders.

Seungcheol stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. His phone buzzed with a message from Y/N: "Usual spot. One hour."

An hour later, Seungcheol guided his sleek black sports car up the winding road to their favorite overlook. The city sprawled below, a glittering carpet of lights in the gathering dusk. Y/N's car was already there, and as he pulled up beside it, she stepped out, taking his breath away.

Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the deep green dress that hugged her curves. As she walked towards him, Seungcheol was struck anew by her grace, the way she moved like liquid silk.

"Congratulations, hot shot," Y/N purred as she slid into the passenger seat of Seungcheol's car. "You were incredible out there today."

Seungcheol's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining over the gear shift. "Having you there makes me want to push even harder," he admitted, bringing her hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

Y/N's other hand came up to caress his cheek, her touch igniting sparks under his skin. "Seeing you race... it does things to me," she murmured, her voice low and husky.

Their lips met in a searing kiss, a year's worth of pent-up passion and stolen moments pouring out. Y/N's fingers threaded through Seungcheol's hair, still damp from his shower, as his hands roamed her back, pulling her closer.

With practiced ease, Y/N maneuvered herself onto Seungcheol's lap, the gear shift digging into her thigh. Neither of them cared. All that mattered was the heat between them, the taste of victory on Seungcheol's lips, the soft sighs escaping Y/N's throat.

Seungcheol's lips traveled down Y/N's neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "God, I've missed you," he breathed against her skin. "These past weeks, barely seeing each other..."

Y/N arched into him, her body responding to his every touch. "I know," she gasped as his hands slipped under her dress. "But we're here now."

They moved together with the familiarity of long-time lovers, yet each touch still sent electricity coursing through their bodies. The windows of the car slowly fogged up, creating a cocoon that shut out the world beyond.

Afterward, they sat entwined, Y/N's head resting on Seungcheol's chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to its normal rhythm. The city lights twinkled below them, a reminder of the world they'd have to return to soon.

"I have news," Y/N said softly, tracing patterns on Seungcheol's arm. "That luxury car brand I've been in talks with? They want to do a joint campaign. With an F1 driver."

Seungcheol tensed slightly beneath her. "Let me guess. They want me?"

Y/N nodded, sitting up to look into his eyes. "It could be huge for both of us. But..."

"But it would mean going public," Seungcheol finished for her. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's been a year, Y/N. Maybe it's time."

Y/N searched Seungcheol's face, her brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure? Your sponsors, my agency... they've all been so insistent about projecting the right image."

Seungcheol cupped Y/N's face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "The right image is us, together. I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you.”

Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Seungcheol's lips. 

As they drove back to the city, hands intertwined over the gear shift, both Seungcheol and Y/N knew they were accelerating towards a new chapter in their lives. The race to balance their love, careers, and the impending spotlight was on, and neither of them was prepared for the twists and turns that lay ahead.

The next morning found Seungcheol in a strategy meeting with his team. As his race engineer droned on about tire degradation and fuel management, Seungcheol's mind wandered to Y/N. He wondered what she was doing, if she was thinking of him too.

His reverie was interrupted by his team principal, Jeonghan, clearing his throat pointedly. "Seungcheol? Did you hear what I said?"

Seungcheol blinked, forcing himself to focus. "Sorry, Jeonghan. Could you repeat that?"

Jeonghan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he continued, "I said, we've been approached by Luxe Motors for a potential sponsorship deal. They want to do a campaign featuring you and some model." He waved his hand dismissively. "Could be good exposure, but we need to make sure it doesn't interfere with your training schedule."

Seungcheol's heart raced. This was it – the campaign Y/N had mentioned. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "Actually, Jeonghan, there's something I need to tell you all."

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Seungcheol. He could feel the weight of their expectations, the pressure of the carefully crafted image they had built around him. But as he thought of Y/N, of the love they shared, he knew it was time.

"The model they want for the campaign... her name is Y/N. And we've been in a relationship for the past year."

The silence that followed was deafening. Jeonghan's face turned an alarming shade of red, while his PR manager, Ela, looked like she might faint. It was his mechanic, Dino, who broke the tension with a low whistle.

"Damn, boss. You've been holding out on us!"

What followed was a whirlwind of questions, accusations, and hurried strategizing. By the time Seungcheol left the meeting, his head was spinning. He needed to see Y/N, to hold her, to reassure himself that they were making the right decision.

He found her at their favorite café, tucked away in a corner booth. As soon as she saw him, Y/N's face lit up, then quickly fell as she registered his expression.

"What happened?" she asked as he slid into the seat across from her.

Seungcheol reached for her hand, needing the anchor of her touch. "I told them," he said simply. "About us, about the campaign... everything."

Y/N's eyes widened. "How did they take it?"

"About as well as we expected," Seungcheol sighed. "Jeonghan's worried about the sponsors, Ela's already drafting press releases... it's chaos."

Y/N squeezed his hand. "My agent wasn't much better. He thinks it could either make or break my career."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their decision settling over them. Then, almost simultaneously, they began to laugh. It started as a chuckle, then grew until they were both shaking with mirth, drawing curious glances from other patrons.

"God, we're a mess, aren't we?" Y/N gasped between giggles.

Seungcheol grinned, feeling lighter than he had in months. "Yeah, but we're a mess together."

As their laughter subsided, Seungcheol was struck by how beautiful Y/N looked, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with mirth. Without thinking, he leaned across the table and kissed her, right there in the middle of the café.

Y/N froze for a moment, then melted into the kiss. When they parted, she looked around, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness on her face. "Seungcheol! Someone could have seen..."

"Let them see," he said, surprising himself with his boldness. "I'm done hiding, Y/N. I love you, and I want the whole world to know it."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "I love you too," she whispered.

They left the café hand in hand, no longer caring who might see them. As they walked through the city streets, Seungcheol felt a sense of freedom he hadn't experienced in years. He pulled Y/N close, kissing her temple.

"Come on," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I have an idea."

Twenty minutes later, they were back in Seungcheol's car, this time parked in the private garage of his apartment building. The space was dimly lit, the concrete walls amplifying every small sound.

"Seungcheol," Y/N breathed as he trailed kisses down her neck. "Are you sure about this? Anyone could walk in..."

He pulled back, looking into her eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

Y/N bit her lip, desire warring with caution in her expression. Then, with a small shake of her head, she pulled him back to her. "No," she whispered against his lips. "Don't you dare stop."

Their kisses grew more heated, hands roaming with increasing urgency. Y/N's shirt found its way to the floor, followed quickly by Seungcheol's. The leather seats creaked as they moved together, the car rocking slightly with their movements.

Every sound seemed amplified in the quiet garage – their ragged breathing, the soft moans that escaped Y/N's lips as Seungcheol's hands explored her body, the rustle of clothing being hastily removed.

When they finally came together, it was with a passion born of their newfound freedom. Gone was the need for silence, for restraint. Y/N cried out Seungcheol's name, her nails raking down his back. Seungcheol groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

They moved together, lost in the sensation, the thrill of potentially being caught only adding to their excitement. The world outside ceased to exist – there was only this moment, only them.

As they reached their peak together, Y/N's back arched, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Seungcheol held her close, his entire body shuddering with the intensity of his release.

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Seungcheol pressed soft kisses to Y/N's shoulder, her neck, her cheek.

"I love you," he murmured against her skin. "Whatever happens next, I love you forever."

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his hair. "I love you forever," she replied.

As they dressed and made their way up to Seungcheol's apartment, both of them knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges. There would be press conferences to face, contracts to negotiate, a gauntlet of public opinion to run.

But for now, as they curled up together on Seungcheol's couch, they were content. They had each other, and they were finally free to show the world their love. Whatever storms lay ahead, they would weather them side by side.

Seungcheol pulled Y/N closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. As sleep began to claim them both, he couldn't help but smile. 

-

The harsh glare of camera flashes assaulted Seungcheol's eyes as he stepped out of his car, his hand firmly clasped around Y/N's. The clamor of reporters shouting questions created a cacophony that threatened to overwhelm them both.

"Seungcheol! How long have you been dating?"

"Y/N! Will this affect your upcoming campaigns?"

"Is this a publicity stunt for Luxe Motors?"

Seungcheol felt Y/N's hand tighten around his, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. They had prepared for this moment, spent hours with their respective PR teams crafting responses and practicing their delivery. But nothing could have truly prepared them for the reality of facing the media storm head-on.

With a deep breath, Seungcheol raised his free hand, and the crowd quieted marginally. "Thank you all for coming," he began, his voice steady despite the nerves roiling in his stomach. "Y/N and I have decided to make our relationship public because we believe in honesty and transparency, both with our fans and with each other."

Y/N stepped forward, her emerald eyes sparkling with determination. "We've been together for a year," she added, her voice clear and confident. "We kept our relationship private initially to focus on our careers, but we now feel ready to share this part of our lives with you all."

As they fielded questions, Seungcheol marveled at Y/N's poise. She handled even the most probing inquiries with grace, her responses thoughtful and measured. When a particularly aggressive reporter asked if she was using Seungcheol for publicity, Y/N's eyes flashed dangerously.

"I've worked hard to build my career on my own merits," she said, her tone icy. "My relationship with Seungcheol is personal, not professional. We support each other's dreams, but we do not define ourselves by each other's success."

Seungcheol felt a surge of pride and love for her in that moment. As the press conference wound down, he couldn't resist pulling her close and placing a soft kiss on her temple, eliciting a fresh round of camera flashes.

Later, as they collapsed onto the couch in Seungcheol's apartment, the adrenaline of the day finally wearing off, Y/N let out a long sigh. "Well, that was intense," she said, kicking off her heels.

Seungcheol pulled her into his arms, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume. "You were amazing out there," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so proud of you."

Y/N tilted her head up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh yeah? How proud?"

Seungcheol grinned, recognizing the invitation in her tone. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Y/N responded eagerly, her hands sliding under his shirt, tracing the contours of his abs.

As things heated up, Seungcheol suddenly pulled back, a playful smirk on his face. "You know," he said, his voice husky, "now that we're public, we don't have to hide anymore. How about we give the paparazzi something to really talk about?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"

Seungcheol stood, pulling Y/N up with him. "Trust me," he said, leading her towards the balcony of his penthouse apartment.

The night air was cool on their skin as they stepped outside. The city sprawled before them, a tapestry of lights and shadows. Seungcheol pulled Y/N close, his hands settling on her hips.

"Seungcheol," Y/N gasped, a mix of excitement and nervousness in her voice. "Someone could see us out here."

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Let them see," he whispered. "I want the whole world to know how much I love you."

Their lips met in a searing kiss, hands roaming with newfound freedom. Seungcheol lifted Y/N onto the wide balustrade, her legs wrapping around his waist. The thrill of potentially being seen only added to their passion.

Y/N's fingers tangled in Seungcheol's hair, tugging gently in the way she knew drove him wild. He groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding under her blouse to caress the soft skin of her back. With deft movements, he unhooked her bra, breaking their kiss to trail his lips down her neck.

"Wait," Y/N panted, pushing him back slightly. Seungcheol froze, concern flooding his features.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, searching her face.

Y/N smiled, touching his cheek tenderly. "Everything's perfect. I just... I want to savor this moment."

She slid off the balustrade, taking Seungcheol's hand and leading him to the plush outdoor sofa. With deliberate slowness, she began to undress him, her eyes never leaving his. Seungcheol watched her, mesmerized by the play of emotions across her face – love, desire, and a vulnerability she rarely showed the world.

As she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, her fingers traced the scar on his collarbone, a remnant from a long-ago racing accident. "I was so scared when this happened," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the mark. "I realized then how much you meant to me."

Seungcheol's heart swelled with emotion. He cupped Y/N's face in his hands, pouring all his love into a tender kiss. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered against her lips. "Better than any pole position, any victory."

Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She pushed him gently onto the sofa, straddling his lap. As she sank down onto him, they both gasped at the sensation. They moved together slowly, savoring every touch, every sensation.

The city lights twinkled below them, but neither Seungcheol nor Y/N noticed. Their world had narrowed to just this moment, just the two of them. Y/N's head fell back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and Seungcheol couldn't resist leaning in to place open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

"I love you," Y/N breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much."

Seungcheol's arms tightened around her, pulling her impossibly closer. "I love you too," he murmured against her skin. "More than I ever thought possible."

As their passion built, their movements became more urgent. Y/N's nails raked down Seungcheol's back, leaving marks that would linger for days. Seungcheol's hands gripped Y/N's hips, guiding her movements.

When they reached their peak, it was with a shared cry of ecstasy that echoed into the night. They clung to each other, trembling with the intensity of their release.

Afterward, they lay tangled together on the plush outdoor sofa, a blanket draped haphazardly over them. Y/N traced lazy patterns on Seungcheol's chest, her head tucked under his chin.

"Do you think anyone saw us?" she asked, a hint of worry creeping into her voice.

Seungcheol chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "If they did, I hope they enjoyed the show."

Y/N swatted his chest playfully, but she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You're terrible," she said, but her tone was full of affection.

As they basked in the afterglow, Seungcheol's phone buzzed insistently. With a groan, he reached for it, squinting at the bright screen.

"It's Jeonghan," he said, sitting up. "He wants us at the Luxe Motors headquarters first thing tomorrow morning. Apparently, they're thrilled with the publicity we're generating and want to fast-track the campaign."

Y/N nodded, her expression turning serious. "My agent called earlier. He said the response has been mostly positive, but there are some... less savory rumors starting to circulate."

Seungcheol frowned, pulling Y/N closer. "What kind of rumors?"

She sighed, burying her face in his chest. "The usual trash. That I'm a gold digger, that you're my ticket to the big leagues. Some are even saying this is all a publicity stunt for both our careers."

Anger flared in Seungcheol's chest. "We'll shut them down," he said firmly. "We'll show them how real this is."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Promise me we won't let this change us," she whispered. "Promise me that no matter what happens, it'll always be you and me against the world."

Seungcheol cupped her face in his hands, pouring all his love and conviction into his gaze. "I promise," he said solemnly. "You and me, always."

-

The sleek, modern headquarters of Luxe Motors loomed before Seungcheol and Y/N as they stepped out of their car. Paparazzi immediately swarmed, cameras flashing incessantly. Seungcheol instinctively moved closer to Y/N, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back as they navigated through the crowd.

"Mr. Choi! Ms. Y/N! Over here!"

"How will this relationship affect your careers?"

"Y/N, are you worried about being overshadowed by Seungcheol's fame?"

Y/N tensed at the last question, but maintained her composure, offering a polite smile to the reporters as Seungcheol guided her into the building.

Once inside, Y/N let out a shaky breath. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she admitted, smoothing down her designer dress.

Seungcheol squeezed her hand reassuringly. "You're doing great. Remember, we're in this together."

A tall, impeccably dressed woman approached them, her stilettos clicking against the marble floor. "Mr. Choi, Ms. Y/N, welcome to Luxe Motors. I'm Olivia Chen, head of marketing. We're thrilled to have you both here."

As they followed Olivia to the conference room, Seungcheol couldn't help but notice the curious glances and hushed whispers from the employees they passed. Their relationship was clearly the hot topic of discussion.

The meeting room was already occupied when they entered. Jeonghan, Seungcheol's team principal, was engaged in what looked like a heated discussion with a distinguished-looking man in an expensive suit.

"Ah, here they are now," the man said, turning to greet them with a wide smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Seungcheol, Y/N, I'm Robert Kensington, CEO of Luxe Motors. We're excited about the possibilities this partnership could bring."

As they took their seats, Robert launched into an enthusiastic pitch about the campaign. "We're thinking of a series of ads that showcase both the speed and elegance of our vehicles. Seungcheol, you'll represent the power and precision of our sports models. Y/N, you'll embody the sophistication and luxury of our high-end line."

Y/N nodded, her face a mask of professional interest, but Seungcheol could see the slight furrow in her brow. He knew that look – she wasn't entirely comfortable with something.

"We've also had some... interesting ideas about how to capitalize on your relationship," Robert continued, his tone becoming more cautious. "We were thinking of a tagline: 'The Perfect Match – On and Off the Track.'"

Seungcheol felt Y/N stiffen beside him. Before he could speak, she leaned forward, her voice cool and controlled. "Mr. Kensington, while we appreciate your enthusiasm, I hope you understand that our relationship isn't a marketing tool. We're here as individual professionals, not as a... a product to be sold."

Robert's smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Of course, of course. We completely respect your privacy. Perhaps we could discuss some alternative approaches..."

The meeting dragged on for hours, a complex dance of negotiations and compromises. By the time they emerged, Seungcheol felt drained, as if he'd just completed a grueling race.

"Well, that was intense," he said as they made their way to the parking lot. "You were amazing in there, by the way. The way you stood up to Kensington..."

Y/N's smile was tight. "Thanks. I just... I don't want us to become some kind of circus act, you know? I want to be taken seriously for my work, not just as your girlfriend."

Seungcheol pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know, love. We'll make sure that doesn't happen."

As they approached their car, a young woman suddenly darted in front of them, her phone held out. "Oh my god, it's really you! Can I get a selfie?"

Before either of them could respond, she wedged herself between them, snapping several pictures in quick succession. "This is so cool! My followers are going to freak out!"

The encounter left them both feeling unsettled. As Seungcheol drove them home, Y/N was uncharacteristically quiet, staring out the window with a pensive expression.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Seungcheol asked, reaching over to take her hand.

Y/N sighed, turning to face him. "I'm just... I'm worried, Cheol. About us, about our careers. What if this whole thing blows up in our faces?"

Seungcheol pulled the car over, giving Y/N his full attention. "Hey, look at me," he said gently, cupping her face in his hands. "We knew this wouldn't be easy. But we're stronger together, remember? Whatever comes, we'll face it as a team."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opened them, there was a newfound determination in her gaze. "You're right. We've got this."

As they leaned in for a kiss, neither of them noticed the lone paparazzo hiding in the bushes, his camera capturing every intimate moment.

The next morning, Seungcheol woke to the insistent buzzing of his phone. Groggily, he reached for it, careful not to wake Y/N who was still sleeping peacefully beside him.

His blood ran cold as he saw the barrage of messages and missed calls. There, plastered across every sports and gossip site, was a photo of him and Y/N in what should have been a private moment. The headlines screamed:

"SEUNGCHEOL AND Y/N: TROUBLE IN PARADISE?"

"RACING CHAMP AND MODEL GIRLFRIEND: SECRET ROADSIDE RENDEZVOUS"

"IS THE PRESSURE ALREADY TOO MUCH FOR F1'S NEW IT COUPLE?"

As Y/N stirred beside him, Seungcheol felt a surge of protectiveness. He knew the road ahead would be challenging, but he was determined to shield their love from the prying eyes of the world. Little did he know, this was just the beginning of the obstacles they would face.

Seungcheol took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come. As Y/N's eyes fluttered open, he forced a smile. "Morning, beautiful. We need to talk..."

-

Seungcheol watched anxiously as Y/N's eyes scanned the headlines on his phone, her expression morphing from confusion to shock, and finally settling into a mask of cold anger.

"How dare they?" she hissed, her knuckles white as she gripped the phone. "That was a private moment. How could they twist it like this?"

Seungcheol pulled her into his arms, feeling her tremble with a mix of rage and hurt. "I'm so sorry, love. I should have been more careful. I should have—"

Y/N cut him off, pulling back to look him in the eye. "No, Cheol. This isn't your fault. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We're adults in a committed relationship. They're the ones who should be ashamed, invading our privacy like this."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and love for Y/N's strength. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You're right. So, what do we do now?"

Before Y/N could respond, both their phones began buzzing incessantly. Their respective agents, PR teams, and sponsors were all clamoring for statements and damage control strategies.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her tousled hair. "I guess we face the music."

The next few hours were a whirlwind of conference calls, emergency meetings, and carefully crafted statements. By midday, Seungcheol felt as if he'd aged years. He looked over at Y/N, who was finishing up a call with her modeling agency.

"No, I will not issue an apology for being in a relationship," she was saying, her voice firm. "We've done nothing wrong. ... Yes, I understand the contract has a morality clause, but this hardly qualifies. ... Fine, we'll discuss this further in person."

She ended the call with a frustrated huff, tossing her phone onto the couch. "This is ridiculous. You'd think we'd committed some horrible crime."

Seungcheol moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "How about we get out of here for a bit? Clear our heads?"

Y/N looked skeptical. "And go where? There are probably paparazzi camped outside as we speak."

A mischievous glint appeared in Seungcheol's eye. "Leave that to me."

Thirty minutes later, they were speeding down a secluded coastal road in Seungcheol's sports car, the top down and the wind whipping through their hair. Y/N tilted her head back, basking in the warmth of the sun on her face, a genuine smile gracing her features for the first time that day.

Seungcheol glanced over at her, his heart swelling with emotion. This was the Y/N he fell in love with – carefree, radiant, and full of life. He made a silent vow to do whatever it took to protect their happiness.

They drove for hours, talking, laughing, and simply enjoying each other's company away from the prying eyes of the world. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Seungcheol pulled off onto a hidden dirt road.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, curiosity piqued.

"You'll see," Seungcheol replied with a wink.

The road led them to a secluded cove, the beach empty save for a few seabirds. Seungcheol parked the car and came around to open Y/N's door, offering his hand with an exaggerated bow.

"My lady," he said in a faux posh accent, eliciting a giggle from Y/N.

Hand in hand, they walked down to the water's edge, the cool sand between their toes a stark contrast to the warmth of the fading sun. They stood in comfortable silence for a while, watching the waves crash against the shore.

"Thank you for this," Y/N said softly, leaning her head on Seungcheol's shoulder. "I needed it more than I realized."

Seungcheol turned to face her, cupping her face gently in his hands. "Y/N, I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter what the world throws at us, I'm here. Always."

Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked up at him. "I love you, Seungcheol. So much it scares me sometimes."

Their lips met in a kiss that started soft and tender but quickly ignited into something more passionate. Y/N's hands fisted in Seungcheol's shirt, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Seungcheol rested his forehead against Y/N's. "Come on," he said, his voice husky. "I have one more surprise for you."

He led her back to the car, opening the trunk to reveal a picnic basket and a pile of blankets. Y/N's face lit up with delight.

"You planned this?"

Seungcheol shrugged, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "I may have made a few calls while you were in the shower this morning. I thought we might need an escape."

They spread the blankets on the hood of the car, laying back to watch as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky. They fed each other strawberries and sipped champagne, talking about everything and nothing.

As the night grew cooler, Y/N snuggled closer to Seungcheol, her hand tracing idle patterns on his chest. The tension that had been building between them all day finally reached its breaking point.

Seungcheol captured Y/N's wandering hand, bringing it to his lips to place a soft kiss on her palm. The simple gesture sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. She propped herself up on one elbow, gazing down at Seungcheol with eyes dark with desire.

"Make love to me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Seungcheol didn't need to be asked twice. In one fluid motion, he flipped their positions, hovering over Y/N with a look of such intense love and desire that it took her breath away.

Their kisses were heated, urgent, hands roaming and exploring as if discovering each other for the first time. Clothes were shed with little regard, tossed haphazardly onto the sand.

Seungcheol trailed kisses down Y/N's neck, across her collarbone, and lower still. Y/N arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as waves of pleasure washed over her.

When Seungcheol finally entered her, they both gasped at the sensation. They moved together in perfect synchrony, the rhythm of their lovemaking echoing the crash of waves against the shore.

Y/N clung to Seungcheol, her nails raking down his back as she neared her peak. "Cheol," she panted, "I'm close..."

Seungcheol increased his pace, driving them both towards ecstasy. "Let go, baby," he murmured against her ear. "I've got you."

They reached their climax together, crying out each other's names into the night. As they came down from their high, Seungcheol peppered Y/N's face with soft kisses, murmuring words of love and adoration.

They lay entwined under the stars, basking in the afterglow, when a sudden flash of light startled them. For a heart-stopping moment, they feared they'd been discovered by paparazzi. But it was just a shooting star, streaking across the sky in a brilliant arc.

Y/N laughed, the sound full of relief and joy. "Make a wish," she said, snuggling closer to Seungcheol.

He tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I already have everything I could wish for right here."

As they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms and the warmth of the blankets, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt a renewed sense of strength and unity. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

The harsh light of morning brought with it a return to reality. As Seungcheol and Y/N made their way back to the city, both their phones began buzzing with missed calls and messages.

"I suppose it was too much to hope the world would just forget about us for a day," Y/N sighed, scrolling through her notifications.

Seungcheol reached over to squeeze her hand. "Hey, remember what we talked about. Us against the world, right?"

Y/N smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Right."

Their first stop was Seungcheol's race team headquarters. As they walked in, hand in hand, a hush fell over the usually bustling pit crew. Jeonghan approached them, his expression unreadable.

"Seungcheol, Y/N, my office please."

Once inside, Jeonghan's stern facade crumbled. "Do you two have any idea the headache you've caused me?" he said, but there was a note of fondness in his exasperation. "Half our sponsors are in a panic, the other half want to increase your visibility. It's chaos out there."

Seungcheol straightened, his jaw set in determination. "Jeonghan, I'm sorry for any trouble this has caused the team. But I won't apologize for my relationship with Y/N. If the sponsors have a problem with that—"

Jeonghan held up a hand, cutting him off. "Relax, kid. Nobody's asking you to choose between your career and your girl. We just need to manage this situation better. Which is why I've hired a speciality PR firm to handle your public image as a couple."

Y/N and Seungcheol exchanged surprised glances. This was not what they had expected.

"You're... supportive of us?" Y/N asked hesitantly.

Jeonghan's expression softened. "Look, I've known Seungcheol since he was a rookie. I've never seen him as happy or as focused as he's been since he met you. As far as I'm concerned, you're good for him and good for this team. We just need to make sure the rest of the world sees that too."

Relief washed over both of them. As they left Jeonghan's office, Seungcheol pulled Y/N into a tight hug. "One down," he murmured into her hair.

"One down," she agreed. "Now we just have to face my agency."

The meeting with Y/N's modeling agency was considerably less pleasant. Her agent, a sharp-faced woman named Vivian, paced the conference room like a caged tiger.

"Do you have any idea how many contracts we've had to renegotiate because of this scandal?" she snapped. "Your wholesome image was a major selling point, Y/N. Now half our clients are worried you're too controversial."

Y/N felt Seungcheol tense beside her, but she placed a calming hand on his arm. "Vivian," she said, her voice steady, "I understand your concerns. But I'm still the same model I was a week ago. My relationship status doesn't change my professionalism or my ability to do my job."

Vivian stopped pacing, fixing Y/N with a calculating look. "Maybe... maybe we can work with this. The bad girl image is in right now. And a high-profile relationship could open up new markets..."

As Vivian continued to muse about potential strategies, Y/N and Seungcheol shared a look of disbelief. It seemed that even in this storm of controversy, there might be a silver lining.

By the time they left the agency, both Seungcheol and Y/N were emotionally drained. As they walked to their car, a small group of fans approached, asking for autographs and selfies.

Y/N tensed, expecting intrusive questions or judgmental looks. But to her surprise, the fans were supportive and excited.

"You guys are so cute together!" one young girl gushed. "I hope I find someone who looks at me the way Seungcheol looks at you."

As they drove home, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "You know," she said, turning to Seungcheol, "maybe this won't be as bad as we thought."

Seungcheol grinned, bringing her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. "With you by my side? Nothing's too tough to handle."

As they pulled into their driveway, both their phones pinged with a notification. It was a message from the PR firm Jeonghan had hired, outlining their strategy for the coming weeks.

Y/N scrolled through the message, her eyes widening. "They want us to do a joint interview? And a photoshoot for a major magazine?"

Seungcheol nodded, looking thoughtful. "It could be a good opportunity to control the narrative. Tell our story on our own terms."

Y/N bit her lip, considering. "You're right. And hey, at least we'll be facing it together."

As they walked into their home, hand in hand, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt a renewed sense of hope. The road ahead might be challenging, but they were determined to navigate it together, their love serving as both compass and anchor in the stormy seas of public life.

Exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of the day, they decided to turn in early. As they went through their nightly routines, moving around each other with the comfortable familiarity of a long-term couple, both felt a deep sense of gratitude for the other's presence.

Y/N finished brushing her teeth and padded into the bedroom, where Seungcheol was already under the covers, his back propped against the headboard as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up as she entered, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"Come here, you," he said, setting his phone aside and opening his arms.

Y/N didn't need to be told twice. She slipped under the covers and into Seungcheol's embrace, sighing contentedly as she rested her head on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear was comforting, grounding.

Seungcheol's fingers threaded through her hair, gently massaging her scalp. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

Y/N thought for a moment before answering. "Honestly? I feel... good. Today was crazy, but we got through it. Together."

Seungcheol pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We did. And we'll get through whatever comes next the same way."

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shining with love and trust. "I know we will. I love you, Seungcheol."

"I love you too, Y/N," he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in a tender kiss.

As they settled into bed, Seungcheol's arms wrapped securely around Y/N, her back pressed to his chest, they both felt a profound sense of peace. The outside world, with all its demands and judgments, seemed far away. In this moment, in the quiet of their bedroom, nothing existed but the two of them and the love they shared.

Y/N snuggled deeper into Seungcheol's embrace, feeling safe and cherished. "Goodnight, love," she whispered, her eyes already heavy with sleep.

"Goodnight, beautiful," Seungcheol replied, placing one last soft kiss on her shoulder.

As they drifted off to sleep, tangled in each other's arms, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt truly content.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bedroom. Seungcheol stirred first, his eyes blinking open to find Y/N still nestled in his arms, her face peaceful in sleep. He couldn't help but smile, marveling at how beautiful she looked in the soft light.

As if sensing his gaze, Y/N's eyes fluttered open. A slow, sleepy smile spread across her face as she met Seungcheol's loving gaze. "Good morning, handsome," she murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.

Seungcheol leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?"

Y/N nodded, stretching languidly against him. "Mmm, like a baby. You make an excellent pillow, you know."

Seungcheol chuckled, his hand running soothingly up and down her back. "Happy to be of service."

They lay there for a while longer, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the morning. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous day, and both of them savored the peaceful moment.

Eventually, the buzz of Seungcheol's phone on the nightstand broke the spell. He reached for it, careful not to disturb Y/N too much.

"It's Jeonghan," he said, scanning the message. "The PR team wants to meet with us this afternoon to prep for the interview and photoshoot."

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, her expression a mix of excitement and nervousness. "I guess it's time to face the music, huh?"

Seungcheol set the phone aside and pulled Y/N closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Hey, we've got this. Remember, it's just us telling our story."

Y/N nodded, drawing strength from his confidence. "You're right. Plus, it might even be fun. I've always wanted to see you try to model," she added with a teasing grin.

Seungcheol gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me, I'll have you know I'm an excellent model. These racing suits don't wear themselves, you know."

Their laughter filled the room, dispelling any lingering tension. As they got up to start their day, both felt ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.

The PR team's office was a sleek, modern space in the heart of the city. Seungcheol and Y/N were ushered into a conference room where they were greeted by a trio of sharp-looking professionals.

"Seungcheol, Y/N, thank you for coming," said the woman at the head of the table. "I'm Rebecca, and this is my team, Alex and Mia. We're here to help you navigate this new chapter in your public lives."

For the next few hours, they went over strategies for the upcoming interview and photoshoot. The team was impressed by the natural chemistry between Seungcheol and Y/N, often exchanging pleased glances as the couple interacted.

"You two are naturals," Alex commented during a break. "The camera is going to love you."

As they were wrapping up, Rebecca handed them each a folder. "These are some talking points for the interview. Remember, the goal is to be authentic while also presenting a united front. Your love story is compelling – let that shine through."

Seungcheol and Y/N left the meeting feeling more confident about the upcoming media appearances. As they walked hand in hand down the busy street, Y/N suddenly tugged Seungcheol to a stop.

"Look," she said, pointing across the road. There, on a massive billboard, was an advertisement for Luxe Motors featuring a stunning sports car. "That could be us up there soon."

Seungcheol wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "It will be. And we'll look damn good doing it."

The day of the photoshoot arrived bright and early. The set was a gorgeous beachfront property, with the ocean providing a stunning backdrop. As they went through hair and makeup, Seungcheol couldn't keep his eyes off Y/N.

"You know," he said, leaning close to whisper in her ear, "if this is what modeling is like, I might have to reconsider my career choices."

Y/N laughed, swatting him playfully. "Don't you dare. I quite like having a race car driver for a boyfriend."

The photoshoot itself was a whirlwind of costume changes, different poses, and endless flashes. But through it all, Seungcheol and Y/N's natural chemistry shone through. Whether they were posed casually by a vintage car or dressed to the nines for a red carpet shot, their connection was palpable.

"These are going to be stunning," the photographer gushed as he showed them some of the shots on his camera. "You can really feel the love between you two."

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the beach, the photographer suggested one last shot. Seungcheol and Y/N stood at the water's edge, the waves lapping at their feet. With the Luxe Motors car in the background, Seungcheol wrapped his arms around Y/N from behind, both of them looking out at the horizon.

"Perfect," the photographer said softly, not wanting to break the moment. "That's a wrap, folks!"

Later that evening, as they returned to Seungcheol's apartment, the excitement of the day still thrummed through their veins. Y/N scrolled through some of the behind-the-scenes photos on her phone as Seungcheol poured them each a glass of wine.

"We do look good together, don't we?" she mused, showing Seungcheol a candid shot of them laughing between takes.

Seungcheol set the wine glasses on the kitchen counter and moved behind Y/N, wrapping his arms around her waist. "The best," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Though I have to say, I prefer the real thing to any photo."

Y/N's breath hitched as Seungcheol's lips trailed down her neck. She set her phone aside, turning in his arms to face him. "Is that so?" she breathed, her eyes dark with desire. "Care to show me just how much you prefer the real thing?"

In response, Seungcheol captured her lips in a searing kiss. Y/N melted into him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. With a low growl, Seungcheol lifted her onto the kitchen counter, stepping between her legs as she wrapped them around his waist.

Their kisses grew more heated, hands roaming with increasing urgency. Y/N tugged at Seungcheol's shirt, and he broke away just long enough to pull it off before returning to her lips. His hands slid under her blouse, caressing the soft skin of her back.

"Cheol," Y/N gasped as his lips found that spot on her neck again. "Bedroom?"

Seungcheol pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. "Why wait?" he asked, his voice husky. "I want you right here, right now."

Y/N's answer was to pull him back in for another passionate kiss. Clothes were shed hastily, scattering across the kitchen floor. When Seungcheol finally entered her, they both gasped at the sensation.

They moved together with a passionate urgency, the counter providing the perfect leverage. Y/N's nails raked down Seungcheol's back as she neared her peak, while Seungcheol's hands gripped her hips, guiding their movements.

"Cheol, I'm close," Y/N panted, her head falling back in ecstasy.

"Let go, baby," Seungcheol murmured against her skin. "I've got you."

They reached their climax together, crying out each other's names into the quiet of the apartment. As they came down from their high, Seungcheol peppered Y/N's face with soft kisses, murmuring words of love and adoration.

Later, as they lounged on the couch, wrapped in soft blankets and each other's arms, Y/N's phone buzzed with a notification. She reached for it, her eyes widening as she read the message.

"Cheol, look at this," she said, showing him the screen. "The magazine wants to bump up the release date of our photoshoot. They say the public's fascination with us is at an all-time high."

Seungcheol read the message, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Looks like our risk is paying off, huh?"

Y/N nodded, snuggling closer to him. "I was so worried about going public, but now... it feels right. Like we're finally free to just be us."

Seungcheol pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I know what you mean. It's like the whole world can see what I've known all along – that you're the most amazing person I've ever met."

Y/N tilted her head up, capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. When they parted, she had a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, I think we missed a spot in the kitchen. Want to go for round two?"

Seungcheol laughed, the sound full of joy and love. "Lead the way, beautiful."

As they made their way back to the kitchen, hand in hand and giggling like teenagers, both Seungcheol and Y/N felt a profound sense of happiness. Their relationship had been thrust into the spotlight, but rather than wilting under the pressure, they had blossomed. Together, they were ready to face whatever the future held, their love a beacon guiding them through the dazzling world of fame and fortune.

The next morning dawned bright and early, finding Seungcheol and Y/N already up and about. They moved around the kitchen in perfect sync, preparing breakfast together as they discussed their plans for the day.

"I've got a team meeting at 10," Seungcheol said as he flipped pancakes. "Want to meet for lunch after?"

Y/N nodded, pouring coffee into their mugs. "Sounds perfect. I've got a fitting for that new designer campaign, but I should be done by noon."

As they sat down to eat, both their phones pinged with new messages. They shared a look, then reached for their devices.

"It's from the PR team," Seungcheol said, scanning the message. "They want to schedule a follow-up interview to coincide with the magazine release."

Y/N's eyes lit up as she read her own message. "Luxe Motors loves the preview shots. They want to discuss a long-term partnership with both of us!"

Seungcheol reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand in his. "Ready for our next adventure?" he asked, his eyes shining with excitement and love.

Y/N squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "With you? Always."

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 & 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: oh god this man is doing things to me...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISFJ or ISTJ

Ravenclaw

Lawful Neutral to Neutral Good

Sagittarius Sun, Cancer Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You're the rider of Silverwing, the glorious, graceful and maternal dragon who watches over you wherever you go.

・When you were young, it was very difficult for your mother because Silverwing would sweep you away and take you to her nest. Making you one of her own.

・You knew about the Hightowers, and how close Alicent & Rhaenyra were. You were very jealous, but weren't the kind of person to bump shoulders just to be included.

・So your best friend was a dragon. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

・Your connection with her is incredibly strong. Almost telepathic at times. She can feel what you feel - like two one soul in two bodies.

・And when you become of marriagable age - she did not like any of the suitors. So she was there, right by your side, huffing and puffing (putting your white cloaks on edge...)

・Just like Rhaenys the Conquorer, you flew further and further with your mount.

・You weren't the sister of Rhaenyra, but of Rhaenys. Your parents were Aemon Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon. And they had you when they were very, very old. Your birth was a miracle.

・And your sister, who was many years older, became a mother to you. As your two parents died.

・Your marriage was put forth by Viserys, well, Otto mainly. He knew his daughter would become queen and yet he was still full of ambition.

・Rhaenys saw straight through this. And your sister did everything she could to stop the marriage.

・But Viserys would not be persuaded...

・When you first met Gwayne, your initial opinion was that he was an ass. A pompus, arrogant, rude, ass.

・He had kissed your hand within the first two minutes and let his eyes linger on your own for far too long.

'I hate him already.' You thought and Silverwing snarled in agreement.

・But the dragon did not deter the Hightower man. He simply smirked and bowed his head.

・As time went by, your cemented walls were slowly knocked down one by one by Gwayne.

・But it wasn't until you offered to take him flying that you truly bonded.

・Clinging as tight as he could to you, Silverwing did every trick in the book to make him faint; straight diving and pulling up at the last second, twirling over herself over and over etc.)

・The whole time you were laughing, not just at his reaction but laughing with pure joy. Your fiance feeling what you feel.

・After that Gwayne looked at you with a newly found gratitue. You were true friends.

・But when Rhaenys started to speak to you about what marriage was really like - you didn't want to hear it.

"...my love, he may stray and sometimes you cannot stop it."

The words had hit you like a boulder to the heart. No, you could not endure such a betrayal.

"Sister. If he dares, then Silverwing will have the most royal feast she has ever had."

・But you need not ever worry about Gwayne's attention turning to another. You are all he needs. All he wants.

・He shows it to you through the way he speaks; the charming, soft voice that makes your knees tremble. The ever so gentle brush of his hand against yours.

・It drives you insane.

・And you never, not once in a nillion years, thought you would say this.

・"Gwayne, please. Let's just marry. Now. It needs to be now or I'll explode."

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Forced Proximity

"I'd do anything for you." (Gwayne) x "As you should." (You)

Survives because of pure luck (You) x Is the pure luck (Gwayne)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies to Lovers

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Let It Happen by The Midnite String Quartet

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Your first kiss was ... passionate. The hesitation of your lips before one another caused such heat you could not comprehend.

・You consummated your wedding night. Over and over and over again. Until Gwayne said, "my heart I cannot handle another round. I do not think I can move."

"Oh husband," you said while rolling onto your side. "You are going to have to get used to this. There's fire in my blood after all..."

・His eyebrows rose and his handsome face was covered in amusement.

"Well, wife. I guess I'll have to train harder," and with that he gripped your waist and flung on top of you.

・It is well known that the two of you cannot keep your hands off each other. You always do it when no one is around - but somehow someone always sees.

・But it's very difficult when he whispers in your ear all the things he thinks about. The things he wants you to do to him. Where he wants you to touch him.

・Is this not what married life is about? Being so incredibly obsessed with the other that your whole body hurts whenever they aren't near?

[multifandom-exe]

Oblivious - A. Hotchner x Reader

Request: Hotch x bau reader where hotch has feelings but reader is completely oblivious? 

Word count: 2k 

A/N: this is a rewrite of a fic from like 5 years ago, if you want to check out the original here to see how much has changed. Feel free to leave requests! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK IN COMMENTS OR ASKS PLS i need to know if I'm still writing like I'm 14 😭.

The line. There was always a line. A line between good and evil. A line between love and hate. A line between professional and personal. That was a line you loved to flirt with, to teeter on, to play with like it was your favorite toy. Of course, you shouldn't be flirting with your boss, but when he was stood there, in that suit that highlights his shoulders and his wrists and his thighs and oh god... 

“(Y/N)?” And the way your name came from his lips was like heaven on earth right there. “(Y/N)?” What? A hand lightly brushed against your shoulder as he moved his head to be in eyeline with you. Slight concern in them as he gave you a small smile, sending electric through your body and thoroughly grounding you to earth. 

“Yes, I'm sorry, I'm just... tired.” You tried to look anywhere but his eyes as you so desperately tried to cover the train of thought that had your skin buzzing and your heart racing. You glanced at his hand on your shoulder as he took it away, wanting to whine at the loss of contact.  

Flirting with your boss was your own self sabotage. But you relished it every time. Every touch he missed. Every glance he didn't see. Every time your heart rate sped up as you saw him leave his office. He didn't notice any of it. And it made you want him all that much more. You should've been glad. Ecstatic even. Because once he realized you liked him, in a way he didn't like you, in a way no subordinate should ever like their boss. That line would be crossed. And no amount of ‘I'm sorry’ or ‘let's forget about it’ could undo it. 

Morgan and JJ stood a length away, taking in the scene in front of them. You, absentmindedly playing with your hair, a sign of flirting. And him, fiddling with his hands as he looked into your eyes whilst you spoke. 

- 

“Do you think they’ll ever notice the other is so head over heels for them?” JJ stated, watching you two with a look that's usually only reserved for Henry when he doesn't understand what he did wrong, or when Emily is openly talking about someone right behind her. A grimace more like. 

“Nope.” He started, popping the ‘p’. “They've been doing this dance for too long; I'm starting to think it's never gonna happen.” He tutted and tried to take his eyes off... whatever was happening over there. 

- 

“You look nice today, by the way. You do every day, but you know.” His attempt at flattery didn't go amiss as you smiled bashfully. 

“Thank you, so do you. I enjoy this side of you much more, the happier side. Is this some new technique to raise team morale?” You quirked an eyebrow as you smiled at him, desperately trying to quell the faint blush on your cheeks. 

His smile faltered slightly. Right. The team. It's been years since he flirted with anyone and clearly, he must be doing something wrong if you're thinking of him and the team. Every day he saw you. And every day he just wanted to throw caution to the wind and hold your hand, touch your face, stroke your hair. Feel you. Gently. Fully. Months. Months of slight flirts and fleeting touches and he feels no closer to being with you now than when you first joined the team. How one of his best profilers could miss something that was right there, he would never know. He was sure he was getting to the point where he looked pathetic. Rossi had even mentioned it to him, a late night in his office over a bottle of scotch. ‘I'm starting to question your profiling skills Aaron, if you two could see what everyone else sees, you'd know there's no question about what happens next with you two’. But here he was, trying his best to put his heart on his sleeve, and even that wasn't working. Or maybe it was, and you knew, and you were simply saving him the embarrassment of rejection. 

A cough broke him away from his thoughts. He looked at you as you nodded your head towards your nosy team members, who stood absentmindedly watching the two of you. He copied your cough and looked pointedly at his team. 

“Back to work.” He said firmly, turning to touch your arm and give you a small smile before returning to his office. Your cheeks heated as you stared at the spot on your arm, slowly walking back to your desk. You sat in your chair, thoughts going a mile a minute and you sighed, pulling your files closer. 

“Oh, Hotch your just so dreamy!” Morgan lays his hand dramatically on his forehead, attempting to mock you. 

“Oh (Y/N), you look absolutely ravishing today.” Emily came over to join in the teasing, doing her best Hotch impression. 

“What are you two idiots yapping about?” You looked up at the scene, laughing inwardly at their antics. 

“Cmon, Hotch is so into you!” Came from JJ as she giggled softly. “And I'm willing to bet the feeling is reciprocated.” She tugged at your cheek, pointing out the obvious blush dusting them. 

“Okay, we’re all bullying me, stay mad.” You tried to joke but they all gave you pointed glares like you were the stupidest person in the world. “He is not into me! He just wants someone in this office to actually do their work.” You giggled before pulling all your files together. You pushed your chair back and stood up to deliver your files for the day. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Sugar!” Derek shouted as you walked away, receiving an unceremonious middle finger in response. 

You jogged up the stairs to Hotch's office, raising your hand to knock on the door, finding it already open. Your heart hummed against your chest at the thought of him hearing the ‘workplace gossip’. Well, can it really be gossip if it's true? 

“I have the files you wanted.” You held them close to your chest as you absentmindedly played with the small pieces of paper sticking out. The tension in the office was palpable. The same tension that hung over you when you looked a little too long, or smiled a little too brightly.  

His head snapped up at your voice and he broke out into one of those very rare Aaron Hotchner smiles TM. “You can just put them there.” He pointed to his desk, trying to shield his face that sported the same bright pink as you. As you approached, he begged to every god on earth you couldn't hear his heartbeat threatening to break out of his ribs. There was a beat of silence as you put the files down. You knew you shouldn't linger, but you couldn't help it. Youd do everything in your power to look at him a second longer each time he leaves. He looks up at you. He really looks at you. Eyes so bright whilst still working a job like this. Plump lips being gently bitten between your teeth. That conversation, outside. A conversation he never should've heard. This was his in. 

“They are right you know.” Your head lifted gently, taking you away from whatever thoughts lingered. Your eyebrows knitted together as a nervous smile and quizzical look painted your face. He stood and moved around his desk toward you. “i am ‘so into you’.” He tried his best to keep his earth shattering confession as light hearted as he could, rolling his eyes a little at the end of his sentence. He sucked in a breath as your face didnt move an inch from the shocked look plastered on it. God. This was the worst idea ever. He could already feel the anxiety and the nervousness and the everything, trying to claw its way out of his throat. His usual stoic look must have faltered, as he felt you lay your hand on his arm, breaking through his layer of despair. 

“Hotch.” Your eyes softened as you looked at him, and your eyes closed lightly, a blush spreading on your cheeks. It felt like this wave of emotion had hit you and you just wanted to cry. The line. It had been crossed, and it was so utterly terrifying, and felt so fucking amazing. 

He had obviously mistaken your soft tone as one of pity, of rejection. He stuttered slightly and turned his back to you, flushing deeply. He babbled, about how ‘sorry’ he was, and how we should ‘just forget he said anything’. God, he had taken risks in his life, but this was possibly the most, stupid, miscalculated, inconcieve- 

“Hotch!” Your raised voice broke him out of his spiral as he turned to face you once more. You moved toward him and lightly pushed a stray hair from his forehead. He so desperately wanted to lean into your touch. “Whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours, at least let me finish what i was saying.” He shook his head lightly, like he was trying to shake his thoughts away, as he gazed into your eyes for the first time since his confession. “I'm totally into you too.” You mirrored his earlier words with a slight giggle. And just like that, a wave of emotion erupted in him. He breathed deeply, not realizing he was depriving himself of air waiting for your answer.  

He moved to softly run his thumb over your cheek as he gazed at you lovingly. “I've been wanting to tell you for so long. I tried flirting but I figured I just wasn't very good because you hadn't realized.” 

“Stop. I've been doing the same thing!” You gently dropped your head to his chest, laughing incredulously at the stupidity, that two very intelligent profilers had missed all of this. So oblivious. Both wrapped in their own little world of desperate pining.  

“How about i take you on a date? I could definitely use some time away from this office.” He lifted your chin gently, so you were looking into his eyes. 

“I couldnt think of anything better” You gazed at him, happiness threatening to burst your heart into two. 

Bonus 

Through the large office window, the 5 profilers stood, huddled around your desk, staring intently, like it was the finale of their favorite rom-com. They all sighed a huge breath as they saw you lay your head on Aaron's chest, all turning to eachother with the most shit-eating-grins. 

“I think, Reid and Morgan owe me 20 bucks.” Rossi smirked as JJ and Emily burst into laughter. Morgan hit himself on the cheek playfully with a little ‘ouch’ before rooting through his pocket for a 20. Reid had tried to argue ‘as Hotch's best friend, of course you'd understand him the best’ But it was to no avail, as Rossi just stuck his hand out and gave him an unconvinced look. He sighed and rooted through his pockets.  

After much laughter and gossip, they all turned back to see you placing a chaste kiss on his cheek and hurrying out of his office. They caught him lifting a hand to where you had kissed. Upon realizing his blinds were open, he promptly shut them, trying his best to plaster his intimidating look back on his face. You stopped at the top of the stairs as you realized all eyes were on you. You coughed and tried to indignantly hide the blush that coated your cheeks.  

“Back to work.” 

-

let me know what you think! and pls request this was so cute.

Taglist

@back-totheoldhouse

[seventeenpins]

nightly

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader word count: 1k summary: Joel is a mistake you just keep making. content/warnings: no specified Joel era so take your pick, dirty talk, literally all just smut, big dick, daddy kink, breeding kink, dubcon undertones, Joel is an asshole a/n: I have been struggling to focus on writing for a minute now, but the horny gods smiled upon me and let me get this together. Praise be to @ozarkthedog for always letting me run my godforsaken ideas past you. Love you lots 💕

You can feel the wet spot on the bed against your back. Joel has you folded like a pretzel, backs of your knees resting on his sun-freckled shoulders, wrists pinned above your head and ass suspended in the air as he drills into you. A single curl bounces at his temple, separate from the rest of his hair that's plastered with sweat to his forehead.

If you make the same mistake five days in a row, can you really still call it a mistake?

He's far too old for you, and a little too mean for you, but damned if he isn't the best lay you've ever had.

Eight inches, uncut, a dick so fucking fat you can barely wrap your hand around it. You can hardly believe he's buried balls deep in you right now. That your body can even take it.

"C'mon, honey, that's it-" Joel's voice is a growl, punctuated by heavy panting, "This pretty lil gash is fuckin' droolin' baby, my own personal slip 'n slide-"

"You're a crass old man," you whine.

"I sure am, honey," he agrees with a grin, "But don't think I can't feel the way you soak me whenever I talk crass, sweetheart."

"I hate you."

He laughs, and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple and along the curve of his nose, splashing onto your cheek. Unthinkingly, you dart your tongue out to catch some of the sweat. Joel's grin turns to a smirk.

"Hate me all you like. You're the one who's come over every night this fuckin' week. Monday through Friday, baby. Hate me so much you can't get enough of daddy's big dick, huh?"

"Fuck you, you're such an asshole-"

This jab is even less effective, punctuated with a moan and a whimper.

"Sure, sweetheart, I am. But don't pretend like we don't both know--you don't have to come here at all."

He grinds against you, coarse hair rubbing against your mound as if to further his point. Pressure hits your clit just right and it's bliss. You have to fully restrain yourself to stop from howling, and even then, you let out a ragged moan.

Joel clamps a hand over your mouth and looks you dead in the eyes.

"I love those pretty sounds, baby, but remember I got neighbors? Thought you said you'd die before anyone finds out about us."

You try to roll your eyes, but he thrusts again and you're caught in another moan. The glide of his body against your clit, especially when he's stretching you out so exquisitely? It's overwhelming. You try to stay quiet, you really do.

It's not your fault though, not when Joel's fucking you silly.

Now, though, he's frustrated.

"Quiet now, settle-"

"I'm not a fucking dog, Joel, I- ahhh-" you mumble and moan between his fingers, barely muffled at all.

"Oh really? Not a fucking dog? Wanna tell me then why you're tryna get bred like a bitch in heat?"

He smacks your cheek, drawing out another pathetic whine that only seems to cement his point.

He sneers. "Those pretty lil noises you're makin' for me? That don't sound like a good girl. That sounds to me like a nasty fuckin' slut who can't help but keep her legs spread so her daddy can fill her up good. Huh? C'mon baby. Tell me to cum inside."

"Fuck you Joel."

Suddenly, cruelly, he stops. Ceases any movement. Relaxes the grip on your wrists.

Panic overtakes you.

"What the fuck-?"

"Sorry sweetheart," he shakes his head, "You don't want this? You can see yourself out."

"No, I-"

You notice he's still sheathed inside you. You feel him do something, flexing his dick inside of you. Frankly, it's cheating.

"Please don't stop."

"What was that, honey?"

"Joooeeel-"

"Quit your whinin', use your words."

"Please fuck me."

"That ain't it, you know whatcha gotta say."

He starts rocking his hips gently, a slippery glide. It's not enough to stimulate. Just enough to make you want more. Need more.

The way you clench around him tells on yourself more starkly than your words ever could.

He's grinning again. "That's it, baby. You ready to admit what you need?"

"Come on, Joel."

"Cum where?"

You sigh. But you know you aren't gonna hold out any longer. He's pressing his thumb just above your clit and the glide of the motion is so fucking delicious it's hard not to buck against it.

Rut against it.

A bitch in heat.

"Fuck me, daddy-" you whine.

"You sound real pretty beggin'. Nearly got it honey. One more try?"

"Cum inside me."

"Mmmmm-" Joel groans, and the grip on your wrists tightens again. "Music to my ears, honey. Tell me where you want it?"

"Inside me, cum inside-"

"You want me to cum inside this lovely lil' pussy?"

"Please Joel-"

"That right?"

"Please cum in me, fill me up, fuck it deep-"

With that, his composure breaks and any restraint he had crumbles. Folds you deeper, fucks you deeper, pins you down and jackhammers into you.

You couldn't move, even if you wanted to, and that knowledge somehow heightens everything. It's blindingly bright, dizzyingly addictive. You barely notice the way Joel's lavishing you with praise, each deep thrust punctuated with good girl, good girl, good fucking girl-

When you cum, you feel the way his balls tighten as if in response, tipping over the edge mere moments after you. It could be romantic, finding yourselves cumming together, if there was any romance between you.

As you start to fade back down, you're able to pay attention again.

"That's it," he's praising you, and you realise his cock is still pulsing. You make to start moving, but he growls and holds you still. "That's right, sweetheart. Gotta let me fill you all the way up. Gonna make sure it takes."

Clarity starts to overtake you and you know that you've made a big fucking mistake. By the time you've come back to yourself, though, your pussy's flooded and pulsing oh so nicely, and Joel's pulling out of you. He moves into the other room and you hear him turn on the shower.

"You can let yourself out," he calls to you. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Your panties are sticky the whole way home.

[earthchica]

Funny How Time Flies

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: you are a shy, introverted person who wants to break out of your shell and experience fun at least once in your life. During a mutual friend's group trip, you meet Terry and have the best sex with him. Once the fun is over, will you and Terry stay in touch?

warnings: explicit smut (18+), light use of daddy, foul language, dirty talking, dom/sub, oral (f), pussy slaps, fingering, unprotected sex, nicknames (beautiful, baby, baby girl), words: (3k)

note: hey, I'm working on another mini-series, but this one is sweet, wholesome, and freaky! let me know your thoughts and if you want to be tagged in future parts. please enjoy!

series masterlist

You’ve been shy and introverted your entire life, often feeling tired of this loneliness. Your daily routine typically consists of working, exercising, and returning home, which leaves little opportunity for social interaction or adventure.

While you go out when you want to, most of your time is spent at home with your loving dog. Despite that, you know something is missing—particularly, a boyfriend and a more vibrant social life.

The anxiety stemming from your shyness made it difficult for you to step outside your comfort zone. You want to seek more experiences beyond the walls of your home and be more outgoing.

When your friends Sasha and Maya invited you on a group trip, you accepted. They were surprised but happy and reassured you that you wouldn’t feel left out or awkward during the trip.

Sasha, in particular, couldn’t contain her excitement, as explained by her boyfriend, Bryce. He was bringing his old marine friend, Terry Richmond.

You met the girls at the airport and greeted them with hugs. Sasha explained that Bryce and Cameron needed to find Terry, which made you feel nervous. She told you a little about him, but ultimately, you would have to form your own opinion about him.

"Oh, here they come! Finally,” Sasha replied, gesturing towards three tall, fit men in the distance.

Bryce was a tall, dark-skinned man, while Cam was kind of brown-skinned since he was lighter than Bryce. Then your eyes led to him. Who must be Terry?

At that moment, you felt an undeniable spark of love at first sight. Terry was slightly taller than Bryce and Cam and had a lighter skin tone.

He was so handsome, with good hands, good lips, and, good god, a nice body!!! He was fine, and you wanna intertwine him.

"Good, made it back on time and found big dawg," Bryce nudged Terry on the arm, laughed, and then moved over to Sasha.

"Yeah, bro was at the wrong damn gate/terminal," Cam said, walking over to Maya and greeted her with a kiss on the forehead.

"My fault; it's been a minute since I've been at the damn airport; y'all know I don't travel a lot," Terry chuckled lightly as he caught you staring, prompting you to look away.

"Well, we're glad you found him. Now...um, Terry, I want you to meet someone," Maya said with a smile.

He raised his eyebrows curiously and she motioned towards you and introduced you to Terry by using your name.

“Hey, there!” He said, giving a polite wave, and you just stared at him. Everyone looked at you, awaiting your response, but nothing came out until Sasha nudged you.

“Hi,” you said, waving back with a small mile. You held his gaze for a moment, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach, before shyly turning your eyes away.

The flight to Cancun, Mexico, is currently boarding for its scheduled departure at 1 PM. Passengers are advised to have their boarding passes and identification ready and to proceed to the gate promptly.

"Okay, that's us. Who's ready to get Lit?" Maya clapped her hands, easing the awkwardness and creating a more hype vibe.

Sasha wrapped her arm around your shoulders playfully, giving you a knowing look through her sunglasses.

"Look at you, drooling all over Terry already; I told you he would be your type," She teased, and you playfully hit her arm.

Soon enough, you were all on the plane, and of course, you were sitting next to Terry. He was talking to you, but you felt so nervous that your responses were short.

You both had a lot in common: you were single, didn’t get out much, and were on this trip to have fun. You couldn’t believe that a handsome man like Terry wanted to talk to you despite your shyness.

Terry was eager to talk to you from the moment he first saw you. He felt a strong connection and wanted to get to know you better. He was really glad he decided to go on this trip because your sweet and shy nature made him want to break you out of your shell.

“You're kind of the shy and quiet type, huh?! I like that; some people say I'm reserved, so I guess I can relate,"

"You don't seem like it; you seem like an outgoing person." You look at him for a second. His captivating hazel-green eyes burn into yours, causing a flutter in your chest.

"Well, I sometimes can be both; I'm a little reserved when I don't know the person, but if I know you, I'm more open, I guess," Terry explained, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"What makes me so different?" You asked in a playful tone, building some confidence.

Terry laughs and smirks, "I guess you're that special!"

You felt like your heart exploded the way he looked at you, obviously attracted to you. You just nodded, looking away, trying to hide your smile.

“Hey....come on, I was just getting used to hearing that pretty voice of yours,” Terry said, leaning in, and your breath hitched.

You and Terry chatted throughout the entire plane ride. Although you were still a bit shy, you found yourself being more talkative than before, which felt positive.

Perhaps Terry was just what you needed for this trip. Once your group arrived at the stunning villa, you marveled at its beautiful interior.

“Alright,” Maya announced, her enthusiasm infectious as she gathered everyone to discuss the week's activities. She carefully ensured everyone felt included and excited about them.

Maya suggested you all chill and settle into our bedrooms for the afternoon. You began rolling your heavy suitcase down the hall, its wheels clicking softly against the floor.

“Do you need a hand?” Terry asked, approaching with a friendly smile and ready to help you with your suitcase.

"Yeah, thanks." You said with a small smile, walking to your bedroom door and walking in.

"You can put it right there, " You said, pointing at the chair before you and indicating that he should place it there. Terry glanced at you curiously as if he were too nervous to ask a question.

A moment of silent communication passes between you. Terry stepped forward, closing the distance, and you felt your heart race.

You instinctively wanted to shy away, but you fought against the urge, reminding yourself to be brave.

“I hope this doesn’t sound too forward, but I would love to take you on a date tonight. I am drawn to you and want to crack your shy shell and see what’s inside. Of course, only if you want me to," He expressed with a hopeful smile.

“I would love that, Terry,” You said with a smile. Terry smiled back, gave you his number, and set the date plans.

He walked out, winking at you as he left the bedroom. You bit your lip and excitedly squealed, jumping dramatically onto the comfortable bed.

-

You told the girls about the date, and they were so excited that they went upstairs to your bedroom to help you out.

“I don’t think I can do this; it's been so long since i've been on a date, and all together, I'm shy as fuck” You said, getting your nerves up.

“Babe, it’s fine. You need this, and Terry is an amazing guy. We wouldn't have brought him on this trip if we didn't know he would be perfect for you.” Sasha says, ease your anxiety a lot more.

“Sasha is right; just have fun and let go, but not too much; you might get dicknotized,” Maya smiles playfully as she hands you a sexy yellow dress that catches the light beautifully.

"This will look amazing on you," She added, her eyes sparkling excitedly. As you slipped into the dress, your nerves faded, replaced by a sense of pride.

Maya's perfume filled the room as she sprayed on you; it had a familiar and comforting aroma.

Sasha, the fashionista, was styling your box braids and applying your makeup while you looked in the mirror.

"Remember," She said, glancing over her shoulder, "confidence is key. Just be yourself."

After saying bye to Sasha and Maya, you closed the door behind you and took a deep breath. You were walking downstairs and Terry stood there at the bottom, clearly waiting for you.

His eyes widened, taking in every detail. You couldn't help but giggle at his look of awe. He seemed captivated by your radiant beauty, his gaze lingering on your elegant curves.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” Terry said. You smiled and looked him over, noticing he was wearing a black button-up shirt and shorts.

"Thank you. Um..you look beautif-I mean handsome!" You cursed at yourself in your mind, feeling totally embarrassed, and Terry found it cute.

"Thanks! Are you ready?" Terry asked, holding his arm out with a smile and you happily accepted.

Both of you walk leisurely down the path, arm in arm while listening to the gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore accompanies you as you make your way to the charming ocean-view restaurant that overlooks the sparkling waters.

You and Terry walk inside, and the warm glow of the intimate setting welcomes you. You find a cozy table for two awaiting your arrival. Moments later, a friendly waiter approaches, ready to take your drink orders.

While waiting, Terry struck up a conversation that flowed effortlessly. His warm smile and engaging demeanor made it easy to share about yourself. With every exchanged joke and smile, you found yourself becoming more comfortable, as if he had a talent for bringing out the best in people.

His smooth charm was evident; he made you feel special and understood, gently encouraging you to step out of your shy little shell and embrace the moment because the air between you crackled with sexual tension, growing palpable by the minute.

The waiter approached your table, balancing a tray of drinks that shimmered in the dim light. He set them down before you with a polite smile. After taking your food orders, he left you both.

Terry, his eyes sparkling, leaned in closer, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“While we wait, how about we play a game of ‘Would you rather?’” Terry proposed, the excitement in his voice making the suggestion feel inviting.

"Okay," You replied, intrigued and ready to dive into the game.

“Okay, would you rather…” Terry started, propping his chin on his hand as he contemplated the question.

“Would you rather live deep in the ocean or explore the vastness of space?”

You paused for a moment, considering the options carefully. “Hmm, that’s a tough choice. But I think I would choose space,” You finally replied.

“Mmm, interesting! What makes you lean toward space?” Terry inquired, leaning forward with curiosity.

“I have always been interested in space and astronomy. If I could, I would be an astronaut, and the experience would be exciting,” You said, taking a sip of your wine.

"Wow, I would love to learn more about that, but it's your turn," Terry said, his eyes lighting up with curiosity and a warm smile spreading across his face. The "Would You Rather" game had been going for a while and had taken a slightly naughty turn.

Before long, the waiter arrives with both of your meals, setting them down on the table with a flourish. As the delightful aromas fill the air, you take a moment to appreciate the dishes before returning to Terry.

Intrigued by the connection you two are building, you changed the subject wanting to know about Terry's interests and experiences, eager to learn more about his passions.

Terry paused mid-sentence, his gaze falling on your necklace, which had come unhooked. With a gentle smile, he leaned in close and secured the clasp.

You found yourself momentarily lost in the warmth of his touch, savoring the soft caress against your dark brown skin, a delightful contrast that sent a shiver of warmth through you.

Terry pulled away, a smirk playing on his lips, and effortlessly transitioned back into talking as if nothing had happened. You couldn't help but notice his subtle game; it was working on you like a charm.

Your desire was intense, and your craving seemed to deepen with every word he spoke. You were utterly captivated, wanting him more than ever before.

After dinner, you both walk silently side by side on the beach. Your hands nearly touch until Terry grabs yours and holds it, making you smile.

You slowly look up at him, and you find that his eyes are already fixed on you.

"What?" You asked.

"Just admiring how gorgeous you are," Terry stopped you from walking by wrapping his arms around your plump waist.

You touched his chest, thinking you both would finally kiss. But Terry was teasing you again. He lifted you slightly, catching you off guard and causing you to drop your purse and heels.

“Oh my goodness, what are you doing, Terry?” You gasped, struggling to escape his firm hold on you.

“Let’s get in the water; I bet it’s cold,” He said, trying to pull you closer.

“No, Terry!” You squealed, quickly breaking free from his grasp and running away from him with your tongue sticking out.

“Hey!” he yelled, chasing after you. When he finally caught you, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and started tickling you.

You bounced up and down with laughter, trying to escape his grip. Just as Terry was about to say something, he accidentally tripped over something in the sand. Both of you fell together. You looked at him, and he looked at you.

You both laughed as Terry rolled off of you, pulling you onto his chest and kissing the top of your head, making your heart flutter. He eventually helped you out of the sand and retrieved your purse and heels.

Feeling a surge of confidence, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, surprising him with the suddenness of your action. As you pulled back, a shy smile crept onto your face, and you turned your gaze to the side, feeling excitement and nervousness.

In an instant, Terry reached out, his fingers gently cupping your cheek, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes searched yours, a blend of sweetness and warmth reflected in them.

Then, without breaking his gaze, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing softly against yours as he kissed you, igniting a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

You let out a muffled moan, feeling his hands gliding over your ass with a gentle yet teasing touch. Your breath caught in your throat, pulling away while feeling him firmly grasping it.

"Do you wanna continue this back at the villa?" Terry asked, his eyes darkened with desire as he looked down at you.

"Yes," you said, nodding firmly as you still held the gaze. Your voice remained steady, even as a whirlwind of emotions surged within you—excitement, desire, and a hint of nervousness mingled together.

-

Once stepped into the bedroom, Terry pressed you against the solid door. His lips met yours in a passionate, rough kiss, feeling an electric spark hit and made your heart race.

"I've been waiting to take this dress off you since I saw you in it," He murmured in your ear, running his hands down the bodice of your yellow dress.

"And it's just driving me wild," He whispered, which made you shiver.

"Well, take it off if you're brave enough," You spoke boldly, which made him smirk.

You gasped as he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the bed. You still couldn't get over the fact that he was so strong to pick you up, which was a turn-on for you.

He picked you down as both of you stood at the edge of the bed; he was kissing your neck, and his lips peppered on your dark-brown skin, pausing here and there to suck on the sensitive flesh.

His hand reached behind your back to find the zipper of your dress, pushing it down to your feet. You step out of it, and his hands touch your exposed breasts.

As you stood there, a wave of insecurity washed over you, causing you to shy away slightly. Just when you thought about retreating and hiding yourself, Terry stopped you. His gaze was steady and inviting, searching your eyes.

"You're beautiful, baby. Don't hide from me!" He whispers genuinely, making you feel warm inside. You kiss him as his hands grip your breasts.

You let out a soft moan, pulling away and popping his black button-up shirt open. You admired his abs and slid your fingers down his chest.

Terry shivered slightly at your touch; you had the same effect on him as he had on you. Both of you practically ripped each other's clothes. You gently laid yourself down as Terry hovered above you.

You pulled him down for another kiss as he cupped your right breast in his hand while his lips moved away from yours. His tongue dragged across the dark area of your areola.

"Such nice big tits, so good to suck," Terry growls and grabs both of your breasts with his hand, squeezing and sucking them, causing you to whimper.

"How does that feel, baby?" He asked, pulling away from sucking your nipples as his right hand traveled down to your wet folds, and circled them.

A loud moan escaped your lips, felt him push two fingers inside of you, prompting you to cover your mouth to avoid being heard by the others.

"Nah, baby girl, none of that. You have no idea how desperate I want to hear you moan for me. If you don’t let yourself make any sounds, I’ll have to find a way to draw them out."

"Yes-yes....ohhhh....It-it feels good....ahh......so good," You moaned, feeling him moved below and rested between your plump legs, glancing up at you. He spread them wide, getting a good look at your pussy.

"Mmmm, a pretty girl with a pretty pussy" He said before placing his hands on your legs and dragging his tongue between your wet folds.

"Yes....fuck....ahh fuck" You moaned, arching your back and grabbing your breasts as he repeated the action with more pressure, his tongue sliding against your bundle of nerves.

"Mmm, tastes so damn good, girl" His hands were holding your wide hips as he continued to suck and lick you dry, drawing desperate soft moans from your mouth. 

Terry buried deeper between your plump legs, which was driving you crazy. The pleasure you were feeling going through your body was so overwhelming.

"Ahh fuck, Terry fucking eat this pussy, mutherfucka" You moaned, and your fingers gently caressed his head, relishing the closeness of him.

Terry chuckles. "Mmm, there you go, keep talking nasty to me, baby. I see I'm bringing the best out of you, the freak in you," He said before resuming devouring your pussy.

Another loud moan escaped your lips as the pleasure built within you, clenching around his fingers while you felt yourself getting close.

"Are you gonna cum, beautiful?" He asked, moving up to look into your eyes and began to finger fuck you fast.

"Yes, Terry, oh shit.....fuck-fuck don't stop fuck." You cried, suddenly cumming hard, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

"Yeah, that's it, baby girl. Fucking cum for Daddy," Terry said, still fingering you and then smacking your pussy as wet gushing came out of you, causing you to cry.

"Shit, look at that, baby. And I did all that with my tongue and fingers; I can't wait to see how your pussy takes my dick" He said with a chuckle, licking his fingers, and you watched him coming down from your intense high.

You kissed him, slightly tasting yourself as he cupped your breast in his hand while your hand slid down his chest to his throbbing dick; you got a good look at it and gasped at it.

"Like what you see?" Terry whispered in your ear.

"Yes, it's so big," You moaned, moving your hand up and down his length as you kissed him again but deeply. A very deep moan came from his mouth when you got a little faster.

"Fuck, girl, I need you…" Terry said with a slight moan, which made you smile. He moved on top of you and slowly entered your folds, causing you to go bananas.

You were loving the fullness of his thickness inside of you as he began thrusting, drawing soft moans from you. Terry asked, looking down at you to see if it was good, but you nodded.

"Come on, baby. Don't get shy on me again; tell me how it feels?" He asked, his hands on your waist sliding down to grasp your wide hips, pulling you closer so he could bury himself deeper.

"Yes, Terry fuck me, fuck it feels good!" You moaned, wrapping your plump legs around his waist tighter, allowing a new, delicious angle that you both liked.

Your moans became louder and more frequent as his thrusts came faster but still as gently and passionately as ever.

"That's it, girl....let everyone know i'm fucking this pussy good, You like it, you like how I am fucking you" Terry moaned while his rhythm never stopped looking down at you with so much desire and lust;

"Oh yes, Daddy fuck me, it feels so good," You cried, looking up at him as he lifted your legs to his shoulders and pounding into you faster and harder but much more profound.

"Take that fucking dick like a good girl;" Terry growled, tightening his grip on your legs.

"....fuck are you about to cum, baby?" Terry moaned, feeling the warmth of your walls, clenched around him.

"Oh....yes, fuckfuckfuck..I'm-I'm cumming-" You moaned, digging your nails deep into his arms and scratching down.

"Fucking let it go, baby."

"AHHH!!" You screamed, coming hard again and Terry wasn't too far behind, cursing, pulling out; your legs immediately fell to his waist as his hot cum spurted all over your belly, making you slightly giggle.

"Shit," Terry cursed, lowered himself, and propped up on his left arm as his head buried in your neck.

He entirely collapsed on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him. You slid your hand up and down his sweaty back while he gave you small, lazy kisses on your face and neck.

Terry rolls off you, and both of you calm down from your high. You bite your lip and turn to prop yourself up to look at him.

"That was—" You couldn't decide what word to use. It was beyond amazing, it was...

"Mind-blowing, yeah," He agreed, looking at you and lifting himself up to kiss you.

"Up for another round in the shower?"He asked, pulling away and caressing your hip.

"Yes!" Both of you smirked at each other and got out of bed to walk to the bathroom; Terry made you cum two more times that night.