millionseconds

Whatever you do, don’t move.

Don’t blink.

Don’t speak.

Don’t move.

You can do this.

It’s just like before.

You breathe in and out slowly before putting on your helmet and climbing on your horse. Once you’ve firmly sat on your horse, the horse immediately takes off, not even giving you a chance to grab the bridle. The horse gallops at around 40 miles per hour, which is a lot in a horse’s eyes but different for humans.

However as you continue riding, the horse jumps back and kicks its legs in the air, causing you to slide back from your saddle and land hard onto the ground. As soon as you land hard on the ground, you bolt up from your sleep, looking around, it's still dark outside, just great.

You look over at your clock and it reads, ‘4:35 AM’ you plop down back on your bed looking up at the ceiling.

“Damn it.”, you sigh heavily and sit back up again, pulling the covers off of you and standing up. As soon as you stand up a woman’s voice can be heard from downstairs, “Hurry it up and get down here, we’re hungry!” you sigh once again and walk over to your dresser, opening it and picking out your clothes for today.

Once you’re dressed, you throw on your socks and boots and walk downstairs.

“There you are, we have been waiting forever!”

“My apologies Ms. Fernsby.”

“You better be sorry, now hurry on and make me breakfast.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You hurry to the kitchen and wash your hands, getting in between your fingers and fingernails. After your hands are clean, you start preparing breakfast, opening the refrigerator and grabbing the essentials: eggs, toast. butter, bacon, etc.

As you begin cooking, you accidentally knock the pan to the floor, causing the eggs to spill onto the floor followed by the pan.

“Shit.”, you attempt to pick up the pan, being careful not to touch the inside or the bottom of it.

“What in the hell have you done?!” Ms. Fernsby looked at you, her face went from shock to anger in the matter of seconds.

“Ms. Fernsby I am so sorry I didn’t mean —”, a loud slap made its way ont your face, causing your cheek to be slightly red from the impact.

“Pick this shit up!”, she raised her voice slightly, her eyes burning into your soul.

“I would but it’s hot —”

“If you don’t pick that fuckin’ pan up right goddamn now I outta pick it up and slap you with it.”

Without another word you nodded and picked the pan up by its handle and put it in the sink. You then grabbed some paper towels and started to get the spilled eggs up from off the floor and into the trash.

───────────────────────

You quietly lay under the tree, the sunset peering down on your sketchbook, pencil, shoes, clothes, etc. You hum softly as you continue drawing a wilted flower.

As you continue to draw, you unconsciously tap your foot on the grass, a habit that you often do when you’re content or either nervous.

However, in the near distance a horse neighing can be heard followed by a male voice yelling in korean, “놈들은 우릴 못 잡아, 자 세일러!” your ears perk up and you glanced up slightly but paid barely any attention to it.

The man on the horse continuously keeps looking over his shoulder. The horse keeps moving at a fast speed until eventually it starts heading in your direction, coming right for you.

“What in the —”

You quickly stood up on your feet and tried to grab your art supplies but just as you were about to bolt off, someone slams into you from behind, causing you to drop everything and slam into the tree, making your head bleed slightly from the impact.

The man groaned and slowly moved off of you, “aishh … oh shit!” he immediately gets up and looks around for his horse and then looks down at you, extending his hand to you.

“my apologies miss — I didn’t mean to stumble into you like this.”

“It’s fine really —”, you look up at him and then stand up on your own.

“You’re head is bleeding miss please let me help with that —”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you —”

“I said it’s fine.”

The man puts his hand back down by his side and he picks his cowboy hat up off the ground and dusts it off before putting it back on his head.

He tilted his hat slightly and glanced down at your drawings, “These are really pretty .. did you draw these?” you quickly grabbed one of your drawings from him.

“So what If I did?”

“This is .. amazing have other people seen your drawings?”

“No .. and I want to keep it that way.”

“But these are —”

“Please leave me alone and go back to your horse or something cowboy.”

The man laughed, it wasn’t a regular however, the laugh was genuine, rich, deep, the kind of laugh that if you heard it you’d instantly melt but you didn’t.

A comfortable silence fell over you both, the man’s horse neighed in the distance, it hadn’t gone too far yet it wasn’t that close either.

“I’m Jin.”, he extended his hand for a handshake and you blinked a few times and looked at him.

“Why are you telling a random stranger your name?”

“Why not?”

“The hell you mean why not, I could be dangerous and you’re over here with a big dopey smile on your face!”

“You don’t look dangerous ..”

“Oh easy for you to say mr hotshot cowboy, I’ve heard your name spreading around town, some hotshot you are.”

“Yeah well ..”

“Well what?”

“A lot of the things those people have gossiped about me aren’t true in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t actually nor did I ask.”

“이런 젠장 .. you have some fire in you after all.”

“Your point being?”

“You have a good spirit is all.”

“Oh very funny.”

“I’m serious!”

You look around, the sun will be setting soon, just great.

“You should take your horse and leave, it’ll get dark real soon.”

Jin nodded and glanced at his horse before looking at you, “Yeah I guess I should, want me to give you —”

“No.”

“But miss —”

“No, I can walk home by myself.”

“Miss 제발 .. it’s the least I can do for accidentally colliding with you earlier.”

“No.”

“Give me one good reason why.”

“You’re a complete stranger and I don’t know you, that’s a good enough reason.”

“Alright fair fair, but I mean c’mon your head has been bleeding since earlier and you refuse to let me help you.”

“With your reputation? fuck no.”

Jin looked down at the grass before looking back at you again.

“That was in my past, I’m a completely different person now!”

“I’m sure you are!”

“I can prove it to you ..”

“Oh yeah and how are you going to do that?”

“Let me take you home first —”

“Tell me how you’re going to prove it first then.”

He sighed heavily.

“Well??”

For a cowboy he sure as hell gets quiet a lot.

“Fine .. you wanna know how I’ll prove it to you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me —”

“If you say a date I swear.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come to one of my rodeo shows ..”

“Your rodeo shows?”

“Yeah, there’s always one in town every saturday, if you’re interested I could get you a free pass in.”

You sigh softly and roll your eyes, “Fine, I’ll come to one of your shows, but this is NOT a date, understand?”

“I understand!”, Jin put his hands up in mock surrender.

“What time tomorrow?”

“2 pm sharp, I could even give you a ride there so you won’t have to walk …”

“Let’s just go already.”

“Alright alright.”

You grabbed your art supplies and headed towards Jin’s horse. Jin mounted his horse and grabbed your hand helping you onto the horse.

“Those supplies are a bit old don’t you think it’s time for new ones?”

“Can’t afford it ..”

“Oh, I guess you just have to work with what you have I suppose.”

“Yeah I guess you do ..”

Who the fuck does this cowboy think he is mysteriously walking into your life like this?

Although change is nice every once in a while, let’s just hope it lasts.

───────────────────────

놈들은 우릴 못 잡아, 자 세일러! — they can't catch us, c'mon Sailor!

이런 젠장 — holy shit

제발 — please

───────────────────────

“I hate you. I hate you and your stupid smug face.” You grit out through your teeth, giving him your darkest look.

“I hate that you act like such a bitch to me.” He snapped back, and it was then that you realized how close the two of you had gotten in the heat of your argument, the energy feeling charged as you stared each other down.

God help you, he looked hot as fuck when he was angry, and that served to piss you off even more, and you completely ignored the way your insides turned molten hot, your core clenching around absolutely nothing. How can someone this infuriating be this gorgeous? Your gaze dropped down to his lips for s fraction of a second before you averted your gaze entirely. Hell no. He may be hot, but he was an asshole. You would sooner shoot yourself in the head before sleep with this man. Not that he’d want you anyway. He hated you just as much as you hated him, as far as you knew. He never explicitly said it like you have, and you wished that he would.

“Just like you hate me, right?” There maybe was something wrong with you to want to hear someone say they hated you, especially with the predicament you were currently in, but you really wanted him to say it, to prove that he was even more of a jerk.

“I don’t hate you, I don’t hate anyone, but you’re sure working really hard to get me there.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation. It seemed you would need to work harder because this won’t do.

“Well, you know what-“

“Can we just refocus on the fact that our pilot was eaten alive by an animal out here and we might be next? Jesus, woman!” Before you could respond, Seokjin stormed off in search of some kind of weapon.

You hated to agree with the man, but he was right, you had bigger things to worry about aside from how much you couldn’t stand each other, so you helped search, for something, anything that you could use. The closest thing you could find was a thick branch, but it wouldn’t do just how it was. You’d need to sharpen it somehow. How on earth would you sharpen it?! Could you just break it maybe? Then, how would you do that? It was too thick. Maybe Seokjin could, but…

“Kim, what about…?” You trailed off when you couldn’t see him in your line of sight anymore, and oh no. No, no, no… This wasn’t good. You were all alone now. You were lost. Where did he go?

“Seokjin!” You called frantically, fear gripping you tight. God, maybe if you hadn’t been such a bitch, he wouldn’t have left you.

“Seokjin!” You knew you were being loud now, and you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t because you were attracting attention now, but you couldn’t help it, you were truly freaking out now. You didn’t want to be by yourself on this island, you really didn’t. You would take Seokjin over being alone out here. Maybe you should have set your pride aside, and have been a bit more cordial. Shit!

“Seokjin, please, I’m sorry!” Damn it, the asshole had you apologizing now.

“Seok-“ The breath was knocked out of you as you were slammed to the ground, black spots dotting your vision as your head hit the grass, luckily not cement, but you didn’t have long to be thankful for that because a gigantic bear was hovering over you, claws out as he stood tall, in attack mode. Shit, this was it. Your life was over. You’d never see your family again, your friends. You were gonna die, and Seokjin-

You squeezed your eyes shut as you braced for the attack, but instead of sharp claws shredding you apart, you felt something hot and wet spray your face, and as you opened your eyes, you realized it was blood as a sharp, pointed edge of a stick was now impaled through the bear’s throat, and you quickly rolled out of the way before it could crush you as it fell to the ground, your heart racing as adrenaline spiked, fight or flight mode turned to the max.

It took a while to get your breathing under control, but once it did, you felt disgusted by the animal’s blood sticking to your skin now. You needed to rinse off.

“Are you alright?” It was Seokjin speaking to you now, well of course, who else would it be? He came back… He… He just saved your life.

“How…?” Your voice came out shaky, not able to finish, but he knew what you meant.

“I sharpened it with my trusty knife that I use to cut fruits, and my arms are a lot stronger than they look.” He was smirking now, and oh no… “So, not only did you call me by my name, but you actually apologized to me. I wonder if I’m in some kind of dream and this isn’t actually happening right now…”

You were openly gaping at him right now, because what the fuck? You were feeling some type of way… You were turned on, because hell yes he was stronger than he looked, and he just impaled that bear on the stick. It was hot as fuck, and great, now your panties were wet. What was wrong with you? Why would you get turned on by this? And from your mortal enemy, no less.

“Fuck me.” The words came out before you could stop them.

Seokjin blinked a few times, raising one single eyebrow in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, just once. One time. I need to get it out of my system.” What the hell were you saying?

Seokjin did something completely unexpected, he laughed. Even that was attractive. Damn it. “But I thought you hated me.”

“I do. Hate sex is a thing.” You still hated him, you did. He was still the big jerk who stole your customers, and you would never forget that, but you couldn’t deny that you were attracted to him, especially after what he just did.

“I see.” He was staring at you now, and you couldn’t decipher the look he was giving you for the life of you, but you could see the mischief dancing behind his eyes. You could just tell it meant trouble. He held a hand out to you then to help you up, and you took it, but you most certainly didn’t expect the harsh yank that had you stumbling into his chest.

“If I fuck you, Y/n, you won’t be able to get enough of me.” His promise was sealed against your ear as his hot breath tickled the skin, and then his teeth were grazing the shell of it, causing you to shiver in surprise, your clit betraying you by giving a hard throb. Seriously, fuck this cocky asshole and the way he was making you feel. This was the most time you’ve ever spent with Seokjin, and it was definitely not good for your sanity. This was bad.

“We’ll see.” You challenged before stepping out of his arms, turning around so as to not let him know how much he truly affected you. You would sooner jump off a cliff.

“Okay, Y/n, we’ll see.” He responded, and you loathed him. You really did.

“I hate you.” You said for good measure, and soon he was falling into step beside you, starting your journey to the jet for the med-kit.

With Seokjin’s lack of response, you turned your head to look at him, only to find a wide smile spread across his face. You wanted to smack it right off. “I should dig my fingers into that gash on your head to wipe that smile off your face.”

Your companion let out a bellowing laugh, and you would swear up and down that it was not endearing. “Aw, Y/n, you say the sweetest things to me, and after I just saved your life too.”

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood to prevent yourself from cracking a smile, immediately wincing instead. Another chuckle from none other than Seokjin Kim.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Y/n.” He really needed to stop saying your name like that. Why was he acting so… playful with you? You didn’t like it.

“You’re so annoying.” You sighed. The jet was nearing, almost there. As soon as you got that med-kit, you would immediately find some kind of water to rinse off, hopefully not having to walk all the way back to the beach.

“And yet, you asked me to fuck you.” He said knowingly, and you realized what a mistake you made saying that. “I wonder if I’ll be so annoying then…”

“You’ll still be annoying, trust me.” You gave him a pointed look before turning your gaze to the jet in front of you, hanging off the tree. “How are we gonna get up there?”

Seokjin, in response, only gave you a wink that practically short circuited your brain before he was literally climbing the tree, sweat dripping off of him from exertion. You couldn’t watch. Your body was betraying you right now, seeing this man out in the wild doing wild things was not good for your health.

It wasn’t too much longer until he was coming to stand in front of you now, med-kit in hand with beads of sweat dripping down his face that you wanted to trace with your tongue, and what? No! And why was he staring at you in curiosity? He never acted this way before. It was almost like you opened up a can that could not be closed again, like he didn’t fully believe that you hated him anymore, and now he was going to do everything possible to get you to like him. It wasn’t going to happen. He stole your customers. He took your number one spot, you reminded yourself.

“What?” You bit out in irritation.

“Are you going to take care of my wound?” His bottom lip jutted out, and you were weak because your eyes zeroed in right on it.

You shook yourself out of your trance and fixed him with a glare. “What are you, a child? You can clean it yourself.”

He reached for your wrist when you were about to walk away, closing his fingers around it gently. “Y/n, please. It’s hard when I can’t see what I’m doing. I want to make sure it gets cleaned properly.”

You relented with a dramatic sigh, pulling your hand out from his light grip before taking the med-kit from him, looking through it to find what you needed. You really did not want to be this close to Seokjin, especially because of the way he had you feeling. It’s not something you ever felt for him before and it was confusing as hell because you hated the guy. Why was he affecting you now? Sure, you always thought he was hot, anyone with eyes could see that, but he never affected you before. His charm never worked on you, and you weren’t the slightest bit interested. Maybe things would have been different if he hadn’t come to your town to one up you in every aspect of the job.

“This might sting a little.” You said quietly, even though he had to know it would already, pouring alcohol over your own hands to sanitize them before pouring more on a cloth and pressing it to the gash on his forehead, trying to be as gentle as possible.

The wince was automatic, his eyes scrunching shut as you pressed the cloth to his skin, making sure the alcohol would soak in. You actually felt bad that he was in pain. “I’m sorry… it needs to be done.”

His eyes opened at that, and then he was staring at you in a way that made you feel stripped bare. “That’s the second time you apologized to me today. Is an infection spreading? Do I feel feverish?”

This time you couldn’t stop the smile that unwillingly spread across your face, removing the cloth before putting antibiotic cream on your sanitized fingers. “Shut up, Kim.”

“And a smile too? I must be hallucinating now.”

“Oh my god. You’re so annoying.” You said in an exasperated tone, dabbing the wound all over lightly with cream, making sure you got enough on there before taping a bandage over it. “There all settled. Should be good for now, and I’ll reapply it later.”

“Thank you.” He murmured with a soft look, and you couldn’t help but stare back at him for a moment. His eyes were so pretty. Brown eyes were common of course, but there was something different about his, something that set them apart from all the others, and his lips looked so plush and full, begging to kissed. You had to remind yourself that you hated him, no matter how much your body disagreed.

“You’re welcome.” You cleared your throat before breaking the gaze, sealing everything back inside the med-kit as you nodded your head, more to yourself than to him. “Well, I need to find somewhere to rinse this blood off of me. I feel all gross because of it.”

“There’s gotta be something around here, let’s keep looking.” It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he refrained, letting the moment end like it should, which you were glad for because you were already feeling overwhelmed.

The both of you searched on for some water, hoping to find something. Not only did you need to rinse yourself, you were also dying of thirst now, and you sure couldn’t drink salt water from the ocean.

“Wait…” Jin stopped for a moment, and woah- where did that come from?

“What is it?” You asked, following his line of sight to a bush full of berries, and your face lit up as you ran toward it.

“These look delicious.” You picked one off the bush, but before you could pop it in your mouth, Seokjin stopped you.

“Let me try it first to make sure it’s safe.” He took the berry out of your hand before inspecting it.

“And what if it’s not?” Your eyes widened. Was he seriously willing to eat it first and risk himself just to make sure it was safe for you? This was not the Seokjin that you had an idea of in your head. As a matter of fact, he’s nothing like what you thought he was at all.

“Then, I guess… It’s not.” He said before placing the berry on his tongue, mouth closing around it as he chewed, and you just watched in suspense, holding your breath.

All of a sudden, he started coughing, clutching his chest, and you started to panic. “Seokjin! Seokjin! Shit… Oh no… What do I do??” You were reaching for him, hands moving over his arms as if you could do something. This couldn’t be happening.

“Seokjin…” You started patting his back, and it was then that you felt the rumbling of his laughter before you heard it. He was fine. Not poisoned at all. You fumed, tears burning hot behind your eyes.

“You asshole! What the hell is wrong with you, Seokjin?!” You swatted his shoulder.

“Y/n-“

“That wasn’t funny, Seokjin! I thought you were poisoned.”

“Wow, that’s the most I’ve heard you say my name. I think I like it. You’re spoiling me.” His words would have made you flustered in any other situation, but you were not happy right now.

“I’m serious, Kim.” You said pointedly, glaring daggers at him.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, okay?” He was still laughing, like he couldn’t help himself, but he placed his hands on your shoulders, grip steady.

“You don’t sound sorry.” You were still glaring, yet you didn’t shrug him off yet.

“I am. I’m sorry. Look, I’m okay. The berries are safe.” With one hand, he plucked another one from a bush before pressing it to your lips. “Try it.”

You opened your mouth, letting him place the berry on your tongue, and he watched as you chewed it slowly. He was giving you a strange look as well, and it was then that you realized you had let him feed you a berry. What has gotten into you, and why would you let your mortal enemy feed you? Did you still consider him an enemy? You were so confused.

“Yummy right?” He asked with a smile, and you almost, magic word, almost, forgot that he feigned being poisoned.

“You’re lucky I didn’t bite your finger off for messing with me like that, Kim.” You gave him an unimpressed look.

He was straight up pouting now. “If I get down on my knees and apologize will you forgive me?”

“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea-“

Seokjin actually got down on his knees in front of you before placing his palms together, peering up at you.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. Please forg-“

“Seokjin, I was kidding! Get up, please.” You knew you were flushing so hard that your face practically burned, and thankfully he listened, springing back up on his feet, all with a shit eating grin.

“What are you grinning about?” You asked suspiciously. “You look like a madman.”

“Y/n, that’s just mean.” His chuckle told you he wasn’t even the least bit offended.

“We are on a deserted island, out in the middle of who knows where, waiting for rescue, but wait… No one knows where the hell we are at!” You started, gesturing around you with your hands. “And you… are over here grinning like there is nothing wrong. I think madman is accurate in this situation.”

“Well I wouldn’t say nothing is wrong… But, come on Y/n, live a little. We can make this an adventure.” He was still smiling, and yeah, he’s lost it.

“An adventure… Seokjin, we could be stuck here forever! I can’t live on an island for the rest of my life!” You cried out, anxiety swirling through you at the mere thought of it.

“I’m trying to be optimistic. There’s nothing we can do to change our situation, so we may as well make the best of it while trying to find a way out, or hope for rescue. If we sit here and panic the whole time, we won’t survive.” He explained, and okay, he had a point. You hated that he had a point.

“You’re right…” You agreed with a sigh. You couldn’t let your fear and anxiety get the best of you, so you would try it his way.

“Wait… What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you… Must be something stuck in my ear.” He pressed a finger in his ear for a few seconds before pulling it back out. “Oh okay, I think I got it. Can you say that again, please?”

You gave him another unimpressed look, raising your eyebrows. “Are you looking for a beatdown?”

“A beatdown?” He laughed, his tone flabbergasted. “So violent, Y/n. You hate me that much?”

This time you didn’t answer that, because you weren’t quite sure you hated him anymore, but that didn’t mean you forgave him for stealing all of your customers away, and taking over your town. Except, now you kind of understood why everyone was so taken by him. Could he really be blamed for being funny, and charming, always putting others before himself? Maybe his volunteer work at the animal shelter wasn’t an act, after all. Maybe you should try being nice to him from now on, and you would need to have a conversation about the town situation, but first, finding water was priority.

You smiled, picking a handful of berries for the both of you before you started walking again. “Come on, Seokjin. Let’s set out on our ‘adventure’ and find some water. There’s gotta be some around here somewhere.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Seokjin fell in step beside you.

“Call me that again, and I’ll step on your foot.”

“Yes, ma- your majesty.” He moved in front of you before bowing.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Oh my god… You’re so annoying.”

“It made you laugh, though. I’m glad her majesty can join in on the lowly servant’s optimism.” His words made you laugh even more, damn him.

“Jin!”

“Jin?” He perked up.

“Seokjin.”

“Um, nope. I heard you the first time, you said ‘Jin.’”

“Did I though?” You smirked.

“Is her majesty trying to gaslight me now?”

“I would never, my servant.” You placed a hand on your chest in mock defense.

He chuckled. “You don’t have to admit it, but I heard it, and that’s enough for me.”

“Whatever you say, Kim.” You teased.

He just shook his head with a smile that had his cheeks scrunching up, and oh, he had dimples. God help you. Now he was making you feel things that weren’t sexual this time. No, this time, there was a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt a lot like butterflies fluttering around, and you were so not touching on that right now.

It wasn’t too much longer that you came to a clearing, and there it was.

“Water!” The both of you yelled out at the same time in relief, and you all but jumped up and down in excitement. The view was incredibly beautiful too. It was a decent sized watering hole with a waterfall off to the side. The water was clear too, clean. It was a clearing that was surrounded by trees. It was going to be quite the hike down there, unless…

“Should we jump?” You suggested.

Seokjin’s eyes immediately widened, unsure. “What?!”

“You did tell me to live a little.” You pointed out, smirking.

“Uh, well, I mean- I did say that, you’re right, but um-“

“Seokjin, you took on a bear, and you’re afraid to do this?” You joked.

“That’s different, your life was in danger.” He said nervously.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, and his eyes darted right to it. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to. We can climb down there.”

He stared at your hand on his arm for a few more seconds before his eyes met yours, seeming to have come to his decision. “No, let’s do it.”

“Are you sure?” You asked with a reassuring look. “I don’t want you to do it if you’re not comfortable.”

Suddenly, an endearing smile rose to his lips. “I’ll do it if you call me Jin again.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief, a light laugh escaping you. “Are you bribing me, Kim?”

“I wouldn’t call it a bribe… More like a favor, for such a lowly servant, of course.” He gave you puppy dog eyes.

“Stop calling yourself a lowly servant, Jin. You’re more like a knight who took on a bear.” You said seriously.

He smiled, satisfied. “Hm, you’re absolutely right.”

“Although, you’re too pretty to be a knight. You look more like a Prince.” Your words made him blush furiously, all the way to the tips of his ears. Interesting.

“That makes you my princess, then.” And, oh, now it was your turn to blush, and then you started coughing. You had walked right into that one.

“Shall we jump?” You walked to the edge of the hill, staring down at the drop leading to the water.

“If you jump, I jump.”

You snorted. “You did not just say that.”

“Y/n, that’s a little unclassy for a princess to snort.”

“Seokjin!” You were laughing way too much for being literally stranded out in the middle of nowhere, but surprisingly, your companion didn’t make it so bad.

“Ok, ok, let’s go-“

“Wait!” You yelled, gripping his hand to stop him.

“What is it?”

“I’m nervous…”

Instead of teasing you for suddenly freaking out, Seokjin slotted his fingers with yours, not letting go of your hand. “We’ll go together.”

“Okay.” You nodded, tightening your hold on his hand to make sure he wouldn’t slip away on the fall.

“On the count of three?”

“Sounds good.” You agreed.

“One.” He started.

“Two.” You looked at him as you spoke.

“Three.” He finished, and with that, the two of you took the leap together, free falling into the deep clear water together, hands still interlocked as you hit the water, cold water entering your senses as it enveloped you completely.

The fall made you go quite deep, but you swam up together, and as you broke surface, you were breathing harshly, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You needed to release it.

“Holy shit.” You gasped out, eyes searching for your companion as you kicked your feet to stay afloat.

“Shit is right.” He chuckled right beside you, and wow, you never heard Seokjin cuss.

You went under again, rinsing all of the nasty blood off your skin before coming up again, noticing that the bandage was starting to come off Jin’s forehead.

“We’ll need to clean and re-bandage your wound after we get out.” You swam to the shallow side, your hand slipping out of Seokjin’s as you finally felt ground at your feet, submerged in water up to your chest.

He nodded in agreement before suddenly laughing. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“Me either.” You said, and still filled with adrenaline, you did something completely unexpected. He was so close, and you closed the rest of the distance easily as you pressed your lips to his.

His response was immediate, his entire body stilling, and you pulled away just like that. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

His hand coming up to frame your jaw caused you to go silent. “Don’t apologize.” He said firmly, and this time, it was him capturing your lips, his palm settling comfortably on your cheek, his other hand coming down to rest at your hip, and you folded, wrapping your legs around his waist underneath the water as you kissed him back, throwing your arms around his neck.

His arms came around to cup your ass then, dragging you impossibly closer as his tongue ran across the seam of your lips, and you opened up for him, lips parting for his tongue to search out your own, causing you to moan when he twisted his appendage around yours. Holy shit, you were making out with Kim Seokjin right now. The man you used to hate. Your enemy. Except, here, on this island, he felt far from an enemy. He felt like a friend, or dare you say it, maybe more.

When it was necessary to breathe, he pulled back to look at you, and your lips felt just as swollen as his looked. “You’re so hot. I’ve always thought you were hot.”

His words made your face heat up, and you were starting to get wet not only from the water, especially feeling his erection pressed right against your core through your clothes. “I always thought you were hot too, even though I hated you. Hot, infuriating, a pain in my ass.”

He chuckled, and you leaned forward to take his plush lower lip between your teeth, making him let out a soft moan as you nipped at it. “And now? Do you still hate me?”

“No… But I’m still mad at you for taking all my customers away, and rubbing it in my face.” You said before kissing him again. God, he was a good kisser, and his lips felt so good pressed against your own.

“Mmm, I- I never-“ He got in between kisses, his hands squeezing your ass. “I wasn’t trying to rub it in your face. That was never my intention. I truly thought it was friendly competition. I guess I realized it wasn’t that way for you too late… Let me make it up to you.”

“How will you make it up to me?” You asked, trailing kisses down his neck before sucking the skin between your teeth at his pulse point. The thought of marking up his skin was a major turn on for you right now. You wanted all the women who came to his restaurant hoping for a chance to see it. Not that you’d make it back home soon, if ever, but you wouldn’t think about that right now. Right now, all you could think about was how badly you wanted Seokjin. When did you get this way about him? He was driving you crazy.

“Ah… shit, I- Y/n-“

“I want you.” Your hands delved underneath his soaked t-shirt to run up his bare chest as you continued marking up his neck with love bites, satisfied with the little noises of pleasure he was making.

“Y/n.” He said again, more firmly this time, so you broke away to look at him.

“What’s wrong? Am I-“

“No, no, nothing is wrong. This is- I’m enjoying this, trust me. I just want to make it up to you.” He said softly.

“You are making it up to me, I’m enjoying this too.” You reassured him.

“No, but, I want to make you feel good.” He emphasized his words by moving a hand between your legs to slide his fingers beneath your shorts to press firmly against your clit.

You let out a low moan as his finger started rubbing your bundle of nerves, and you started rocking against his hand, burying your face against his neck. “Jin…”

“There you go, princess. Say my name.” Him calling you princess in this setting had your core clenching in need as he walked you backwards until you were on land, and he moved to lay you down gently against a bed of grass before settling on his knees between your legs.

He lifted your wet shirt up to move your bra out of the way, exposing your breasts to the air, admiring them briefly before burying his face in your chest, grazing his teeth over a nipple, giving the bud a harsh suck.

“Jin…” You breathed out as he began kissing and sucking bruises all over your chest, and when your fingers came up to thread through his hair, he let out a hum of approval.

“God, I love it when you call me that. Say it again.” His voice was muffled from his face being pressed against your skin, but you heard him, and right now, you wanted to give him anything he wanted.

“Jin.” You accentuated his name with a tug of those thick raven locks, and the borderline feral growl that you received in return might have been the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. Scratch that, not might have been, it absolutely was, and it had wetness seeping out onto your already soaked panties.

He pulled off of your tit and gave you a dark look as he yanked your wet shorts along with your panties down your thighs, exposing your cunt to his lust blown eyes. He looked like he was seconds away from eating you alive, and you flushed under his watchful gaze.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe after so long of having you hate me, I have you laying out beneath me, eager for me to touch you. Let’s find out how wet you are for me, princess.” Jin kept his eyes on you as his pointer finger circled your folds before pressing inside of you, and because of how incredibly wet you were, it slid right in, and it had him smirking in satisfaction.

“Fuck, you’re dripping for me. Do you want me that bad, Y/n?” A moan escaped you at his seductive tone as his finger sought out that spot inside of you, and when he found it, your moan morphed into a whimper.

“Holy shit…” Your core clenched around the long digit inside of you.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl. I want an answer.” His thumb was now rubbing back and forth over your clit at a mad pace. This man was going to be the death of you.

“Yes! I want you… I want you, Jin. Please…” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but if it was coming from him, you wanted it all. You wanted everything.

“Yeah? But I thought you hated me?” He teased, knowing damn well you didn’t hate him anymore.

“No, I don’t hate you anymore… Please, Seokjin…” Your hips canted up into his touch.

“Good girl.” He pressed a kiss to your stomach, wiggling his finger around inside of you, pressing along your inner walls. “How should I get you off, Y/n? Do you want my fingers, or would you prefer my mouth?”

As sinful as those fingers of his were, the answer was an easy one for you. “Mouth! Your mouth, please. I want your mouth, Jin.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve been dying to taste this pretty cunt of yours.” Holy shit, you’ve never heard Seokjin ever speak this way, it had you clenching around his finger once more as more of your juices gushed out of you.

He didn’t make you wait any longer, lifting your legs to rest over his shoulders before he leaned in to run his tongue through your folds, letting out a low moan as he reached for your hand to place your hand in his hair. Apparently, he loved that, and so did you, your fingers immediately fisting in the dark strands.

“Best thing I ever tasted.” His voice rumbled over your entrance before his appendage was thrusting as deep inside of you as it could get, his face planted firmly against your core, fucking his tongue in and out of you as his thumb worked your clit.

“Jin…” You moaned out wantonly, cupping the back of his head with both hands as you pressed his face against you, his hums in response causing fresh release to hit his tongue before dripping out down his chin.

He pulled his tongue free from your cunt before looking up at you, and another moan fell from your lips seeing his face shining from your juices, all with a smirk plastered across his face.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet, taste so good. I want you to scream my name as you fall apart from my mouth.” He growled before abruptly thrusting two fingers inside of you, crooking just right as his tongue flicked at your clit before suckling on the engorged bud, and he didn’t stop. He kept the suction going as his deft fingers hit your g-spot over and over again.

“Jin… Jin… Jin!” He got you to do what he wanted, scream out his name as your orgasm hit you, causing you to spasm around his fingers, clenching around them as pure pleasure wracked your entire being, your release leaking out over the digits inside of you.

He worked you through it, his tongue lashing out over your clit, fingers still fucking into you until you became over sensitive.

“Jin…” You whimpered, and in response, he dragged his mouth away from your pussy before leaning down to kiss you, his tongue plunging into your mouth to let you taste yourself on him, and now you could feel his erection pressing firmly against your thigh through his wet clothes.

The kiss slowed gradually, your tongues exploring each others mouths. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to drag him closer while the other moved between your bodies to cup him through his wet slacks, and wow, that was an impressive bulge.

The sound that escaped him was needy, his hips rocking into your hand, and his body shuddered beneath your touch as you rubbed his hard cock through his layers of clothing.

“Y/n… Oh, shit… Y/n, oh god, I-“ He cut off on a groan as he bit down on your shoulder, hips stilling in your hold, and holy shit… You actually had him so turned on that he just came in his pants. All from eating you out?

“Seokjin… You…” You whispered, rubbing him through his orgasm. You thought you would taste him, get his cock in your mouth to return the favor, but this you weren’t expecting, and you sure as hell weren’t complaining either. You felt flattered, if anything.

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing. I didn’t mean to, it just- you’re just so-“

You pressed a finger to his lips. “Jin, don’t be embarrassed. That was so fucking hot.”

His face was still beet red, but he wasn’t as embarrassed as before. “Yeah? You like the affect you have on me?”

“Don’t worry handsome, you have the same affect on me.” You dragged him down for a messy kiss, pulling that plump lower lip between your teeth before biting down on it. His luscious lips deserved to be paid attention to all the damn time, and lucky you to be the one to lavish them with your biting kisses.

“Mm, good to know.” He murmured against your lips, and you laughed when he rubbed your noses together.

The way he helped re-dress you was so gentle that it had your heart doing dangerous things, made you feel things that you never thought you would ever feel for Kim Seokjin. Of course, it wasn’t comfortable putting wet clothes back on, but what could you do? You definitely wouldn’t be walking the island naked, even if there was no one else around save for the two of you. It just would feel too weird. You’d have to go back to the jet to grab what clothes you had brought with you, hoping that they were still there.

“You know… In a span of hours, I went from thinking you were the worst person to be stuck on this island with, and now, I’m just really glad you’re here. I feel safe with you.” You admitted.

“I promise I’m going to do everything I can to try and get us out of here, Y/n, and if anything, I’m going to make sure that you’re okay.” He rested a hand on your shoulder.

“We gotta make sure you’re okay too. Let me clean your wound again.” You sprung up on your feet to go grab the med-kit before settling back down in front of him.

He closed his eyes this time as you worked to clean the wound, still wincing, but not as bad since he was used to it by now, and when you got it bandaged your touch lingered as you smiled at him. Was he always this beautiful? “There we go.”

He looked back out you with a curious gaze, his head tilting slightly to the side. “You’ve never looked at me like this before.”

“Like what? Like I don’t hate you?” You asked with a chuckle.

His lips tilted in a barely there smile, but it didn’t need to be a big one, because there was mirth dancing in his eyes. “Well, yes that, but also…”

“Also…?” You questioned.

“Like… your strong feelings of hate have been morphed into something else entirely. Like… you have feelings for me?” You could tell he was embarrassed by the red of his ears as he spoke, and you wondered if he was questioning himself on whether he was right about that, but really, he was spot on.

“I suppose I do. Now I see it, clear as day.” You said, closing the med-kit up. Thank god it was full.

“See what?” Seokjin asked with another endearing tilt of his head.

“Why the whole town loves you.” You smiled.

He shook his head with a blush. “I wouldn’t say-“

“Don’t get modest on me now, Kim Seokjin. The entire town is completely taken with you, and I get it now. You’re- Jin, you are a good man, and honestly I feel like I have some making up to do to you as well. I was a jerk.” You admitted.

He frowned at that. “You thought I was trying to rub my success in your face for so long, I don’t blame you.”

“Yes, but you weren’t.” You placed your hand on top of his. “This might sound insane, but I’m glad we got stuck here together, it made me see the person you are.”

He threw his head back and laughed, his fingers slotting with yours. “You’re right, that does sound insane, but I’m glad too. Truthfully, I always admired you, even when you got under my skin. I’ve tried your food, it’s incredible. You shouldn’t ever doubt that.”

“You’ve tried my food?” Your eyes widened in surprise, and he nodded. “How? I never let you in my restaurant…”

“I have my ways.” He winked at you.

You gasped, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You sneak.”

“I want to try your food.” You added with a pout.

“I’ll cook for you if we ever get off this island. As a matter of fact, if we get back to the beach, I can catch some fish, we can get some wood to build a fire, and then I can cook for you there. It won’t be the usual because I don’t have much to work with here, but it’ll be something.” He grinned.

“That sounds amazing, Jin, but how will we catch the fish?” You raised a brow.

“My dear, sweet, Y/n, I have many talents.” Another wink.

“Mm, you really do.” You shot back flirtatiously, and you smirked in victory when his face turned red once more. He knew exactly what you meant by that.

“I enjoyed satisfying you.” He smirked through his blush, making you smile. You enjoyed it too, alot.

“Well, we better get back to the jet to grab our clothes, it’s getting cold, and we also should get back to the beach so I can catch some fish to make for us.” He added a moment later before standing up, reaching for your hand to help you up.

You filled the empty water bottles you brought along with you before heading back the direction of the jet, and as you dragged out your suitcase you cursed, because you brought a lot of dresses with you. You thought you’d be going to Rome. You didn’t pack like you’d be out surviving in the wild.

“What’s wrong?” Jin asked from where he was going through his things.

“I’m gonna have to settle for my pajamas. All I brought were dresses.” You frowned.

“I packed a ton of t-shirts because I wasn’t sure which ones I would wear, so you can wear some of mine, if you’d like.” He suggested graciously.

“Yes, please.” You thanked him with a grateful smile as he handed you one of his shirts, and you put it on along with a fresh pair of panties, which, thank god you packed plenty of those, and some sweatpants. You didn’t bother being modest about changing in front of your companion, he already had his face buried between your legs, having gotten familiar with your most private parts.

It took a while to make it back to the beach, and you tried to not down all of the water because you knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to get more until tomorrow. You would both be safer out here during the night, or atleast, you hoped you would be.

You started with gathering wood up to set a fire while Seokjin was out in the ocean in his boxers trying to catch a fish. He came back out successful, just like he said he would, rivulets of water dripping down his face with his hair slicked to the side, now dead fish in hand. This man really was something, so capable, it was entirely attractive.

“Oh my god, that water is freezing.” He wrapped his arms around himself after setting the fish to cook on the fire, getting near the flames of warmth himself.

“Get some warm clothes on. I’ll keep an eye on the fish while you dress.” He didn’t question it, trusting you with keeping an eye on your food completely, and this time when he came to sit by the fire, he was dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a cream colored hoodie. He looked warm and cozy, but he was still shivering some.

“Come here.” You opened your arms, and he came willingly, burrowing himself in your warm embrace.

“Mm, you’re so warm.” He nuzzled his face in your neck, causing you to shiver, not from being cold.

He stayed snuggled up against you as he flipped the fish over, letting it finish cooking before the two of you dug in, splitting the food evenly between you both.

After eating, you settled near the fire, letting the heat warm you both up as you lay there cuddled together underneath a blanket, that you had luckily brought along with you for the trip. Your face was buried in his hoodie, fingers twisted in the material, his arm thrown around your hip, chin resting above your head. You were so exhausted.

“Jin.” You murmured the words against him.

“Hm?”

“I’m scared… What if I never see my family again?”

“I’m scared too, and… I know it’s hard, but… We have to try not to think that way. We can’t lose hope.” He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, and you melted into him, burrowing closer.

“I know, I’m trying.” You whispered.

“Do you want me to stay up and watch over while you sleep?” He asked, and your heart clenched at how thoughtful the gesture was.

“No, no. You need rest too. Please, I don’t want you sacrificing your sleep. You need it, we both do.” You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion taking over, and within minutes, you were falling asleep in his arms, him shortly after you.

When you woke, it was early thanks to the bright sun shining over you, and you groaned, hiding your face in Jin’s sweatshirt to try and block the sun. The brightness seemed to have woken him up as well, because he let out a big yawn above your head.

You lifted your head up to look at him, letting out a chuckle at how adorable he looked with his sleep tossled hair.

“What?” He asked with a raise of his lips.

“Oh, nothing.” You said playfully.

“Are you making fun of me first thing in the morning?” He asked in mock offense.

“Me? I would never.” You grinned.

“Mhmm.” He responded skeptically, and then he was leaning in to kiss you, making you gasp.

“Jin, I have morning breath.” You mumbled against his lips in embarrassment.

“You taste fine to me.” His words were pressed against your lips, and then you were kissing him back, sliding a leg between his to slot your bodies together. When he licked into your mouth, you let out a soft moan, pressing yourself against him firmly.

The kiss was slow and searching until it wasn’t, growing more passionate as you felt his cock grow hard against your thigh, and he let out a soft moan into your mouth when you deliberately pressed your leg harder against it.

“Jin, I want you.” You pressed into the kiss, tangling your fingers into his thick hair.

He pulled back to look at you, disappointment dawning his features. “I- Y/n, trust me, I do too, but I don’t have a condom. The last thing I expected on this trip was for you to want me.”

“It’s okay, we don’t need one. I’m on the shot, and all clear. I mean, if you’re okay with it…” You trailed off.

He just stared at you for a few moments, long enough that you started growing embarrassed. “It’s okay, we don’t-“

“Just the other day you wanted nothing to do with me, and now you want me to fuck you bare?” He sounded shocked, but he also sounded turned on now.

“I mean… Yes, I trust you, but only if you want to. If you aren’t okay with it, then we can wait.” You reassured.

“Yes, I actually… I’ve never done that, gone without one, but I want to, with you. I trust you, and I’m all clear too.” He pressed a hard kiss to your lips, and you responded eagerly.

“I’ve never gone without one either. You’d be the first.” You murmured against his lips, hand coming down between you to press your palm over his clothed cock.

“Fuck…” He growled, his hand sliding between your legs to slip inside of your shorts, moving your panties aside before rubbing a finger back and forth through your folds, testing the resistance before pressing inside, and he hummed in approval when it slid right in.

“Already wet for me, princess?” His voice came out husky as he buried the digit up to his knuckle, adding a second finger seconds later before crooking them inside of you, stretching you out for his cock, and you spread your legs to give him more access.

“Yes, Jin… Want you so bad. Please fuck me…Need you right now.” You gave a needy moan as you fucked yourself back on his fingers, burying your face against his neck when he added a third one, now feeling the stretch.

“Shit… You want me that bad, baby?” He fucked his fingers in and out of you with ease, squelching noises sounding from how wet you were. “So fucking wet, I can’t wait to have my cock buried in this pretty cunt, bet you’ll feel just as incredible as you taste.”

“Jin…” His words were driving you crazy, and if he didn’t get his dick in you right now, you were gonna explode.

“I love it when you say my name, Y/n. I want it to be the only thing you’re screaming when I have you coming all over my cock.” He pulled his fingers out of you with a wet pop, and you felt like you would die on the spot when you watched him stick the digits that were just inside of you in his mouth, sucking them clean with a moan, his eyes closing.

“Oh god, Jin, please…” You sounded desperate now, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“I got you, baby. I’ll take care of you.” Him calling you baby had your insides fluttering with warmth, and your mouth practically watered as he pulled his gray sweatpants down to expose his cock, standing proud as it hit his stomach, a bead of pre-cum oozing out over the slit that you wanted to taste.

He knew exactly where your head was at, because the next thing you knew, he was gripping his cock before swiping his thumb over the head as more of his essence escaped him, and then he was pressing his slick finger to your lips.

You opened for him immediately, his thumb pressing against your tongue as the taste of him exploded in your mouth. It was partly bitter of course, but it was also earthly, and something that was entirely him that it had you craving more.

“Suck.” His voice came out as a demand, but you could tell he was just as desperate as you were by the crack in his tone. You closed your lips over his thumb, sucking the digit as if it were his cock, swirling your tongue over the tip of it.

“Good girl.” He praised, his eyes clouded with lust. “Next time, I’ll let you suck my cock. I bet you’d look so pretty down on your knees for me. What do you think, princess?”

“I think if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll die.” You groaned out in desperation, but really, the idea of sucking his cock was very enticing. You wanted to make him feel good. Have him fall apart under your tongue. It had a fresh wave of wetness escaping your core.

“Oh, is that so?” He pulled your shorts and panties off of you in one go before he bended you over his leg, and then he was smacking your ass, hard.

“Ah!” You cried out in surprise, mixed with pleasure pain, and now your clit was throbbing with need.

“Answer my question, Y/n.” He said darkly, and the idea of causing him to lose control was heavy on your mind now.

“What question?” You asked innocently.

The growl he let out in response was feral, and then his hand was coming down on your ass once more, directly followed by another smack, and you let out a wanton moan.

“My princess likes getting her ass spanked? Such a dirty girl. I feel like this punishment is more like a reward for you.” His words were breathy, the mask of control fading completely, his palm smoothing over the skin of your ass, easing the sting. “Answer my question, Y/n, or you won’t be cumming this morning.”

“What? Really?” You asked with wide eyes, a needy whine escaping you as he undressed you the rest of the way before settling you on your back, pulling his own hoodie over his head to reveal his glorious golden skin. How could a man be this beautiful? It was almost painful to look at him.

“Yes, really, but I know we won’t have to worry about that, because I know you can be good for me. Right?” He trailed a wet patch of kisses along your neck, nipping at the skin as he smoothed a hand down between you to rub his throbbing cock through your wet folds, making you moan as it caught over your engorged clit.

You may have enjoyed teasing him, but you also really, really, wanted to be good for him, and right now, that overpowered your playful side, wanting to submit yourself to his dominant side completely. “Yes, Jin… I think I- I would look pretty down on my knees for you… Ah… Please…”

“That’s my girl.” His praise had your insides turning warm, and then his cock was prodding at your entrance before the bulbous head popped in, stretching you far more than his fingers had.

“Fuck… I’m not gonna last long. I’ve been dying to be inside this sweet cunt.. You feel so good, so tight around me.” He pressed his face against your shoulder as he inched his way inside of you, the stretch from his thick cock a burning pleasure.

“Shit, Jin, you too… I love your cock…” You dug your heels into his back to drag him closer, fingernails grazing up his chest, making him shiver.

He paused when his hips settled against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, and then he pulled out in a slow drag until only the head was inside before he slammed back in, his eyes on the spot where your pussy was swallowing his cock.

“You take me so well, look at how this perfect pussy is sucking me in. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. You’re mine now.” He growled out possessively, and you let out a moan as your fingernails raked up his back, leaving red lines behind.

“Fuck, yes, Jin… Ruin me. I’m yours.” Your eyes drifted down to where your bodies were joined, his hips slamming into you over and over, his cock finding your g-spot only to batter it completely.

“Fuck, I’m close… Where do you want me, Y/n? All over these amazing tits, or-“

“Inside.. Inside, Jin, please… Want you to cum inside…” You pleaded, and he let out a broken sound as he fucked you even harder than before, his finger thumb coming down to rub your clit in perfect time with his thrusts.

“You want my cum? Want me to mark you on the inside and fill you up until you’re so full of it that it leaks out of you?” Your walls contracted at his filthy words, and that was it for him. His hips stuttered, once, twice, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep inside of you with a groan of your name.

It was to the feeling of his warm release filling you up, paired with the way he said your name while rubbing your clit that sent you over the edge with him, your pussy clenching as both of your releases leaked out over his dick, a mantra of his name leaving your lips.

He moved to lay on his side as his softening cock slipped out of you, and then he was lazily kissing you as you both came down from your high. You let out a sigh of content against his lips, fingers threading gently through his hair as you kissed him back, pressing yourself against him completely until every inch of your bodies were touching because you just enjoyed being close to him.

“I just slept with my ex mortal enemy, who would have thought?” You murmured against Seokjin’s lips with a chuckle.

“I’ve been promoted to ex mortal enemy, this is a huge step.” He responded with a grin.

“You’ve been promoted to boyfriend.” You pulled back to smile at him. “I mean, if you want?”

“Yes, I want. I would like that, alot.” He nudged your noses together, and your eyes fluttered closed, feeling happy despite literally being stuck on an island. Not even that could destroy this moment for you.

Five months had passed by with still no hope of rescue. No one else came to the island, no one else lived on the island, although the latter part might have been actually been a good thing. No ships passed by, atleast not in a close enough range to spot them. Airplanes have flown across the island very seldomly, and you had no way of alerting them. You did everything you could to survive. Your boyfriend though, he was very smart. He started building a raft two months ago, and it was nearly finished. It only needed a few more final touches, and then you would be able to leave. You’d have no idea where to go, but you hoped to atleast get far enough to run into a ship that can help. It was pretty much your last hope before accepting the fact that you might end up stuck on the island for good.

You were in the middle of getting food ready for the both of you while Seokjin was doing a water run. You offered to go with him, but he refused because you had a small cold and he didn’t want you to exert yourself too much and make it worse. You worried about him the entire time, and when he made it back, you were almost relieved, except…. He didn’t look so good.

“Jin… Did something happen?” You asked in concern, watching as he dropped the filled water bottles to the ground.

He stumbled on his feet, and you were there to steady him immediately, making sure he didn’t fall over.

“Jin?!” Now you were scared. “Please tell me what happened???”

“I- The raft, this is im-important.” He started telling you how to get the sailing done, and you were confused because why is he talking like he’s not coming with you?

“Jin-“

“Make sure you have the flares ready and use them at the right time when you spot a ship.” His voice was still unsteady, he was slurring his words as he started sweating.

“Jin please….” You started to cry, not understanding what was happening, but terrified for him.

“I was… bitten.” He got out, and he was not able to stand on his own anymore, so when he fell into you completely, you caught him, sitting you both down until he was laying with his head on your lap, his hair now soaked with sweat.

“Jin, what bit you? Jin!” You cried out when his eyes fluttered before refocusing on you.

“It-snake.” His eyes focused on you, still breathing, which was a good sign, bad sign, his heart was racing.

“A snake…Damn it…” You couldn’t freak out, you couldn’t. You needed to stay calm for him, to help calm him down. “Baby… I know it’s hard, but I need you to try relaxing atleast a little. The faster your heart races, the faster the venom will spread. Focus on your breathing for me, Jinnie.”

He tried to do as you said, his eyes closing to focus on calming himself. When you felt his pulse again a minute later, you could tell that it had gone down some. You searched his body for the bite. First his legs, nothing. It was when you checked his arms that you found it, right on the back of his hand. You couldn’t look at it for more than a second because it looked awful, and there was no way to take a picture to identify what kind of snake bit him. You took one more look, because you had to keep track of where the red line was.

You moved his hand at heart level, letting out a shaky breath. “Keep your hand placed here. Don’t move it.”

“You… seem to know about snakes.” He tried looking up at you, his breathing shaky.

“My dad was bitten by one… We have to get you out of here. I need to- The raft- Let me get that fixed up and then we are leaving here. You need medical attention as soon as possible. We have to-“

“Y/n…” He cut you off, reaching for your hand with his uninjured one, his grip weak. “I’m not gonna make it… You have to get yourself out of here. Please, I don’t want you stuck here. You need to leave me, and go.”

“No… No! Absolutely not, Seokjin! I’m not leaving you!” Tears streaked down your face now unbidden, not able to control yourself any longer.

“Y/n, look at where we are at… You-“

“I will be damned if I don’t try. I am going to do everything possible to get you out of here with me. I’m not leaving this island without you, I mean it.” Your tone held no room for argument.

He just gave you a sad look, but he let up. “I- I need to tell you that I-“

“You can tell me when we make it out of here.” Somehow, you knew exactly what he was going to say, and even though neither of you had said the words yet, you felt them just as deeply, but you refused to let him try and say his goodbyes. He wasn’t going anywhere, he couldn’t.

“Please, let me say it. If I make it out, I’ll tell you again, but please…” His voice came out breathy.

You squeezed his hand lightly, tears flowing down your cheeks rapidly, but you gave him a nod.

“Y/n, I love you. I’m glad we got stuck on this island together. It’s crazy, but I- I wouldn’t trade it for anything...” He let out a laugh that turned into a wince when pain rushed through him, and you pressed a kiss to his hand.

“I love you too, Jin, and I’m gonna get you out of here alive. I have to.” You moved to lay him gently on the blanket in the sand before finishing up what needed to be done for the raft before running back to where he was still laying down in the same position, except now, he was shivering.

“Fuck… come on. Let’s get you on the raft, my love.” You reached beneath his shoulders, lifting as gently as you could before dragging him over to the raft. It was a pain to get him on it, but when you finally managed, you immediately got on right after before settling sail to find help.

“Hang in there for me, Jinnie…” When he didn’t respond, you glanced down at him, only to find him now passed out cold. “No, no, no… This can’t be happening. Please, please, someone be out there.”

You started losing hope when you sailed out all the way into the middle of the sea, your heart clenching painfully as you cried. You cried until a headache formed behind your eyes, but you kept searching, and then eventually, you spotted something in the distance. You couldn’t tell if it was a ship yet, but as you got closer, you realized that it was, and hope bloomed through you when you got within enough distance to signal out with the flares so they could see you.

“Help, please, help!” You screamed out as loud as you could, thanking god that they noticed, because they were now heading right for you, and before they could start helping you onto the ship, you spoke.

“Call emergency services right now, my boyfriend was bitten by a snake, and he’s passed out right now. Please… They need to get out here asap! He needs a hospital.” You were sobbing, but you managed to get the words out.

One person on the ship was already on the phone before you finished speaking while a few others helped get the two of you on their ship, making sure your boyfriend was in the same position laying back down.

“An airlift is on the way to transport him to the hospital. They want to know how long it’s been since the bite?” The older man who was on the phone asked you.

“I… Almost two hours. Is that bad? How long does he have?” You moved to sit beside Seokjin, gripping onto his hand that hadn’t been bitten before moving it down to feel his pulse.

The man told dispatch what you said before handing the phone over for you to take over. “Is he going to be okay? Please… I can’t lose him.”

“The helicopter is on the way. They’re going to do everything they can. Have you kept the affected area at or near heart level?” The woman on the phone asked.

“Yes, I - I made sure to do that.” You responded, looking down at your boyfriend.

“Good, that’s good, and-“

Her words got lost to your ears as your boyfriend started to wake up, and then his heart rate was spiking once more. “What- Where am I? Y/n I don’t feel so good… I’m…”

“He’s awake, and his heart is beating really fast again.” You moved his hair away from where it was sticking to his forehead. “He’s burning up. Please… Are they almost here?”

“They should be there any minute now. Sweetie, what is your boyfriend’s name?” She asked calmly.

“Jin.”

“Alright, Jin… I need you to try and relax as much as you can to stop the venom from spreading as quickly. Can you try to take some deep breaths?” The woman asked over the line.

“I- I’m trying.” He breathed out slowly, shivering from the fever as he let out a cry. “Y/n…”

“I’m here, Jinnie. I’m right here. We made it, help is coming, hang in there for me.” You leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead before leaning your own against his as you waited.

Just like the woman said, the loud noise of a helicopter was sounding above you, and she stayed on the line until help arrived, and soon you were both flying off to the nearest hospital. You made sure to thank your rescuers, because if it weren’t for them, not only would you still be stuck on the island, but you also would have lost the man who has become the most important person in your life, and that right there would have been the biggest devastation of all.

You had anxiety about getting on anything in the air after what had happened, but you breathed through it because it was the fastest way to get you to a hospital. The medics were doing everything they could to help Seokjin until you made it to the hospital to administer the antivenom. All they could do was give him medicine for the nausea and get him on an iv to stop dehydration, and you were by his side through it all, gripping on tightly to his uninjured hand.

He wasn’t in good shape when you arrived, his hand going from being in excruciating pain to going completely numb, and all you could do was wait in distress while they rushed him into the emergency room to give him the anti venom. It was about thirty minutes later and you pacing back and forth when they finally came back out, and you held your breath.

“He’s going to be okay. I would say this is a miracle you both got rescued on time. Any longer and he would have lost his hand, and that’s best case scenario. He needs to rest it for a few weeks and keep the bite clean to ensure no tissue damage or infection because it’s still an open wound. The bandage needs to be changed every few hours at first for a few days, followed by every night until it heals.” The doctor said, and you let out a big sigh of relief.

“Thank god. Can I see him?” You asked right away.

“Of course.” The doctor nodded, leading you to the room your boyfriend was in, and you all but ran to his bedside.

“I’m so glad you’re okay! You had me so scared, Jin. I thought I might lose you.” Tears of relief fell upon your cheeks as you moved onto the small hospital bed beside him, careful of the cords as your arm came up to wrap gently around his waist as you held him.

“I’m here because of you, Y/n. You got us off that island and found help.” He rested his hand over your back as best as he could. “I’m just scared now that we’re back in the real world. What if…”

“What if what?” You asked when he trailed off, pressing a kiss to his neck.

“What if you realize that I’m still the man you hated?” His words were quiet.

“Never. When I told you that I loved you too, I meant it. I love you, Seokjin. There’s nothing that can change that for me. I see you for the incredible person that you are, not the person I used to think you were.” You cupped his cheek, turning his head lightly to face you.

A smile rose to his face, and it was the first one you seen since before he got bit, and it was one you wanted to see for the rest of your life. “That makes me really happy, and I love you.”

“Good. My prince.” You murmured with a grin before closing the distance, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss.

His response was to flush as he returned your kiss, a happy sigh escaping from his lips onto your own. You really couldn’t wait to be home, but you realized that you would be happy anywhere as long as you were with Seokjin.

Your parents, of course were relieved when you made it home, and they called to check on you every five minutes to make sure you were okay for months. They absolutely adored your boyfriend, unsurprisingly. Who wouldn’t adore that man? And your best friend Hobi’s face when you told him that the two of you were now together, priceless, but then he went on about how he could see the tension between the two of you building for months and that it would have exploded eventually. He wished he was there to witness it, and he was also really relieved to have you back, that you weren’t actually dead somewhere.

For you and Seokjin, everything between you was the same as it was on the island, except you were actually back in the real world, and you loved him now more than ever, and when he asked you to move in with him, you happily accepted, and you ended up adopting both a cat, and a puppy. Neither of you wanted to take a trip that included flying for a very long time, but that was okay, because you were completely content where you were at. Having each other was your source of happiness. You felt entirely lucky to be here with him, right by his side, and no matter where you were at in the world, he was your home. He always would be.

With that however, all the hotels in a seventy mile radius were booked; no matter what Jin or his manager tried to do, there was nothing.

Which is why you were sitting awkwardly on an air mattress one of the staff members went out and bought it along with sheets before the store closed, thankfully. It was inflated in the corner of Jin's room of the house they're staying at, allowing you to sit against the wall comfortably.

This wasn't the first time you'd shared a room with Jin, you guys had been friends for ages by this point. So it was easy to just sit in silence, letting him relax after today's concert.

It was a good concert. Granted you weren't there, but it seemed like half of your Twitter timeline was. They were getting more comfortable with every show, and seemingly more exposed.

You'd probably watched the video of Jungkook pulling his shirt up a million times by now, the tight shirt only adding to the infatuation. Who could blame you, despite knowing the man he knew how to put on a hell of a performance.

"What are you giggling at?" Jin asked, moving from his spot on his bed towards you.

"Nothing!" You shouted, pulling your phone to your chest with embarrassment flooding your face.

"Yah come on!" He laughed, sitting next to you. "I want to laugh too!"

You shook your head, trying hide further in the corner as he reached for your phone. Much to your dismay, Jin was stronger than you by a long shot. Despite your best efforts he pried your phone out of your grip, laughing at the defeated look on your face before looking.

The smile wiped clean off his features. His brow furrowed, confusion settling deep within him. You grimaced the longer he stared at the screen, the video of his friend playing on repeat.

The room felt suffocating, the silence defeating with every passing second. You could do nothing but stare, waiting for a reaction. It felt like hours before he finally said something.

"Why were you—Jungkook?" He stammered, looking up at you before his eyes locked on your phone. "This isn't—it's just—all that over Jungkook?" He couldn't keep his train of thought, you could see every one pass through him.

"I have eyes." You mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

It's not like you have to justify finding someone hot to your friend, even if you have a crush on him, and the guy you were staring at was his best friend. You're allowed to find people attractive, supposedly with no guilt.

The look on his face made you feel guilty though. He seemed genuinely upset, a deep frown forming on his lips.

"Are you mad at me?" You ask, completely confused by his sullen energy.

Jin looked back up at you. A look in his eyes that had your heart skipping. It was one that you had seen countless times, army always posted the videos of him looking out into the crowd with want and love in his eyes. That look, mixed with the sadness on his lips had you nauseous.

He shook his head, handing you your phone back. Taking a second, he sat back, gaze unwavering. The silence spanned longer this time, only leaving you more confused.

With how long you'd known Jin you'd never see him this distressed. Especially not directed towards you. All you did was giggle at a video of his friend, and he was acting like he caught the both of you in his bed.

"No I—you didn't tell me." Jin finally answered, giving you a obviously fake smile as reassurance.

"Tell you what?" You were even more confused: apparently you we keeping something from him without your own knowledge.

"That you have a crush on Jk." You laughed, startling him. "It's not funny!" He said, annoyed with your reaction.

You paused, realizing that your response wasn't taken as the lighthearted humor you meant it as. The longer you look at him the more annoyed he looked, and after a particularly awkward staring contest you caught on.

"Jin, are you jealous?" You expected to hear his loud laughter fill the room, but that's not what you got.

Instead, he turned away from you. Standing up off the air mattress and walking towards his own bed. All in complete silence, something he's normally not good at.

"I can go stay in Yoongis room." He said, already grabbing his pillow off the bed.

"Wait!" You called out, moving closer to his bed while still seated on your own. "Don't leave, please."

Jin sighed, turning to look at you again. He walked over to you, towering above you as he stood inches in front of you. His hands ran over his face, a tired expression taking over.

"It's okay if you do." He whispered. "You two would be good together." He tired to offer you a smile again, unable to break through the raw emotion shrouding him.

"I don't." You replied, straining your neck to look up at him. "It—I—he's just nice to look at." You sighed, having difficult explaining yourself. "Can you please sit back down, looking up at you like this hurts."

Jin chuckled, falling down to his knees next to the mattress. You could see how quickly his chest was rising now that he was close, shakey breaths filling the space between you two.

"Nice to look at?" He asks sarcastically, tone reeking of false confidence. "You have worldwide handsome right here, better than some video." The distraction didn't land the way he wanted it to, obvious by his own immediate regret.

"You really are jealous." You say in awe, staring at him with a shocked look. "You're jealous I think he's attractive." Jin's smile faltered again, no amount of effort able to stop it.

"Does it make it awkward between us if I am?" His voice was quiet, almost as if he didn't want you to hear his pseudo confession.

It was enough for you, and honestly you didn't know how to respond. You weren't sure what type of confession it was, did he like you? Did he just not want you with his friends?

You didn't like how fast your thoughts were moving. Every possible scenario playing out in your already tired brain. Maybe the long plane ride had you a bit impulsive, but fuck it.

Your hand shot out towards him, gripping the basic black shirt he was wearing. Jin's eyes went wide for the split second you could see them.

He gasped when you pulled him towards you, other hand sliding to the nape of his neck as you pushed your lips against his. It didn't take him long to catch on, reciprocating the kiss almost instantly.

His lips were soft, softer than you'd imagined; the faint taste of champagne from earlier still prevalent. They molded into yours perfectly, making the slow kiss feel like heaven.

Jin's hand rested against your cheek, holding you against him. You leaned into the touch, already desperately wanting more of it.

You dropped the grip on his shirt, aimlessly searching for his other hand. Once you found it you pulled it towards you. Jin allowed you to guide him, smirking against your lips when you placed it on your waist.

He pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. The hand on your cheek stayed, thumb grazing across the skin as he stared into your eyes.

"You're a good kisser." Jin whispered, each syllable hitting your lips.

"Should keep kissing me then." You replied, already trying to reconnect your lips.

Jin laughed, giving into your request. This time the kiss deepened, his tongue pushing past your lips with minimal resistance. Your allowance gave him confidence, making him push against you harder.

He started pushing you backwards, keeping his lips on yours as you moved towards the wall. He crawled with you, not stopping until your back was in the corner. It was slightly uncomfortable, an awkward angle, but that thought was forgotten the second you opened your eyes, seeing Jin hunched over you to follow the kiss.

"Fuck me." You muttered against his lips, words you didn't mean to leave your head.

Jin pulled away at the expression. His eyes were wide and filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He sat back on his heels, still managing to tower over you in his seated position.

"I could." He replied, voice hushed as if he was going to be overheard. "I would."

"Really?" You asked, still in slight disbelief at the entire situation.

"I've wanted to for ages." He chuckles, face starting to flush red.

"Think you could fuck me like you're still jealous?" Jin narrowed his eyes at your jest, a large hand coming to rest on your thigh in response.

"I am still jealous." There was a hint of a joking tone, but you knew he meant it from the look on his face. "I'm right here, been here for hours."

"You weren't showing your abs though." You giggled, trying to test him.

Jin didn't reply, just stared you down for what felt like hours. He startled you when his hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist. The grip guided your hand to his torso, guiding your palm along the expanse of his abs, allowing you to feel the slight ridges beneath the tight shirt.

His eyes didn't leave yours, smirking when your hand started moving on its own. You couldn't help yourself, every second he looked at you like that, every second he allowed you to touch him only had you spiraling deeper into need.

"He's in the other room if you'd prefer." He whispered, leaning closer to you with a grin that shows he knows he's winning.

You shook your head, still running your hand along his covered torso with nothing but pure greed. He didn't stop you, letting you explore every inch.

"I want you. Just you." You slid your hand up further, not stopping until it splayed over the expanse of his neck. "Want you to fuck me." You whispered against his lips, staring down at them with desperation.

"Fuck, okay." He said before pressing his lips against yours.

His hand slid up your leg slowly, the gentle pressure barely going through the fabric of your pants. The light sensation set your skin on fire, a need for more burning inside of you.

Then, he pulled away. His hand left your body and lips retreated. You whimpered as he stood up, confusion and hurt starting to swirl around your head.

You watched as he walked over to his bed, grabbing his phone and typing something into it with a speed you'd never seen. Your chest felt heavy at all the scenarios your anxiety produced, looking up at him with wide, scared eyes.

When his eyes met yours again his face quickly turned from happiness to panic. Jin immediately started towards you again, dropping back onto his knees in a way that had to hurt. You could see his phone still lit up in his pocket, but you weren't allowed to focus on it as his hands quickly cradled your face.

He tried to kiss you again, but you dodged him. You looked at him with a pointed expression, eyes flicking down to his pocket before back up at him.

"I needed to text the group." He sighs, pulling the phone out and laying it on the floor next to the both of you.

"Why? Trying to brag already?" You asked, trying and failing to hide your nerves.

"Really? Do you really want to know?" His voice was desperate, wanting you to say no and go back to the kiss. You, of course, nodded your head yes, now more curious than anything. "Fine. I—ugh I don't have any condoms so…" He trailed off, looking down at the screen that flashed.

"You don't have any condoms?" Your own voice trailed too, confused at the correlation.

"Yeah. You want me to fuck you—I want to fuck you!" Jin quickly spoke, emphasizing the last part. "Can't do that without them so."

"So?" You looked down at the partly visible screen, a constant stream of chat bubbles popping up.

"Needed to see if anyone had some." He whispered, still not meeting your eyes.

"You texted the guys asking for condoms? Seriously?" You couldn't help but laugh, making him groan loudly.

"I'm being safe! It was either that or we don't have sex and I really want too. I'm their elder, they'll be respectful about it." It didn't seem like he believed that last part.

"So responsible Jinnie." You said before pulling his gaze towards you, pressing your lips stark against his in a slow kiss, all nerves dissipating.

Jin kissed back eagerly, quickly speeding up the kiss to how it was before. He crowded you into the wall once again, both hands landing on your thighs, pushing them apart enough for him to sit between.

Your hands shot up to broad shoulders, one moving further to tangle in the dark hair. He whined quietly at the action, smiling against your lips when you tugged on it in experimentation.

It seemed to only make him more needy, once steady hands now made their way underneath your shirt, gripping your waist. They were itching to move higher, twitching against you showing the breaking constraint.

Just as you were about to try and guide them higher, a knock rang out through the room. Jin groaned loudly as he unwillingly pulled away from you. The knocking only got worse the longer it took him to get to the door.

He barely opened it, just enough that his arm could fit through the gap. You craned your head to the side to try and see which man was on the other side of the door. Thankfully when Jin moved his arm to slam the door closed you saw a flash of a familiar red leather jacket through the small hole.

"Was he respectful?" You giggled, making Jin let out a sigh.

"They sent Taehyung, what do you think?" Your laugh grew at the sheer look of annoyance on his face.

In an attempt to get that intoxicating look back, you quickly pulled your shirt off as he walked closer. Stifling your laugh as he froze, eyes going directly to your chest.

Once he regained his composure he mimicked your movement, shirt flying behind him. Your eyes trailed down the bare skin, hands shooting towards it the second he was between your legs again.

Jin followed, his hands carefully trailed along your waist, moving upwards with an idea. Much to your shock he went around your bra covered breasts. Instead, he went to your shoulders, fingers toying with the straps, waiting patiently.

When you nodded he pushed them down, falling awkwardly against your shoulders. Before you could say anything he reignited the kiss, instantly turning heated with his tongue gliding against yours.

You gasped against him as he fingers landed on the clasp, popping it open with almost perfect precision. It fell down your arms, waiting for you to throw it off.

"Do that often?" You spoke into the kiss, a smirk on your lips.

"I've practiced." He replied, hands grazing over the newly exposed skin. He wasted no time massaging your tits in his hands, smiling at the small whine that left you. "Never been this happy to do it before."

"I'm honored."You whispered, Jin chuckled in response, moving himself even closer to you.

Soon you moved your hands lower down his torso, only stopping once you hit the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers skirted around the ridge, asking the question without pulling away from his lips.

Jin caught on. His hands left your chest within seconds, the sudden loss of touch making you shiver. You felt his hands graze past yours, aimlessly searching for the button.

He smiled as he quickly popped it open, rushing to push the zipper down as far as it would go before pushing them down his hips as much as the seated position would allow. Slowly, you trailed your hands down to meet his own, left with the soft fabric of his boxers when his retreated back up to your chest.

Jin let out a curse as your hands brushed against his covered cock, feeling the outline beneath your fingertips. Fuck, he felt huge. You'd heard the rumors, laughed about his only scandal countless times, but fuck.

"I can hear you thinking." Jin whispered, pulling away and giving you a perfect view of him.

His face was flushed, a lopsided grin plastered across bright swollen lips. His chest was rapidly rising and falling, highlighting the curvature of each muscle perfectly. Then your eyes trailed lower; you were almost too afraid to look, confirming that what you felt was the truth.

The blue denim hung open on his thighs, bunched in a way that could not be comfortable. His boxers were struggling, the dark fabric noticeably stretched around his cock. Even beneath the fabric confines you could see it, just daring you.

"Please." You whispered, struggling to pull your eyes off of his hips.

Jin laughed, his fingers resting under your chin, shifting your gaze to his eyes. He was looking at you with that look again, it made your stomach twist at how much affection seemed buried in it.

"Please what?" He replied quietly.

You looked at him with a scowl, desperation flooding you once more. Running your hands across him again, a loud groan leaving his lips.

"God Jin please." You whined, pushing your chest further into his hands. "Do something."

Putting you out of your misery, Jin pulled away from you despite your complaints. He stood up, towering above you as he pushed the bunched up jeans down his long legs.

With a smirk his boxers followed suite. His cock bouncing almost comically at the motion. He let you stare for a moment before coming back down to your level.

His hands shot out to your waist, pulling you towards him causing your back to go flat against the mattress. He hovered above you, one hand next to your head holding him up while the other stayed lower.

"I can't if you don't take these off." He whispered, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants. "At least, not what you want me to." He muttered, seemingly to himself as ideas seemed to flood his mind.

You quickly tried to shimmy both your pants and underwear down your legs, struggling to pass them over your hips, lifting them slightly to manage. Jin laughed at your haste, helping you slightly until they were fully off your legs.

He sat back on his heels, taking in your now fully exposed body. You felt nervous under his gaze, watching as his eyes took in every inch of skin that they could see.

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, soft hands following his eyes path. It was ages before he spoke again, your skin on fire from his touch.

"There's so much I want to do to you." He finally spoke, leaning down until his lips were inches away from yours. "You're going to let me too huh? Let me be the only one who gets to touch you, to see you like this."

"Just you." You agreed, trying to crane your neck to reach his lips.

A mumbled curse left him, almost like a warning. His lips crashed onto yours in an almost violent fashion, his tongue exploring your mouth with ease.

One of his hands came to rest on your thigh, wasting little time before trailing further up. He ghosted his pointer finger across your opening, smiling into the kiss as you shivered.

Jin carefully pushed the finger against your entrance, slowly allowing you to stretch open around the digit. Once he could go no further, his thumb rested against your clit, using as little pressure as possible.

"Tease." You muttered into the kiss, the words coming out as a muffled mess.

Jin sunk his teeth into your bottom lip in reply, breaking the kiss soon after. He rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath with his lips parted.

Eyes fixated on your face, he slowly pulled his finger out before thrusting it back in, setting a fast pace. He was quick to add a second one, not slowing down to allow you to adjust this time.

"This better?" He whispered, cockiness painfully evident in his words.

You tried to reply, the rebuttal on the tip of your tongue. But just as you were about to speak Jin curled his fingers upward, angle allowing him to perfectly hit that spot inside of you.

The moan you let out was guttural, and if he wasn't peering down at you like that it would've been beyond embarrassing. Instead, it made him more confident. His movement calculated almost perfectly.

Your hips started to buck into his hand, only aiding in the friction from his thumb on your clit. He started to work with you, following the flow of your hips and keeping his pace steady despite the constant change in position.

"So close." The words came out in a broken moan, mumbled repetition following.

"You can do it." He replied, starting to press soft kisses against your flushed skin. "Cum on my fingers so I can fuck you better than anyone else." The emphasis on the last few words had your head reeling.

It didn't take much before you were spilling across his fingers, the sound of the slowing digits echoing throughout the room awkwardly. Jin enjoyed it, a moan left him as you clenched around his fingers.

He slowly pulled them out, staring as he did with a wide grin. You gasped as he brought the soaked fingers to his swollen lips, pushing them past with a moan as the taste of you hit his tongue.

"Next time." Jin said, winking at you as he reached over to pick up the condom from earlier.

"Pretty confident there will be a next time huh?" You whispered breathless, smiling up at him.

"You will be too in a minute." He replied, ripping open the foil wrapper. "You're mine, and I'll prove it; gonna make you forget he exists." His voice trailed off, the slightest scowl on his face towards the end.

"Oh I'm yours now?" You giggled, teasing tone lacing your words.

"Always have been, you just didn't know it." He said as he effortlessly slid the condom on.

You whined, hips twitching when Jin nudged the tip of his cock against your clit. He teasingly slid it downward, running it through your folds with ease.

Jin carefully pushed himself into your entrance, stilling shortly after leaving only the tip inside. The stretch hurt, bordering on painful at the sheer size of him.

He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours as you grimaced. His thumb started drawing shapes against your clit, making him groan when you tightened around him.

"I know baby I know." He coo'd. "It'll feel better in a minute I promise."

"Feels good now." You moaned, trying to push yourself closer to him.

Jin's hand shot to your hip, holding you still despite your whines of protest. He was on the verge of scolding you. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to, not with how hard you were fighting against his hold, desperate for him.

You were desperate. You wanted to feel his cock stretch you out, feel him twitch inside of you. But he was being Jin. The ever so gentle and considerate Jin who wouldn't hurt you even if you begged. Well, maybe.

"Please Jin, want you to fuck me." You pleaded, bringing your shaking hand to his cheek. "Wanna be stretched out by you, wanna feel everything." You gave him the best fuck me eyes you could, hoping it would work.

"You will. Don't wanna be rough and hurt you. I know my limits." He tsked as you groaned in response, trying to buck against him to not avail.

"Jungkook would."

You didn't mean to say it. An inside thought that escaped through the haze being caused by the stupid edge Jin was keeping you on. It made him still, you swore he stopped breathing for a minute as the heaviness of your words settled over you both.

"Jungkook would?" He asked, the question clearly rhetorical.

Against your better judgment you nodded, the desperate part of you overshadowing any rational thought. He looked pissed, angrier than you'd ever seen him. It was hot; absolutely terrifying, but god you wanted him even more now.

His resolve broke, completely shattered by your words. He sat up, leering down at you some fucked up version of possessive anger. Both of his hands trailed down your body, taking purchase on your hips with a punishing grip.

"I warned you." Jin said, voice deep and direct.

The second the words left him you were pulled into him, practically spearing you on his cock. You threw you head back, a combination of a scream and a string of moans ripping their way out of your throat.

Immediately he set a brutal pace, thrusting into you in rhythm with the pull he had on your hips. Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging into his back to try and hold him closer.

"Fuck Jin pl—shit I—so good Jin so-" You stammered, struggling to find the words.

"Yeah? Like being fucked like this?" He groaned, voice still managing to hold the cocky tone. "Almost like a fucking toy, no regard for yourself."

One of his hands moved onto your clit, rubbing fast circles on the sensitive bud. He laughed at your yelp, only applying more pressure in reply.

Your back arched off the flimsy mattress, arms shooting towards Jin's. He let out a wince when you dug your nails into his biceps, laughing when it only made your grip stronger.

"I meant it." He hissed, leaning forward until his chest was flat against your own. "You're mine. Jungkook could never fuck you like this."

He smashed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as you grew closer. The second your muscles started to tighten Jin just, stopped. You felt him smirk against yours lips as he pulled away just enough for you to feel his breath.

"Jin what the fuck?!" You all but yelled at him, jumping slightly at your own volume.

"Say it."

"What?" You asked beyond confused.

"Say you're mine." His tone was serious, contradictory to the confident smirk he as dawning. "Say it and I'll let you cum."

"Seriously?" You whined, shifting your hips to try and regain some level of friction. Jin nodded, pushing himself closer to you to limit your movement. "I'm yours, just yours. Please Jin I was right there."

"Say it like you mean-"

"God fucking dammit Jin! Never wanted to fuck him in the first place!" You angrily shouted, cutting him off mid command. "Was just looking, you're the only person I've wanted to sleep with for years." The words lost steam until you barely managed the last one, the feeling of the admission mixing with the discomfort of your Jin created predicament.

He clearly didn't expect the outburst, eyes going wide and losing all cockiness. His breathing became ragged, matching the nervousness from when this whole thing started. For a second you thought he was mad, that you ruined the entire thing.

But, you felt it. The rigid cock he had stilled inside of your walls twitching, trying, begging to move same as you.

"Thank you." It was a quiet phrase, you almost missed it.

You didn't miss his cock pulling out of you against your will, your cunt trying to keep him close. He didn't go far, you couldn't complain about the minuscule loss because the second it left it came back, hard.

Jin's hands tangled in your hair, balancing on his forearms on either side of your head. He pulled your head back, forcing you to strain your neck at the awkward angle.

He quickly buried his head in the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin with little forgiveness.

It was hard to tell how much noise you both were truly making, your ears ringing as you finally fell over the edge. Jin held you down as you came, keeping you still while he chased after his own release.

Mumbled affections and praises barley made it to your ears as his hips started to falter, eventually stilling, making him sink his teeth into your shoulder. Apologizes soon followed, soft lips kissing what was now probably a deep indentation.

"How do you feel?" Jin's voice rang through your ears after who knows how long, his chest still pressed against yours in a sweaty mess.

"Can't move." You chuckled, your words having multiple meanings in the moment.

Jin sat up, taking his weight with him much to your annoyance. He shushed you when you voiced your disapproval, sending you one of his air kisses while standing up.

You couldn't keep your eyes open long enough to watch what he was doing, only aware of the shuffling sounds and distant running water. He soon returned apologizing as he gently wiped the warm cloth against your inner thighs. The thing soon thrown somewhere in the room, both uncaring about where.

Jin laid down beside you at some point, softly running his fingers through your hair in heavy contrast to minutes before. The slight humming coming from him helped ground you in the moment, managing to open your eyes to look at him.

"Did you mean it?" Your voice startled him, giving you a chance to laugh for a second when he jumped.

"I meant everything I said tonight." He whispered, pressing his lips against your forehead. "I want you, all of you, if you're okay with that."

You nodded, leaning into the soft caress of your scalp. The quiet you were enjoying was soon broken by the sound of the man's phone ringing, making both of you groan.

He reached towards it, silencing the loud ringer before throwing it off in the distance. Using the opportunity he threw his arm over you, laying back on the mattress and pulling your head into his chest.

"Who was it?" You asked absentmindedly, more focused on the suddenly ability to hear his heartbeat.

"It was Jungkook." Jin replied, a tone that didn't need your eyes open to be able to see the dramatic eye roll.

The café always feels smaller at night. There's something about the quiet presses in closer, like the space itself is exhaling after holding its breath all day. The laughter is gone. The rush is gone. What’s left is the hum of the refrigerator, the soft clink of porcelain, and you.

You stand behind the counter, sleeves pushed to your elbows, fingers damp from the sink as you rinse the last cup of the night. The water runs lukewarm now, barely comforting, barely anything, but you let it spill over your skin a second longer than necessary, just to feel something.

The smell of coffee clings to everything. Bitter, burnt at the edges. It seeps into your clothes, your hair, your bones. You wonder, not for the first time, if this is what your life smells like now, spent beans and long hours.

You turn off the tap. You’ve always told yourself that silence means peace. Silence means no one asking for anything, no one expecting anything, no one looking at you like you owe them something you don’t have. Still… tonight, it lingers a little too long.

You dry your hands slowly, eyes flicking to the clock mounted above the menu board.

11:47 PM. Later than usual.

A small sigh escapes you, quiet enough that even you barely hear it. You move through the motions automatically, stacking chairs, wiping surfaces already clean, double-checking the register. Routine is a kind of armor. 

By the time you reach the door, keys already in hand, the world outside looks… different. It always does at this hour.

The streetlights cast long, uneven shadows across the pavement, stretching everything into something unfamiliar. The city doesn’t sleep, not really, but it softens. Edges blur. Sounds carry farther.

You lock the door behind you, the click echoing louder than it should. For a moment, you hesitate. It’s instinct, more than thought. A pause you can’t quite explain, like your body is catching onto something your mind hasn’t yet understood.

Then you shake it off. You’re tired. That’s all.

The main road is longer, brighter, safer. But the alley cuts your walk home in half, and you’ve taken it enough times to know every crack in the pavement, every flickering light overhead. You tell yourself it’s fine.

And you turn into the alley. The shift is immediate. The air feels cooler here, heavier somehow. The faint buzz of the street fades behind you, replaced by something quieter.

Your footsteps echo softly, uneven against the concrete. You tuck your hands into your jacket, pulling it tighter around yourself as you move.

Halfway through, you hear it.

A voice. Low and strained. You stop.

It’s not loud—if anything, it’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that forces you to listen harder, that makes every nerve in your body sharpen without permission.

“…I told you—I don’t know anything.”

You recognize that voice. Your neighbor, Mr. Choi.

You’ve passed him in the hallway a dozen times. Exchanged polite nods. Once, he helped you carry groceries up the stairs when the elevator broke. He always smelled faintly of cigarettes and something sharper, something you couldn’t quite place.

Another voice answers. Calm. Measured.

“People who know nothing,” the man says softly, “don’t usually run.”

Something in the tone makes your skin prickle. You take a step closer before you can stop yourself, drawn by a mix of concern and curiosity. The alley bends slightly ahead, shadows pooling where the light doesn’t quite reach. You shouldn’t look, you know that. But you do, and everything changes.

There are four men. Three of them stand around your neighbor, their presence are heavy. They don’t fidget. They don’t speak. They don’t need to. Their silence feels practiced, like it belongs to them. And then, him.

He stands a few feet away, not touching, not crowding, but undeniably in control of everything unfolding. Tall. Composed. Dressed too well for this part of the city at this hour. His coat falls perfectly against his frame, dark fabric catching what little light there is. One hand rests casually in his pocket, the other holding nothing—no weapon, no threat. Your neighbor is shaking.

“I swear,” Mr. Choi says, voice breaking now, “I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t know where it is.”

The man tilts his head slightly.

“You’re wasting my time,” he replies, almost gently. And that, more than anything else, is what makes your chest tighten.

There’s no anger in him. No frustration. Just a quiet finality, like the decision has already been made and everyone else is just catching up.

You should leave now. Before they notice you. Before you become part of something you don’t understand.

Carefully, you take a step back. Then another. Your breath feels too loud. Your heartbeat even louder, thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to give you away. You keep your eyes down, movements slow, controlled. Almost there, almost.

Your shoe catches against a loose piece of gravel. The sound is small, insignificant. But in the silence, it might as well be a gunshot.

Everything stops. You freeze. For a split second, nothing happens. Then, “Someone’s there.”

Your blood turns cold. You don’t wait. You don’t think. You turn, and run straight into him.

You don’t even see him move. One second, the alley is empty behind you. The next, he’s there, close enough that you stumble back, breath knocked from your lungs as your shoulder collides with his chest.

Strong. Unyielding. A hand closes around your wrist before you can recover. Firm enough that you know immediately, there’s no breaking free.

Your head snaps up, and for the first time, you see his face clearly. He’s… not what you expected. There’s no visible cruelty. No obvious threat carved into his features. If anything, he looks composed. Almost… refined. Dark eyes steady as they take you in, sharp and assessing in a way that makes you feel like you’re being read, line by line. Like a problem he hasn’t solved yet.

You try to pull your hand back. His grip tightens just enough to stop you.

“Please—” The word leaves you before you can stop it, breathless, unsteady. “I didn’t see anything.”

A lie. And both of you know it. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment too long.

“You shouldn’t have come down this alley tonight,” he says quietly.

Behind him, you hear movement, your neighbor’s voice rising, panicked now, cut short by something you don’t want to imagine. You flinch. His eyes don’t leave yours.

“Let me go,” you whisper, the words trembling despite the effort you put into steadying them. “I won’t say anything. I don’t even know who you are.”

A pause. Something flickers across his expression. He releases your wrist,  Only to take your hand instead.

Your breath catches. The gesture is almost… polite. But the message is clear. You’re not going anywhere.

“Come with me.”

You shake your head immediately, panic rising sharp and fast. “No. No, I— I have to go home—”

“You won’t make it there tonight.”

Still calm. Still certain. Your chest tightens. “You can’t just—”

“I can.” He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t step closer. But the space between you feels smaller anyway, suffocating. Your pulse stutters as you look at him, searching for something—mercy, hesitation, anything you can use.

“Please,” you try again, softer now, your voice betraying you. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

Another pause. Then, almost thoughtfully “That’s not the problem.”

Before you can ask what is, his grip shifts, firmer now, guiding you forward. Leaving no room for refusal. You stumble once, then fall into step because you have no choice. There is no gun pressed to your head, no shouted threats, no chaos unraveling around you. The world continues as it always has, distant traffic humming somewhere beyond the alley, a stray light flickering overhead, the night carrying on without caring what happens to you.

That is what unsettles you the most. If this were a nightmare, it would be louder. But this is quiet. And the man standing in front of you feels like the kind of danger that does not need noise to be understood. His hand still holds yours. Not in a way that leaves bruises or forces tears out of you. It is controlled, like everything about him. You test it once, just a small pull, more instinct than intention. He does not react immediately. But his grip adjusts, subtle and unyielding, like a reminder rather than a warning.

You swallow. Your heart is beating too fast, too hard, like it is trying to make up for the silence around you. You look at him again, searching for something human enough to cling to. Fear has a way of sharpening details. You notice the way his coat sits perfectly on his shoulders despite the situation, the way his expression barely shifts, the steadiness in his gaze that never once flickers away from you.

He looks like someone who has already decided how this ends. And you are just… waiting to find out. You expect him to say something that confirms it. A threat, a command. Something that draws a clear line between what you are now and what you are about to become.

Instead, he studies you. It is not a quick glance, not the kind people give strangers they have already dismissed. It lingers, thoughtful in a way that makes your chest tighten. His eyes move over your face like he is memorizing it, or maybe measuring it against something only he understands.

You feel exposed under it. Not in the way you would under a leering stare, but in a way that feels worse. Like he is trying to figure out where you fit in a situation you do not belong in. His thumb shifts slightly against your hand, almost absentminded.

“You’re shaking,” he says, quietly enough that it feels like something he noticed rather than something he meant to point out.

You don’t respond. You do not trust your voice to come out steady. You do not trust yourself to sound anything but afraid.

Behind him, the alley feels darker now. You do not dare look back, but the absence of your neighbor’s voice is louder than anything you heard earlier. It presses against your ears, thick and suffocating. Something inside you twists. You force yourself to speak anyway.

“I told you,” you manage, the words thinner than you want them to be, “I didn’t see anything.”

This time, he exhales. “I know what you saw,” he replies, his tone unchanged, as if your denial does not matter either way. The way he says it makes your stomach drop. Because it sounds like the truth is irrelevant now.

Your throat tightens. “Then why am I still here?”

It is a simple question. But it carries everything you are too afraid to say outright. Why aren’t you dead yet?

His gaze does not waver. For a moment, you think he will ignore you. That he will simply move on, drag you somewhere else without bothering to explain. You brace yourself for that, for the helplessness of being handled like an object in a situation you cannot control.

Instead, he answers. “Because I haven’t decided what to do with you.”

He says it the same way someone might comment on the weather, or the time, or anything equally ordinary. Your fingers curl slightly, your nails pressing into your own palm as if the sensation might ground you. You shake your head, a quiet, desperate motion.

“I’m not something you get to decide on,” you say, and this time there is more force behind it. Fear is still there, sitting heavy in your chest, but something else pushes through it. Anger. “I’m a person. You can’t just take me because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

For the first time, something shifts in his expression. Not much. Just the faintest narrowing of his eyes, the smallest pause in his stillness. Like you have said something… interesting.

“You were in the wrong place,” he agrees, calmly. “That part is true.”

Your breath catches. “And now?” you press, even though every instinct is telling you to stop, to stay quiet, to not push someone like him. “What does that make this?”

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer. Then, finally, he lets go of your hand. Relief floods through you so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. But it lasts only a moment. Because his next words take its place.

“It makes you my responsibility.”

You stare at him. The sentence does not make sense in your head. Not the way it should. Not in a way that feels safe or reassuring. Responsibility is supposed to sound like protection, like care. But from him, it feels like ownership.

“I don’t need you to be responsible for me,” you say, your voice sharper now, steadier in your own ears. “I just need you to let me go.”

“No,” he says.

Your chest tightens. “You can’t just decide that.”

“I already did.”

Before you can respond, before you can find something to say that might break through whatever wall he has built around himself, he turns slightly, his attention shifting just enough to signal something to the man behind him.

They move immediately. Whatever was happening before is over now. And so are your chances of walking away from it.

When his attention returns to you, there is nothing hurried in the way he looks at you, nothing chaotic in the way he moves. He steps closer, not enough to corner you, but enough to make it clear that distance will not save you.

“Dont make this harder,” he says, quieter this time.

Every part of you resists, rooted in place by fear, anger, disbelief. This cannot be real. People do not just get taken like this. Not without a fight. Not without someone noticing.

But the alley is empty. The night has already swallowed everything that happened here.

“No,” you repeat, more firmly now, even as your voice trembles at the edges. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

For a second, you think he might grab you again. He doesn’t. Instead, he watches you. Like he is giving you space to make a choice he already knows the outcome of.

“You can walk,” he says, his voice low, even, “or I can carry you.”

Your stomach drops. It is not said as a threat. It is said as a fact. And somehow, that makes it impossible to argue with.

Your nails dig deeper into your palm. Your mind races, searching for an opening, a way out, something you can use to turn this in your favor. There is nothing.

Only him. Only this moment. Only the understanding settling deep in your chest that whatever happens next is not something you get to control.

Your shoulders stiffen. And slowly, unwillingly, you take a step forward.

The car is waiting at the end of the street. Black. Polished. Out of place in a neighborhood like yours. One of them opens the door before you even reach it. You hesitate, your gaze flicking between the open space inside and the man standing behind you. He does not touch you this time.

You get in. The door closes with a soft, final sound. The city moves past you in a blur after that. Streetlights streak across the window, buildings shifting from familiar to unfamiliar too quickly for you to track. You sit rigidly, your hands clenched in your lap, your reflection faint in the glass.

He sits beside you. Close enough that you are aware of him. The silence stretches. You cannot stand it.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice quieter now, worn down by everything you cannot control.

“Somewhere safe.”

The answer almost makes you laugh. Nothing about this feels safe.

His place is nothing like yours. You realize that the moment you step inside. The space is vast, open, almost painfully clean. Everything is sharp lines and muted tones, glass and marble and soft lighting that feels too deliberate to be comforting. There is no clutter. No signs of life beyond what is necessary. It does not feel like a home. It feels like a place designed to be controlled.

Your shoes echo faintly against the floor as you step further in, your chest tightening with every second that passes. The door closes behind you, quiet but heavy, and something about the sound makes it feel like the world outside has just been cut off completely. You turn to him immediately.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice stronger now, fueled by everything you have been holding in. “You bring me here and expect me to just what, stay?”

He removes his coat with unhurried precision, draping it over the back of a chair as if this is any other night, any other routine.

“You will stay here for now,” he says.

“For now?” you echo, disbelief breaking through. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Your hands clench at your sides.

“No,” you say again, louder this time, the word echoing slightly in the open space. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to decide that I just disappear into your life because it’s convenient for you.”

He turns to face you fully then.

“You didn’t disappear,” he says, his voice still calm, still controlled. “You were seen.”

The words hit harder than they should.

“You think I wanted that?” you shoot back. “You think I chose this?”

“No,” he replies, and there is something quieter beneath it now, something almost thoughtful. “But it doesn’t change the situation.”

Your breath falters. You take a step toward him, your frustration spilling over now, too big to contain.

“Then change it,” you demand. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I don’t even understand what I saw. I just want to go home.”

The word home feels fragile in your mouth now. Like something that might not belong to you anymore. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, slowly, he shakes his head.

“I don’t make decisions based on what people want,” he says.

The finality in his tone settles deep in your chest. You stare at him, anger and fear tangling together until you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.

“Then what do you base them on?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less intense.

His gaze holds yours. And for the first time, there is something in it you cannot quite name.

“Risk.”

The word lingers between you. And suddenly, you understand. This is not about you as a person, this is about what you represent. A variable, a mistake, a problem he hasn’t decided how to solve. Your throat tightens.

“So what,” you whisper, “I just stay here until you decide I’m not one anymore?”

He does not answer immediately. But he does not deny it either. And somehow, that silence says everything.

You do not sleep. You try. You lie on the edge of a bed that is far too soft for a place that feels this cold, staring at a ceiling that does not belong to you, counting seconds that refuse to pass fast enough. The sheets smell clean, unfamiliar, like something expensive and untouched, and every time you shift, the silence follows you. It is not the comforting kind, it is the kind that listens back.

You turn onto your side, then your back, then your side again. Your body is exhausted, your mind wired so tightly it almost hurts. Every time you close your eyes, the alley comes back in fragments. Your neighbor’s voice. The way it cut off. The way he looked at you like you had already stepped into something you could not leave.

And then him, always him. The calm in his voice. The certainty in his eyes. The way he said no as if the word was not meant to be questioned. You sit up abruptly. Breathing feels easier when you are not lying still.

The room they put you in is larger than your entire apartment. Floor to ceiling glass stretches along one wall, the city spread out beyond it in glittering lights that feel too far away to reach. Somewhere down there, life is still happening. People are laughing, arguing, going home to places that belong to them.

You wonder if anyone would notice you are gone. The thought sits heavier than it should. You push it away and swing your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet meeting the cold floor. The chill runs up your spine, grounding you in a way the silence cannot.

You cannot stay here. The realization is not new. It has been sitting in your chest since the moment that door closed behind you. But now it sharpens, takes shape, becomes something you can act on.

You stand slowly, listening. Nothing. No footsteps outside the door. No voices, no movement.

Carefully, you cross the room and reach for the handle. It opens. The hallway beyond is dimly lit, soft lights set low against the walls. Everything looks the same as it did when you walked through it earlier, pristine and controlled, like nothing exists here without permission. You step out.

Your heart starts to pick up again, but this time it feels different. Less panic, more focus. You keep your steps light, measured, your eyes adjusting to the space as you move.

There are no guards in sight, no one stops you. For a moment, hope flickers. Maybe he underestimated you. Maybe he thinks you will just stay put, obedient, quiet, waiting for him to decide what happens next. You are not that person. You move faster.

The living area opens up in front of you, all glass and shadow and sharp edges softened by low light. It looks like a place that exists outside of time, untouched by anything messy or human.

The front door is there. You see it immediately. Your steps falter for only a second before you push forward, every instinct in you narrowing to that one point. You do not think about what happens after. You do not think about where you will go, how you will get home, what you will do if someone sees you. You just need to get out.

Your hand closes around the handle. You twist. Nothing. You try again, harder this time, your grip tightening as you force the handle down, your shoulder pressing slightly against the door like that might make a difference.

It doesn’t move. Locked. Of course it is. Frustration surges through you, hot and immediate. You pull back, your hand lifting to hit the door before you can stop yourself. The sound echoes too loudly in the silence, sharp and out of place.

You freeze. Listen. Still nothing. Your pulse races. You turn quickly, scanning the room for something else, another way out, another door, anything. The windows stretch wide, but you already know they will not open. A place like this is not built for escape. It is built for control.

You move toward the nearest panel anyway, your fingers searching for a latch, a seam, anything that might give. The glass is cool under your touch, solid and unyielding. You press your forehead against it for a second, your breath fogging the surface.

“Think,” you whisper to yourself, the word barely audible.

There has to be something. People do not live in cages like this without a way in and out. There has to be a system, a code, something you can figure out if you just take a second to look closer. You step back, scanning again, slower this time. That is when you hear it.

“Trying to leave without saying anything.”

His voice does not startle you. Because something in you always knew he would be there. You turn slowly.

He stands near the entrance to the hallway, one hand resting lightly against the wall as if he has been there for a while, watching. He is dressed differently now, the sharp edges of earlier softened slightly, his sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms, his posture relaxed in a way that feels almost deceptive. There is no anger in his face. No surprise, only quiet awareness.

“You locked the door,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel, refusing to let him hear the panic that was there seconds ago.

“I did.”

He does not move closer. Does not raise his voice. He simply confirms it, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “Then what was the point of letting me walk out of that room? You could have just locked me in there too.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, thoughtful.“I wanted to see what you would do.”

The answer lands somewhere between insulting and unsettling.

“And this is supposed to prove something?” you ask, your frustration pushing forward again. “That I don’t want to stay here? Congratulations. You already knew that.”

A flicker of interest crosses his expression.

“You didn’t hesitate,” he says. “You didn’t check if anyone was watching. You didn’t look for another option first.”

Your brows draw together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It tells me how you think.”

You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “You kidnapped me and now you’re analyzing me like I’m part of some experiment.”

“I didn’t kidnap you.”

The correction comes easily, almost reflexively.

“You gave me no choice,” you shoot back immediately. “That’s the same thing.”

He considers that for a second. Then, quietly, “No. It isn’t.”

Your hands clench at your sides. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re predictable.”

The words hit harder than you expect. Your chest tightens, anger flaring again, sharp and immediate. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” he agrees calmly. “But I know enough.”

Silence settles between you for a moment, heavy and charged. You take a step toward him, closing some of the distance, refusing to let him stand there like he holds all the control without being challenged.

“Then tell me,” you say, your voice lower now, steadier, cutting through the space between you. “What exactly do you think you know?”

His gaze drops briefly, not in dismissal, but in thought, like he is choosing his words carefully. Then it returns to you.

“You’re not reckless,” he says. “If you were, you would have screamed in the alley. You would have run without thinking. You didn’t.”

Your breath catches, just slightly.

“You observed first. You tried to leave quietly. You only panicked when you realized you were already involved.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to look away.

“And now?” you ask.

Something shifts in his expression again, subtle but there.

“Now you’re angry,” he says. “Which is better than afraid.”

The words catch you off guard. You hadn’t realized it, not fully. The fear is still there, sitting deep in your chest, but it is not the only thing anymore. It has changed shape, twisted into something sharper, something that pushes back instead of freezing.

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” you say, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “You’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”

“I’m also the reason you’re still alive.”

The room stills. The words settle between you, heavier than anything else he has said.

“You think that makes this better?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper now.

“No,” he replies.

Honest. Simple. It throws you off more than any lie would have. For a moment, neither of you speak. The city lights flicker faintly behind you, reflected in the glass, turning the space into something surreal. You become aware of how close you are now, the distance between you no longer safe, no longer easy to ignore.

He does not step closer, but he does not step back either.

“Go back to your room,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, less like an order and more like something else you cannot quite name.

You don’t move. “I’m not going to stay here forever,” you tell him.

“You can’t keep me locked in like this.”

"I know."

Your frustration spikes again. “Then why are you doing it?”

This time, he does not answer immediately. His gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable, but there is something beneath it now, something that feels heavier than before.

“Because letting you go right now would be a mistake.”

The honesty in it leaves no room to argue. Your chest tightens.

“And keeping me here isn’t?”

A pause. Then, quietly, “That depends on you.”

The words settle deep, unsettling in a way you cannot quite explain. You stare at him for a long moment, searching for something, anything that might give you an opening, a weakness, a reason to believe you can still turn this in your favor. You find nothing. Only that same calm certainty. That same control.

Your shoulders stiffen. And slowly, reluctantly, you step back. Because, for now, you understand something you didn’t before. This is not a cage you can break out of in one night. And he is not a man you can outmaneuver without learning how he thinks first.

You turn without another word and walk back toward the hallway, your footsteps quieter this time, your mind already racing with something new. Not just fear, not just anger. Strategy. Because if he thinks he understands you already, he is wrong. And you are going to prove it.

Morning comes without warmth. It slips into the room through the glass walls in pale, indifferent light, stretching across the floor until it reaches the edge of the bed where you’ve barely slept. You don’t remember closing your eyes. You only remember thinking too much, feeling too much, replaying everything until exhaustion blurred it into something dull. You sit up slowly, your body heavy, your mind already awake in the worst way.

The first thing you feel is the emptiness in your stomach. The second is your pride. You ignore the first.

The food is already there when you step out of your room. You don’t know who brought it in. You didn’t hear anything, didn’t notice anyone moving through the penthouse. It sits neatly on the long dining table, steam still rising faintly from the food arranged with quiet precision.

It looks good. Too good. Warm rice, something savory, fresh fruit, coffee.

Normal. Like you’re a guest. Like last night didn’t happen. Your fingers curl at your sides. You walk past it, you don’t even slow down.

You expect him to mention it. He doesn’t. He moves through the space like everything is exactly as it should be, like nothing about your presence here disrupts his routine. He is already dressed, already composed, already stepping into his day as if you are just another detail he has accounted for.

He glances at you once. His gaze flicks briefly toward the untouched food, then back to your face. He says nothing. And somehow, that irritates you more than if he had forced you to sit down and eat.

You last until midday. By then, the hunger has sharpened into something uncomfortable, something distracting. It coils in your stomach, pulling your focus away from everything else, making your thoughts slower, heavier.

Still, you refuse. You sit on the far end of the couch, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere past the glass walls, pretending the city below matters more than the quiet presence behind you.

You hear him before you see him. The soft sound of a glass being set down. The faint rustle of movement that always feels too controlled, too deliberate.

“You should eat.”

His voice is calm. Of course it is. You don’t turn.

“I’m not hungry.”

The lie is obvious. You know it. He knows it. Neither of you pretend otherwise. There’s a pause behind you, not long, just enough to feel intentional.

Then, “That’s not how it works.”

You let out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and frustration, and finally turn to face him.

“Everything about this doesn’t work,” you reply, your voice sharper now, thinner at the edges from lack of sleep and food and patience. “So forgive me if I don’t follow your rules.”

His expression doesn’t change. But there’s something in the way he looks at you now, something more focused, more attentive.

“They’re not rules,” he says. “It’s a necessity.”

“For who?” you challenge immediately. “You?”

“For you.”

You shake your head, pushing yourself up from the couch, your irritation spilling over now.

“You don’t get to decide what I need,” you tell him, stepping closer, your voice gaining strength the more you speak. “You brought me here against my will. You don’t get to act like you care about what happens to me after that.”

“I don’t act,” he replies quietly.

The words land heavier than you expect. You stop in front of him, your chest rising and falling faster now, your emotions sitting too close to the surface.

“Then what is this?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like control.”

His gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching.

“It is control.”

The honesty knocks the air out of you for a second. No denial. No justification. Just the truth.

“And you think that makes it better?” you ask, your voice dropping slightly, something more vulnerable slipping through despite your effort to hold it back.

“No,” he says again.

Always honest. Always calm. It’s infuriating. Your hands curl into fists at your sides.

“Then stop pretending this is anything else,” you snap. “You’re keeping me here because it’s convenient for you. Not because you care if I eat or sleep or breathe.”

Something shifts then. Subtle, but there. He steps closer. Enough that the space between you changes.

“You’re still refusing to eat,” he says, his voice lower now, quieter, but somehow more present. “That’s not defiance. That’s self-destruction.”

Your breath catches, just slightly.

“Maybe I don’t care,” you shoot back, even though the words feel thinner than you want them to.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“I know you’re still here,” he replies.

The words land differently. You don’t answer. You can’t. Because some part of you understands exactly what he means.

You don’t eat that day. He doesn’t force you. He doesn’t threaten you, doesn’t drag you to the table, doesn’t turn it into a battle you can fight head-on. He simply… doesn’t bend.

Meals appear. Meals disappear, untouched. And every time, his gaze lingers just a second longer than before.

Not angry. Not frustrated. Watching. Waiting.

You try to escape again. You wait for a moment when he’s not in the room, when the penthouse falls into that same eerie stillness. You move faster this time, more careful, your eyes sharper, your mind piecing together patterns you didn’t notice before.

The door is still locked. The windows still don’t open. You search deeper. Drawers. Panels. Corners of the space that might hide something useful.

You almost miss it. A keypad near the side entrance, subtle enough to blend into the wall if you’re not looking for it. Your heart starts racing. Finally.

You step closer, your fingers hovering over it, your mind already working through possibilities. Codes. Patterns. Something you can guess, something you can break. You don’t hear him this time. Not until it’s too late.

“Still trying.”

The words brush against your ear, low and close enough to make your breath catch sharply in your throat. You turn too quickly and your back meets something solid. You hadn’t even realized how close you’d gotten to the wall until now.

Your pulse spikes instantly, your body going rigid as his presence settles behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without him touching you.

“You’re persistent,” he continues, his voice quieter now, closer than before, each word deliberate. You force yourself to breathe.

“Move,” you say, trying to step forward, but there’s nowhere to go. The wall is in front of you. He is behind you. You are caught.

“You’re getting careless,” he replies.

“I’m getting out,” you snap back, even as your voice wavers slightly under the pressure of his proximity.

A soft exhale brushes against the side of your neck.“You’re not ready to leave,” he murmurs.

Your skin reacts before you can stop it. A shiver runs down your spine, sharp and unexpected, your breath hitching in a way you hate.

“Don’t,” you warn, your voice lower now, strained in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

“Don’t what?”

He hasn’t touched you. That’s the problem. If he had, you could push him away. You could fight it, turn it into something physical, something tangible. But this, this is something else.

“You don’t get to stand this close to me like this,” you say, your words coming out slower now, more careful, as if choosing the wrong tone might shift something you don’t fully understand yet.

“And you don’t get to keep trying to leave without consequences.”

The word lands heavy. Consequences. Your throat tightens.

“And what,” you challenge, even as your heart races harder, “this is your version of punishment?”

There’s a pause. Then, quietly, “No.”

Your breath falters. His hand lifts. You feel it before it happens, the shift in the air, the subtle movement behind you. His fingers brush lightly against your wrist, enough to turn your hand away from the keypad. The contact is brief, but it lingers.

“Punishment would be harsher than this,” he continues, his voice steady, controlled, as if he’s discussing something distant rather than the way your body is reacting to his presence.

You swallow.Your mind spins, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the tension building between you, of the way your body feels too aware of him, too aware of everything.

You hate it. You hate that he can stand this close without touching you and still affect you like this. You hate that part of you doesn’t want him to move.

“Step away,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intend.

He doesn’t. For a moment, the world narrows to just this. Your breathing. His presence. The space between contact and something more.

Then, slowly, he steps back. The distance feels colder than before. You turn quickly, your chest rising and falling as you face him, your emotions tangled and sharp and impossible to separate.

“Don’t do that again,” you tell him.

His gaze holds yours. Calm. Unreadable.

“You should eat,” he replies instead.

The shift is so sudden it almost makes you laugh. You stare at him, anger and something else burning under your skin. And for the first time, you realize something that unsettles you more than anything else so far. This is no longer just about escaping. This is about enduring him. Learning him. Surviving him. Because the way he looks at you now, it’s not just about risk anymore. It’s about control. And something far more dangerous. Interest.

What unsettles you the most is not the danger. It is not the memory of the alley, not the knowledge of what he is capable of, not even the quiet understanding that your life has been reduced to a variable in someone else’s hands.

It is him. You expected cruelty. You expected raised voices, threats that would corner you into obedience, the kind of force that leaves no room to question who is in control.

Instead, he watches. He waits. He lets you push, lets you resist, lets you test the limits of something invisible and suffocating. And every time you expect him to snap, to show you the kind of man he must be beneath that calm exterior, he does the opposite.

He steps back. He chooses silence. He lets you exist inside his space without crushing you under it. And that… confuses you more than anything else. Because it forces you to look closer.

You start noticing things. At first, it happens without intention. You are restless, constantly aware of the walls around you, of the doors that do not open, of the life outside that continues without you. There is nothing to distract you from him, from the way he moves through this place like it belongs entirely to him.

Because it does. He wakes early. Earlier than you expect. By the time you step out of your room most mornings, still heavy with exhaustion, he is already dressed, already moving, already stepping into a routine that feels too precise to be accidental.

He takes calls you are not meant to hear. Low voices. Measured words. Names that mean nothing to you but carry weight in the way they are spoken. You catch fragments sometimes. Locations. Numbers. Decisions that sound final even when you do not understand them.

He never raises his voice. There is something about the way he speaks that makes people listen. You find yourself listening too. Even when you do not want to.

He eats regularly. At the same time every day, alone. He does not ask you to join him again after the first few attempts. The meals still appear. Still disappear. But he stops looking at you when they remain untouched, as if he has decided something about you and moved on from it. That irritates you more than his persistence ever did.

You start eating eventually. Not for him, for yourself. You tell yourself that over and over again as you sit at the edge of the table one afternoon, forcing down a few bites under the weight of your own pride.

He notices, but he says nothing. And somehow, that feels like a victory you cannot quite claim.

The distance between you shifts in small, almost invisible ways. You stop flinching every time he enters a room. You stop watching the doors quite as obsessively. You start watching him instead. The way his sleeves are always rolled just enough when he is working, like precision matters even in the smallest details. The way he pauses sometimes, just for a second, before answering a call, as if choosing his tone before his words. The way he exists in silence without discomfort.

You wonder what it takes to become like that. You wonder what kind of life carves that kind of control into someone.

You try to escape again. Because staying still feels like surrender, and you are not ready to give him that.

It happens late. The penthouse is quiet again, the city outside dimmed into distant lights and muffled sound. You move carefully, slower than before, your eyes sharper, your steps more deliberate. You have learned. That is your advantage now.

You avoid the obvious. The front door. The main panels. The places you know he expects you to try. Instead, you search deeper. A secondary hallway you had not paid attention to before. A door near the back that blends too easily into the wall.

It opens. Your pulse spikes. For the first time, something gives. The room beyond is darker, less polished than the rest of the penthouse. Storage, maybe. Or something else he does not use often. You step inside.

Your breath comes faster now, anticipation mixing with adrenaline, your mind already racing ahead. This could be it. There has to be another exit. A service door. A stairwell. Something less controlled, something overlooked.

You move quickly. Your foot catches on something you do not see in the dim light, and before you can steady yourself, your body pitches forward. Your hand shoots out instinctively, catching against the edge of a metal surface.

Pain slices through your palm. You suck in a breath, your body going still as the sting spreads, your fingers curling reflexively. For a second, you do not move. Then you look down. Blood. Dark against your skin, slipping between your fingers, trailing slowly toward your wrist.

Your stomach twists. You press your other hand over it instinctively, trying to stop it, your mind scrambling to refocus. You need to keep moving. You need to find a way out before he notices. But your breathing is uneven now, your thoughts slipping, your body reacting faster than your plan can hold.

And then, “You’re getting worse at this.”

His voice fills the space behind you, quiet and certain, like it has been waiting for you to fail. You close your eyes for a second. Not now. Not when you were this close.

You turn slowly.He stands in the doorway, his presence filling the room without effort, his gaze already fixed on your hand. On the blood. Something shifts in his expression.

“Let me see.”

It is not a command. But it feels like one.

“I’m fine,” you say immediately, even as your voice tightens slightly, your grip on your hand pressing harder.

You are not fine. And he knows it.

“You’re bleeding,” he replies, stepping closer.

“I said I’m fine.”

Your back hits the edge of the table behind you, your body tensing as he closes the distance, your instincts flaring again even as something else begins to stir underneath it.

He does not argue. He does not raise his voice. He simply reaches for your wrist. You try to pull back. He catches it easily. Firm enough that you cannot slip away.

“Stop,” he says quietly.

And something in the way he says it makes you still. Your breathing feels louder now. He lifts your hand slightly, turning it just enough to see the cut more clearly. Blood continues to slip through your fingers, slower now but steady, the sting pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

His touch is careful. Precise. Like he has done this before. Probably has. The thought sends something strange through you.

“You need to clean this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“I can do it myself,” you insist, but your voice has lost some of its edge.

He does not let go. Instead, he guides you out of the room, his hand still around your wrist. You should pull away. You don’t.

The bathroom is too bright after the dimness of the storage room. You blink against the light as he turns on the faucet, the sound of running water filling the silence between you.

He releases your wrist then. Only to take your hand again, more deliberately this time, holding it under the stream.

The sting sharpens instantly. You inhale sharply, your body reacting before you can stop it.

“Stay still,” he says, his voice low, steady.

You bite back the urge to pull away, your fingers tightening slightly as the water runs over the cut, washing away the blood in thin, swirling lines.

He is close. Closer than before. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him beside you, the faint brush of his sleeve against your arm, the subtle shift of his breathing in the quiet space.

Your focus starts to slip. Not from the pain. From him. His hands are steady. Warm. Careful in a way you did not expect from someone like him.

Your chest rises a little faster. You hate it. You hate the way your body reacts to proximity, to the quiet control in his movements, to the absence of force where you expected it most.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks suddenly, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. You swallow.

“Trying to leave?” you reply, your tone weaker than before.

“Yes.”

You let out a small breath.

“Because I don’t belong here.”

The words feel heavier now. His hands pause for a second. Then continue.

“You’re still here,” he says.

It is not an argument. Just a fact. You look at him then. His focus is on your hand, on the way he wraps it carefully, on the precision in every movement. There is something intimate about it, something that settles too deep under your skin.

“You don’t even look at me like I’m a person,” you say quietly.

His gaze lifts, meets yours. And for a moment, the space between you shifts.

“I look at you exactly as you are,” he replies.

Your breath catches.

“And what is that?” you ask, softer now.

His eyes linger on yours, something darker moving beneath the calm surface.

“A risk,” he says.

Your stomach tightens.

“But not just that anymore.”

The words settle slowly. Dangerously. You feel it then. The shift. Not in the room. In yourself. The way your pulse changes, the way your awareness sharpens, the way your body becomes too conscious of how close he is, of how easily he could step closer, of how little distance there is left between you.

His hand moves again, adjusting the wrap around your palm. Your fingers twitch slightly. He notices. A faint pause. Then his thumb presses lightly against your wrist, just enough to feel your pulse. Your breath stutters.

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, closer.

Your heart is racing. You know he can feel it. And something in the way his gaze lingers tells you he understands exactly why.

Heat creeps up your neck, unwanted, unfamiliar in this context, in this place, with him. You pull your hand back slightly. Just enough to remind yourself where you stand.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice quieter now.

“Don’t what?”

The same question. The same tone. But this time, it feels different. More dangerous.

You hesitate. That is all it takes. A small shift. A small crack. His gaze sharpens just slightly, something almost knowing settling into it.

“Interesting,” he says softly.

Your chest tightens.

“I’m not…” you start, but the words don’t land the way you want them to.

He doesn’t interrupt. The silence stretches, filled with everything you are not saying. Everything he is already noticing.

He steps back first. The distance returns. But it feels different now. Colder.

You exhale slowly, your body catching up with the moment, your thoughts scrambling to rebuild the walls you feel slipping.

“I’m not staying here,” you say again, more firmly this time.

He watches you. Calm. Unmoved.

You look down at your bandaged hand, then back at him, something shifting quietly inside your chest.

Because he is right. You are not chained. There are no locks on your wrists. No visible restraints. But every door leads back to him. Every path circles inward. And the worst part is not the control.Not the danger. It is the way your body reacted just now. The way your mind faltered. The way something unfamiliar and unwanted stirred under his touch.

You straighten slightly, forcing your expression back into something guarded, something firm.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you tell him.

His gaze holds yours for a second longer.

Then, quietly,

“We’ll see.”

And somehow, that feels less like a threat and more like a promise.

The air still clings to your skin when you step out of the shower. Warmth lingers in the quiet space around you, steam curling faintly along the mirror before fading into nothing. For a moment, you stay there, your fingers brushing against the edge of the sink, grounding yourself in something simple, something real. Everything else feels too complicated.

You reach for the clothes he gave you the first night you arrived. You remember how it felt then, wearing something that belonged to him without understanding why it unsettled you. Now, as you pull the loose shirt over your head, the fabric falling past your thighs, soft and unfamiliar but no longer entirely foreign, the feeling shifts into something quieter.

It still belongs to him. That thought lingers longer than it should. The boxers sit low on your hips, brand new, untouched before you wore them, but still chosen by him, still part of a space that revolves around him whether you want it to or not. You push the thought away. You don’t have the energy to sit with it.

The penthouse is dim when you step out. Evening has settled fully now, the city outside glowing in scattered lights that reflect faintly against the glass. Everything feels quieter at this hour, like the world has slowed just enough for the smallest sounds to carry.

You walk toward the kitchen without thinking. Halfway there, you hear his voice. It stops you immediately.

“This is Kim Seokjin.”

The words land before you can process them. Your breath catches, your steps slowing until you come to a complete stop just outside his office.

Kim Seokjin.

For a second, it doesn’t feel real. You’ve been here long enough to know him, to understand the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way everything around him bends to his control, but you’ve never heard him say his name out loud. And suddenly, he feels more real than he did before.

“Yes,” he continues, his voice calm, steady in a way that makes every word feel deliberate. “The transaction is moving as planned. There won’t be any delays.”

There’s a pause. You can’t hear the other voice, but you can feel the weight of the conversation anyway.

“And Mr. Choi is no longer a concern.”

Your chest tightens. Your neighbor. The name alone is enough to pull you closer without thinking, your body leaning slightly toward the door, your breath quieter now.

Another pause. Longer this time, then—

“She stays where she is.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t need him to say your name. You know.

“She saw everything,” he continues, his tone shifting just slightly, not softer, but more deliberate. “And right now, she’s safer under my control than anywhere else.”

Safer. The word lands differently this time. Not dismissive. Not empty.

“There are people already asking questions,” he adds. “If they find out I was the one who took Choi, they’ll trace everything connected to him.”

Your grip tightens slightly at your sides.

“She was there,” he says. “Which makes her a liability to them before she is one to me.”

A pause. Then quieter, more final, “And they won’t hesitate to use her if they get to her first.”

Your chest feels tight. Not from fear. From understanding. Because now, it makes sense. Everything. Why you’re here. Why he hasn’t let you go. Why every exit feels impossible no matter how hard you try.

It’s not just about him. It’s about everyone else. And what they would do to you if you walked out that door.

You step back slowly, your thoughts moving too fast, your emotions catching up all at once. You don’t hear the rest of the call.

The door opens. He sees you immediately. There’s no surprise in his expression, no hesitation in the way his gaze settles on you, like he already knew you were there, like this was inevitable.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You don’t know where to start. So you don’t ease into it.

“You think keeping me here makes me safe?”

The question comes out sharper than you expect, your voice cutting through the quiet space between you.

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“You heard enough,” he says.

You step closer, your emotions pushing forward now that everything is out in the open.

“You could’ve told me,” you press. “Instead of letting me think I’m just some problem you haven’t decided how to deal with.”

“I did tell you,” he replies calmly. “You just didn’t listen.”

Frustration flares instantly.

“That’s not the same,” you argue, your voice tightening. “You don’t explain anything. You just expect me to stay here and trust you.”

“I don’t expect you to trust me.”

The honesty stops you for a second.

“Then what do you expect?” you ask, quieter now, but no less intense.

His gaze lingers on you, “Cooperation.”

The word feels heavier than it should. You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“So this is what this is?” you say. “Protection with conditions?”

“It’s survival,” he corrects.

You shake your head, stepping closer again, your chest rising faster now.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you say. “You don’t get to lock me in here and call it protection just because it benefits you too.”

He doesn’t react the way you expect. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t argue. Instead, he moves. Fast enough that you don’t process it until it’s already happening.

Your back meets the wall. The impact isn’t rough, but it’s enough to knock the breath from your lungs, enough to still you instantly as his presence closes in, leaving no space to move. Your pulse spikes.

“You’re still thinking like this is about what you want,” he says, his voice lower now, closer, every word deliberate. “It’s not.”

Your breathing is uneven now, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

“You don’t get to—”

Your words falter. Because he steps closer. Close enough that the space between you disappears, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the quiet control in the way he holds himself back. His hand comes up, not rough, not forceful, but firm enough to keep you exactly where you are.

“You walk out that door,” he murmurs, his voice brushing against your skin, “and you don’t get the chance to argue about it later.”

Your chest rises sharply.

“You don’t know that,” you manage, even though your voice is weaker now, caught somewhere between defiance and something else.

“I do.”

The certainty in his tone settles deep. Your breath catches. His face is close now, closer than it has ever been, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, something darker moving beneath the surface.

“You think I’m the problem,” he continues, quieter now, his voice steady but heavier, “but I’m the only reason you’re still breathing without someone holding a gun to your head.”

The words should scare you. They should push you back into anger, into resistance. Instead, your body reacts differently.

Your pulse is racing, your breath uneven, your thoughts slipping in ways you don’t understand. You can feel him. Every inch of space he takes up. Every second he stays this close. It does something to you. Something you hate. Something you can’t ignore. Your eyes flick to his lips before you can stop yourself. Just for a second. But it’s enough. Because he notices. Something shifts in his expression, subtle but unmistakable, something almost knowing settling into the way he looks at you now.

Your chest tightens. You should push him away. You don’t. He leans closer. His breath brushes against your neck now, warm, steady, too close, and it sends a sharp shiver down your spine that you can’t hide.

“You’re stubborn,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, softer in a way that feels more dangerous than anything else he’s said. “You keep pushing like you want to see what happens when I stop holding back.”

Your fingers curl at your sides. You hate the way your body reacts to his voice, to his proximity, to the quiet control in every movement.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say, but it doesn’t sound the way you want it to. There’s something else in it now. Something he hears immediately. A faint shift. Something almost like amusement flickers in his gaze.

“No,” he agrees quietly. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” you ask, softer now, even though you don’t mean to be.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand shifts slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up, just enough to keep your gaze locked on his. The contact is minimal. But it lingers.

“It’s that you feel it too,” he says.

Your heart stutters. The words hit harder than anything else he’s said. Because you do. And he knows it.

You shake your head instinctively, but your body betrays you, your breath uneven, your pulse too fast.

“You’re wrong,” you insist.

But your voice lacks conviction. His gaze lingers, slow, deliberate, like he’s taking his time now, like he already knows how this plays out.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his breath still warm against your skin, still too close, still making it impossible to think clearly. “But don’t push me just to prove it.”

Your chest rises sharply. “What happens if I do?” you ask before you can stop yourself. The question hangs there.

His lips hover close enough that you feel it, not quite touching, but close enough to blur the line.

“Then I stop being patient.”

The words are quiet. But they settle deep. Your breath falters. For a moment, everything narrows.

The space. The silence. The way your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You hate it. You hate that part of you doesn’t want him to move. You hate that you don’t want this moment to end. And that is what scares you the most.

Then, he steps back. Just like that. The space returns instantly. Cold. Sharp. Controlled. Like he never lost it. Like he never would.

You inhale slowly, your body still caught in the aftermath, your thoughts struggling to catch up. He looks at you for a second longer, his expression unreadable again, like the moment never happened.

“Stay inside,” he says, his voice back to calm, back to controlled. “It’s the only reason you’re still alive.”

Then he turns and walks away. Leaving you standing there, your back still against the wall, your pulse still racing, your thoughts tangled in ways you don’t understand. Because now, you know the truth. You are here because he is protecting you. And somehow, that makes him even more dangerous than before.

Morning arrives differently here. It doesn’t rush in or demand attention. It slips through the glass in soft, pale light, stretching slowly across the floor, climbing the walls, settling into every corner of the penthouse like it belongs there. The city below is already awake, distant and alive, but up here, everything feels suspended, quiet in a way that doesn’t match the world outside.

You wake before you mean to. Not from noise, not from movement, from thought. Last night lingers in your body before it reaches your mind. The memory of his voice, low and controlled, the way he stood too close, the way your breath betrayed you, the way your body reacted in ways you don’t want to examine too closely.

You sit up slowly, pushing the sheets aside, your fingers brushing against fabric that doesn’t belong to you.

His shirt. It slips against your skin when you move, loose and soft, the sleeves falling past your wrists, the collar dipping just enough to remind you how easily it shifts when you’re not careful. You exhale slowly, pushing yourself up, trying to ground yourself in something simpler. It doesn’t work.

The kitchen is already occupied when you step in. You don’t hear him at first. You feel him. There’s a difference now, something subtle but impossible to ignore, the way your body reacts to his presence before you even see him. It settles into your awareness like a quiet pull, something that sharpens your senses without asking permission.

He’s standing at the counter. Sleeves rolled, movements precise, controlled in a way that feels effortless. There’s something almost disorienting about it, the way he exists in this space, the way everything he does feels deliberate even when it looks simple. He doesn’t look like someone who orchestrates danger. He looks like someone making breakfast. The normalcy of it unsettles you. He glances at you, just once. But it lingers. Not long enough to call it out, but long enough that you feel it settle under your skin.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice steady, like this is expected, like you walking into his space dressed in his clothes is just another part of his routine.

You lean slightly against the counter, folding your arms without thinking, trying to ignore the way his gaze flicked over you a second longer than necessary.

“I didn’t realize you cook,” you reply.

It’s a small thing to say. But it fills the space.

“I don’t,” he answers simply. “Not usually.”

Your brows pull together slightly.

“Then what is this?”

He doesn’t look at you when he replies.

“An exception.”

The word lingers. You don’t ask why. You’re not sure you want the answer. You stay where you are. You don’t leave. That realization comes quietly, settling into your chest in a way that feels heavier than it should.

You could walk out. Go back to your room. Avoid this entirely. But you don’t. Instead, you watch him. The way his hands move, steady and precise, the way he handles everything like it matters, even something as simple as this. There’s no rush in him, no wasted movement, just quiet control in everything he does.

You hate that you notice. You hate that it draws your attention the way it does.

“You’re staring.”

His voice pulls you out of it. You blink, your gaze snapping back to his face.

“I’m not,” you reply immediately.

He looks at you. His gaze moves over you slowly, deliberate in a way that makes your breath catch despite yourself. It lingers at your shoulders, at the way the fabric of his shirt slips slightly when you shift, at the way it falls against your skin like it belongs there. Your pulse picks up.

“You’re still wearing my clothes,” he says.

It’s not a question. It’s not even an accusation. Just a statement.

“You gave them to me,” you counter, your voice steady even as something in your chest tightens.

“I did.”

The way he says it feels heavier than it should. Something shifts in the silence that follows. You don’t move. Neither does he. For a moment, it feels like everything slows, like the space between you has narrowed without either of you stepping closer. Then he turns back to what he’s doing. The moment breaks. But not completely.

You sit down when he sets the plate in front of you. You don’t argue. That’s new. You notice it immediately. So does he. But neither of you says anything about it.

The chair feels too close to where he stands, too aware of his presence, too aware of the way your body reacts every time he moves within your space.

You pick up the fork slowly, your fingers brushing against it as you try to focus on something normal. Something simple. It doesn’t work. You can feel his gaze on you. Enough that it settles into your awareness, enough that it makes every movement feel more deliberate than it should be.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a moment.

You glance up at him. “So are you.”

“That’s not unusual.”

A faint exhale leaves you. “No,” you admit. “It’s not.”

Silence stretches again. But it’s different now. Not tense. Not sharp. Something else. Something heavier. You don’t realize how close he is until he’s there. One moment, he’s across from you. The next, he’s beside you. Close enough that the shift in space is immediate. Your breath catches slightly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. He reaches past you. But the movement brings him closer than necessary, his arm brushing lightly against yours, his presence settling into your space in a way that feels deliberate even if it shouldn’t. Your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.

“You’re distracted,” he says quietly.

“I’m not,” you reply, but it comes out softer than you intend.

His gaze lingers on you. “You are.”

Your chest rises a little faster.

“And whose fault is that?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

The words hang there. He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studies you, his attention sharper now, more focused in a way that makes it harder to breathe normally.

“You tell me,” he says finally.

Your pulse spikes. You don’t respond. You can’t. Because you don’t trust what might come out if you do. The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different. Closer. He doesn’t move away. And neither do you.

You can feel him. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, awareness settling into every inch of space between you, your breath uneven in a way you can’t hide. You hate it. You hate how easily he affects you. You hate that he knows it.

“You’re still fighting it,” he murmurs.

Your gaze snaps to his. “Fighting what?”

His eyes hold yours, steady, unreadable in a way that feels intentional. “This.”

The word lands heavier than it should. Your chest tightens. “There is no this,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

Something shifts in his expression. Subtle. Knowing. He leans slightly closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough to make the distance feel intentional. Your breath falters.

“You can keep telling yourself that,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Your heart is racing now. You should step back. You don’t. Because part of you doesn’t want to. And that realization hits harder than anything else.

He moves first. But this time, it’s not to step away. It’s to straighten slightly, to create just enough distance to break the moment without fully leaving it behind.

“You should eat,” he says, his voice steady again, controlled, like nothing just happened. Like he didn’t see it. Like you didn’t feel it.

You stare at him for a second longer, your chest still rising unevenly, your thoughts tangled in ways you don’t want to untangle. Then you look down at your plate. Because staying in that moment feels more dangerous than anything else.

The rest of the morning passes quietly. But something has changed. You feel it in the way your thoughts linger on him longer than they should. In the way your body reacts every time he steps into your space. In the way the silence between you feels less like distance and more like something waiting to break. And the most dangerous part is not him. Not what he is. Not what he’s capable of. It’s you. Because you’re starting to want things you shouldn’t. And you don’t know how to stop.

Sleep doesn’t come. It refuses you completely, no matter how many times you close your eyes, no matter how long you lie still and try to force your body into rest. Your mind keeps moving, circling the same moments, replaying them with a clarity that feels cruel.

The way he said your name. The way his breath felt against your skin. The way your body reacted before you could stop it. You turn onto your side, then your back again, frustration building slowly, tightening in your chest until staying in bed feels impossible.

You sit up. The room is quiet, dim with only a faint glow from the city filtering through the curtains. For a moment, you hesitate, your thoughts catching up with your actions.

You shouldn’t go looking. You already know enough. But that thought doesn’t stop you. Because knowing isn’t the same as understanding. And right now, understanding feels like the only thing that might steady you.

You step out into the hallway. The penthouse is silent, the kind of silence that makes every movement feel louder than it should be. You move carefully, instinctively aware of the space around you, your senses sharper in the dark.

You glance toward his room first. The door is closed. You walk closer, slower now, your hand hovering just slightly before you test the handle. Locked. Of course it is. You let out a quiet breath, something between frustration and expectation. Then your gaze shifts. His office. The door isn’t fully closed. You step inside carefully.

The room feels different at night, heavier somehow, like everything inside it carries more weight in the absence of light. The desk sits exactly as it always does, clean, organized, nothing out of place. Too perfect. Too controlled.

You move closer. Your fingers brush the edge of the desk before you pull open the first drawer. Nothing obvious. Documents. Clean. Minimal. You try another. And another. Your heartbeat starts to pick up, your movements quicker now, your breathing quieter as if that might hide what you’re doing. There has to be something. Something that tells you who he really is. Something that tells you who is looking for you.

A paper slips slightly as you pull it free, your eyes scanning quickly, trying to make sense of names, numbers, fragments that feel important but incomplete, “Looking for something?”

The voice behind you stops everything. Your breath catches sharply, your body going still before you even turn. He’s already there. Standing in the doorway. Watching you. You don’t have time to explain. You don’t even try.

“I need to know what I’m involved in,” you say instead, your voice tighter than you intend, your grip still holding the paper.

He doesn’t move immediately. He just watches you, his gaze slow, taking in everything without rushing. Then he steps forward. You step back instinctively. Your hip hits the edge of the desk. There’s nowhere else to go.

He closes the distance. Fast enough that you don’t react until it’s too late.

The papers slip from your hands, scattering across the floor as his presence presses into yours, his hand braced against the desk beside you, effectively trapping you there without force. Your breath stutters.

“You don’t stop,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, closer, the words settling into the space between you in a way that feels heavier than they should. Your chest rises unevenly.

“I’m not going to just sit here and wait for something to happen,” you reply, even as your voice softens under the weight of his proximity.

His gaze lingers on you.

“You’re really testing my patience,” he says. His other hand moves to rest against the desk, close enough that you feel surrounded without being touched. Your pulse races.

“You think digging through my things is going to change anything?” he continues, his voice quieter now, slower, like he’s taking his time.

“I think it might give me a chance,” you answer.

“A chance at what?”

“At not being completely in the dark.”

His eyes hold yours. And something shifts. Not anger. Something deeper.

“You’re not in the dark,” he says softly.

Your breath catches.

“Then why does it feel like I am?”

He leans in slightly. Close enough that the space between you disappears. Your back presses more firmly against the desk, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

“Because you don’t like the answers,” he murmurs.

The words brush against your skin. You should push him away. You don’t.

His gaze drops briefly, just enough to make your breath falter, just enough to make you aware of how close he is, how easily this could shift into something else.

“You keep pushing,” he continues, his voice lower now, softer in a way that feels more dangerous than before. “Like you’re trying to find a line.”

Your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the desk. “Maybe I am.”

The admission slips out before you can stop it. His gaze sharpens.

“And what happens when you find it?”

Your heart is racing now. “I guess we’ll see.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. Then his hand lifts. Enough to tilt your chin slightly upward, forcing your gaze to stay on his.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says quietly.

Your breath trembles. “Then show me.”

The words hang there. Dangerous. Unavoidable. Something shifts in his expression. Subtle, but unmistakable.

He leans closer. Your breath catches. You feel it before it happens, the change in the air, the shift in tension, the way everything narrows to just this moment.

His lips hover close. Too close. Your pulse pounds. And then, he stops for a second that feels longer than it should. Like he’s giving you time. Like he’s letting you choose. You don’t realize you’ve reached for his shirt until your fingers curl into the fabric.

That’s all it takes. The distance disappears. His jaw brushed the curve of your ear, the faint rasp of stubble sending heat skimming across your skin before his teeth closed in a slow, deliberate bite. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make your breath catch, a quiet, helpless sound slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

You hated this. Hated how easily he unraveled you. How your body answered him without permission, pulse stuttering, thoughts dissolving into something reckless and unsteady. Every touch felt like a question you shouldn’t want to answer, yet here you were, leaning into him as if you already had.

Even with that small spark of resistance still flickering in your mind, your body betrayed you. Your head tilted back just enough, exposing the line of your throat, a silent challenge wrapped in a breathy whisper. There was defiance in it, sharp and tempting, the kind that drew something darker out of him.

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth found your skin as if he had been waiting for permission you never truly gave. Slow. Intentional. Each press of his lips along your neck felt measured, like he was taking his time learning every inch of you. When his tongue brushed against your pulse, tasting the warmth there, your breath faltered despite your effort to keep it steady.

Every brush of his mouth against your pulse sent a tremor through you, a soft, unguarded sound slipping free before you could swallow it down. It was quiet, but it was there, betraying the heat coiling low in your body, tightening with every second he refused to stop.

Your fingers curled against the edge of the desk, grip tightening until your knuckles blanched, as if holding on to something solid might keep you grounded. It didn’t. Nothing did. Not when your body leaned into him without permission, not when your breathing turned uneven no matter how hard you tried to steady it.

His mouth found yours without warning, firm and unyielding, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask, only took. It stole the air from your lungs in an instant. Leaving you breathless as his hand tightened just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you. There was heat in it. Possession. Something dangerously close to hunger.

You tasted the faint trace of whisky on his lips, rich and intoxicating, but there was something deeper beneath it, something darker that pulled you in before you could think to resist. When his teeth caught your lower lip, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch, a quiet sound slipped from you, soft and unsteady. And the worst part was how easily you gave in to it.

A slow, aching heat spread low in your body, pulsing with a need you didn’t want to name. It made your breath uneven, your thoughts hazy, every nerve tuned to him and nothing else. Before you could think twice, you were on the desk, the edge pressing faintly against you as he stepped closer. Your legs parted without permission, a quiet, instinctive movement that welcomed him in ways your mind still tried to resist.

Your hand slid into his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, tightening just enough to pull. To challenge. The sound that left him was low and rough, something felt more than heard, vibrating through you like a warning you had no intention of listening to.

The kiss deepened, turning messy and urgent, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made it hard to tell where you ended and he began. His tongue traced every response from you, slow one second, relentless the next, until your breathing broke into something uneven and fragile.

Your bodies pressed together, heat bleeding through every layer, every inch of space between you disappearing beneath the weight of it.

He pulled back just enough, your lips still brushing, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with something dangerously close to frustration. “Always pushing me like this." His voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a jolt straight to your cunt.

Your hips moved against him, slow at first, then with more intention, feeling the hard bulge of his cock through his jeans. A soft gasp slipped out, unsteady and unguarded, as the friction sent a rush of sensation through you.

Clothes quickly turned into nothing more than barriers between you, clumsy and frustrating in the heat of the moment. Your fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, unsteady but determined, while he lost patience entirely, dragging the fabric over his head in one swift motion.

For a second, you stilled. The sight of him, all defined lines and tension, his chest rising and falling a little heavier than before, pulled something tight in your chest. Your gaze followed the shape of him, down to where his waistband sat low on his hips, and you felt that same dangerous pull all over again. Like you were already too far gone to stop.

The space around you seemed to close in, his office shrinking until it felt like there was nothing left but him and the heat building between you. The air turned thick, heavy with every unsteady breath, every quiet sound of movement as fabric slipped and fell forgotten to the floor. Soon, you were both stripped bare, your skin flushed and slick with sweat under the low glow of the lamp, every inch of you exposed to his hungry gaze.

He didn't waste a second, his mouth descending to your breasts, lips wrapping around one hardened nipple as he sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak while his fingers pinched and rolled the other, drawing out a string of desperate whimpers from you.

You hated how easily he got under your skin, how completely he took over your senses until nothing else mattered but him.

His hand roamed lower, sliding between your thighs to find you already soaking wet, his fingers teasing your slick folds with deliberate strokes that made your back arch off the desk.

"Fuck, you're dripping for me," he growled, his voice thick with lust as he looked up at you, eyes dark and intense. The words sent a thrill through you.

He dropped to his knees, the cool air hitting your exposed skin as he spread your legs wider, his breath hot against your pussy. His tongue flicked out, tracing the edges of your swollen clit with agonizing slowness, the wet, slurping sounds filling the office as he lapped at you like a man starved. Each stroke was deliberate, building the tension until you were writhing, your fingers knotting in his hair as he added a finger, then two, thrusting them deep inside your tight, dripping cunt.

His fingers curling to hit that perfect spot that made stars burst behind your eyes, the rhythm steady and unrelenting as he sucked your clit harder, his other hand gripping your thigh to hold you in place.

Time blurred in a haze of heat, every moment pulling you closer to the edge you couldn’t quite step over. His attention didn’t waver, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.

The office felt distant now, reduced to shadows and muffled sounds, while your breath broke in uneven rhythms you could no longer control. Every reaction betrayed you, every quiet sound giving away just how far gone you already were.

You'd never felt anything like it, the way his tongue swirled and flicked, the obscene squelching of your juices coating his fingers as he pumped them in and out, faster and deeper with each thrust.

When it finally broke through you, it felt like everything inside you gave way at once, tension snapping clean through your body. Your pussy clenching around his fingers as waves of ecstasy crashed through you, your cries muffled only by the palm you slapped over your mouth.

He didn’t let it end there. Even as your body finally began to soften against him, breath uneven and strength draining from your limbs, he lingered, unrelenting in the way he kept you anchored to the moment, as if he refused to let the intensity fade too quickly.

The aftershocks still moved through you in quiet, uncontrollable waves, leaving you unsteady, suspended somewhere between exhaustion and lingering heat.

And when you finally looked at him, there was no satisfaction of having finished. Only hunger. Still there. Still watching you like he wasn’t done with you yet.

He straightened slowly, the movement unhurried, like he was giving you time to change your mind even though neither of you really believed you would.

Reaching into the desk drawer, he retrieved something without breaking eye contact, the silence between you tightening again, heavy with understanding rather than words. He tear it open and roll it down his thick, throbbing cock. The sight of him, veins bulging along his shaft, precum glistening at the tip, made your mouth water, but there was no time to think as he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his dick pressing against your entrance.

He slid into you slowly at first, inch by inch, stretching your sensitive pussy around his girth until he was buried to the hilt, a groan escaped him as your walls gripped him tight.

"Fuck, you feel so good, so fucking tight," he rasped, his hands gripping your hips as he began to thrust, each movement deep and powerful, filling you completely. His cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke, the wet slap of skin against skin mingling with your mutual moans.

He flipped you over, the new position allowing him to pound into you harder, his balls slapping against your clit with each forceful drive. You met his rhythm, pushing back against him, the raw intensity of it all pushing you toward another peak as he growled filthy words in your ear. "Take it, you dirty little thing, cum all over my cock."

It went on, unrelenting and all-consuming, as if neither of you could find the will to pull away. The position shifted again, the desk chair creaking softly beneath the weight of it all, the room filled with nothing but breath and movement and the steady unraveling of control between you. His hands on your tits as you bounced on his length, feeling every vein and ridge drag against your inner walls.

Sweat dripped down your bodies, the air thick with the scent of sex, until finally, with one last, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you and came, his cock pulsing as he filled the condom, your own release crashing over you. For a moment, there was only silence. Heavy. Lingering. Unavoidable. And neither of you moved to fill it right away.

The office feels different now, not because anything has changed physically, but because something invisible has settled into the space, something you can feel in the air between you and him. The city outside continues to glow beyond the glass, indifferent and distant, while inside, everything feels too close, too aware of itself.

You are still on top of him. Close enough that if either of you moves first, the moment might shatter into something else entirely. But neither of you does. That silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Not peaceful either. Something in between, something suspended, like the world forgot to tell you what comes next.

You realize your hands are still pressed against his shoulders. He notices. His gaze doesn’t move away from you, not even for a second, but there is no urgency in it now, no pressure, just that same steady awareness that has always made it impossible for you to ignore him.

“You’re still thinking too much,” he says finally. His voice is lower than before, quieter in a way that feels less like control and more like something closer to honesty.

You exhale slowly, looking at him properly now.

“I’m still trying to make sense of all of this,” you admit softly.

A faint shift passes through his expression, not quite amusement, not quite agreement.

“You should stop trying to understand everything all at once,” he says.

Your throat tightens slightly.

“That’s easy for you to say,” you reply.

His gaze holds yours.

“It’s not,” he answers. “It’s just necessary.”

That word lingers longer than it should. You look away for a moment, trying to steady your breathing, trying to bring yourself back into something that feels normal. But nothing about this feels normal anymore, not the room, not the silence, not the way your thoughts keep circling back to him even when you try to push them away.

“What happens now?” you ask quietly.

It is the first time you say it out loud. The first time you acknowledge that something has shifted between you, something neither of you can pretend didn’t happen. He studies you for a moment before answering.

“That depends on you,” he says.

You let out a small, almost disbelieving breath.

“Me?”

His voice doesn’t change.

“You can keep fighting me,” he says. “Or you can start trusting that I’m not the one you need to be afraid of.”

The words land differently now. Not like a command. Not like manipulation. More like something carefully placed in front of you, left for you to decide what to do with.

You push yourself off him slowly, your feet finding the floor again, your body feeling slightly unsteady in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know how to trust someone like you,” you admit.

There is no accusation in it. Just truth. He watches you for a moment longer.

“I didn’t ask you to trust everything,” he replies. “Just enough to stay alive.”

That sentence settles deeper than anything else tonight. You look at him again, and for the first time, you don’t just see control or distance or danger. You see responsibility. Heavy. Unshaken. Something he carries without asking for permission. And that changes the shape of everything you thought you understood.

You step back slightly, the space between you widening again, and something in your chest tightens at the loss of proximity more than you want to admit.

“I should go,” you say softly.

He nods once. No argument. No attempt to stop you. That, somehow, feels louder than anything else.

Your room feels colder than usual when you enter it. Or maybe it only feels that way because the warmth you were just in hasn’t faded from your skin yet.

You close the door slowly behind you, leaning against it for a moment without moving further inside. The silence here is different from his office. Less charged, less heavy, but somehow more isolating now that you’ve been reminded of what it feels like not to be alone in it.

Your fingers brush lightly against the fabric of his shirt again without you realizing it. You should change. You don’t. Not immediately. Because your mind is still replaying everything in fragments you cannot fully organize. His voice. His gaze. His touch. The way he spoke to you like the world outside your existence was something he was constantly calculating against.

You sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, your thoughts catching up to your body piece by piece. You should feel confused. You do. You should feel scared. Some part of you still is. But neither of those emotions feels complete anymore. Because there is something else now, something softer and more dangerous at the same time, something that settles in quietly when you are not paying attention.

You realize it only when you stop resisting it. You didn’t pull away from him tonight. Not when you had the chance. Not when you should have. And even now, sitting alone in your room, you are not sure if you regret it.

That thought stays with you longer than anything else. Outside your door, the penthouse remains silent. And somewhere beyond it, Kim Seokjin continues to exist in the same space as you, as if nothing between you has fully ended. As if it never really will.

Morning arrives without urgency, slipping through the glass like it has nowhere else to be except here. The city outside is already awake, already moving, already living a life that feels far removed from the quiet heaviness inside the penthouse. Up here, everything feels slower, like even time is careful not to disturb what has changed between you and him.

You wake before you want to. Because your body refuses to fully stay inside it. There is a dull ache in your limbs, not sharp enough to demand attention, but present enough to remind you that last night did not end the way ordinary nights end. You stay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as if it might explain what your mind keeps circling back to.

It does not. Instead, what returns is him. The way he looked at you without distance. The way silence between you no longer felt empty. The way you did not leave when you should have. You sit up slowly, pulling the sheet aside, and the room shifts with your movement in a way that feels too loud for how quiet everything is. The fabric of his shirt falls naturally against your skin when you move, familiar now in a way that unsettles you more than it should. It does not feel like borrowed clothing anymore. It feels like something that belongs in this space the same way you do, even if you are still trying to reject that idea.

You exhale quietly and push yourself out of bed. There is no escape in staying still. The kitchen is already occupied when you step out. You know before you see him. It is not sound or movement that gives it away. It is something else, something that has started to settle in you without permission. Awareness. That quiet instinct that reacts to him before your thoughts can form properly.

He is there, standing by the counter, the early light from the city falling across his frame in a way that makes everything feel too composed to be accidental. Nothing about him looks rushed. Nothing about him ever does. Even the simplest movements carry that same controlled precision, as if everything he does is measured against something only he understands.

For a moment, you just watch him. Because your body does it before your mind can decide otherwise.

He glances at you once when you enter, and it is enough to shift something inside your chest. Not surprise. Not acknowledgment. Something quieter. Something that feels like awareness of a shared space that no longer belongs entirely to either of you.

“You’re awake,” he says.

You move closer slowly, stopping near the counter without fully committing to sitting yet.

“I didn’t think you were the type to make breakfast almost everyday,” you say.

A faint pause follows your words, not from confusion but from consideration.

“I am not,” he replies.

You nod slightly, absorbing that without fully understanding why it feels like more than it should. Because nothing about him is usually simple.

You sit down. He places a plate in front of you without ceremony before taking the seat across from you. The distance is familiar now, but it carries a different weight than before. Less like separation. More like something carefully maintained.

You do not eat immediately. Neither does he. For a while, only silence exists between you. It is not the kind of silence that feels empty anymore. It is full in a way that makes it harder to pretend nothing has changed. It carries memory without needing to speak it.

You break it first.

“You didn’t sleep properly,” you say quietly.

“I did,” he answers.

Your eyes lift slightly toward him, reading him more carefully now.

“That is not what it looks like,” you reply.

A brief pause follows.

“It was enough,” he says.

That answer tells you more than a longer explanation would have.

You set your fork down, attention fully on him now even if you are not sure you want it to be.

“You said I am safer here,” you say carefully. “But you never told me what I am actually safe from.”

His gaze stays on you without shifting.

“That depends on what you already know,” he replies.

A small tension builds in your chest at that.

“You mean Mr. Choi,” you say.

The name changes the air immediately. He does not avoid it. Instead, he leans into it in the same calm way he always does when he decides something will not be softened for your comfort.

“Mr. Choi was involved in things you were never meant to be close to,” he says. “He was trading information. Movement schedules. Access points. Things that don’t stay small once they enter circulation.”

You listen without interrupting, even though something in you resists every word.

“So he was not just some random neighbor,” you say slowly.

“No,” he replies.

The honesty is immediate. Unfiltered. Final. Your fingers rest against the table without moving.

“And you took him because of that,” you continue.

“I took him because someone else would have taken him worse,” he says.

You look at him more sharply now.

“That is supposed to make me feel better,” you say quietly.

“It is supposed to make you understand context,” he replies.

The distinction matters more than you want it to. Silence returns again, but it feels heavier now, filled with things you are only beginning to piece together.

You exhale slowly. “So where do I fit into all of this,” you ask, “because I am still not seeing how I become part of something like that just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

His gaze does not leave you.

“That is where you are wrong,” he says.

Your chest tightens slightly at the certainty in his voice.

“I did not choose to be part of this,” you reply.

“I know,” he says.

That is what unsettles you the most. Not denial. Not disagreement. Acknowledgment. A quiet acceptance that you are already inside something neither of you can fully reverse.

You lean back slightly, your thoughts moving faster than your ability to organize them.

“Then why keep me here,” you ask, softer now.

For the first time this morning, his expression shifts in a way that is not immediately readable. Not distance. Not calculation. Something more restrained.

“I stopped seeing you as something I could simply remove from the situation,” he says.

The words land quietly, but they do not fade. You stare at him for a moment longer than you intend to.

“That does not sound like a reason,” you say.

“It is the only one that matters,” he replies.

The silence that follows is no longer empty. It feels like something held carefully in place, like both of you are aware that one more question might change the shape of everything again.

You notice your own hesitation. That is what scares you more than anything else. Not his world. Not the danger outside it. But the fact that you are no longer reacting to him purely with resistance. There is something else there now. Something you do not want to define too quickly.

You stand slowly, breaking the stillness.

“I need time to think,” you say.

He nods once. No argument. No attempt to stop you. That should feel like distance. It does not. It feels like permission. You walk toward your room, but you stop at the doorway without meaning to. Because for a moment, you realize something you have been avoiding all morning. You are not trying to escape him the way you used to. You are trying to understand what happens if you stop running at all. And behind you, he remains where he is. Not following. Not calling you back. Just watching quietly as if he already knows you will not leave the same person you were when you walked in.

Weeks pass in a way that no longer feels like waiting. Time does not drag inside the penthouse anymore. It moves quietly, naturally, like something that has finally settled into the shape it was always meant to take. There are no dramatic shifts, no sudden realizations that arrive like thunder. Instead, everything changes in small, almost unnoticeable ways until one day you realize you are no longer the person who once stood at that door, wondering if escape was the only answer.

Now the door is always unlocked. And you no longer look at it. That becomes the quiet truth of your days.

Seokjin leaves in the morning without saying much, his world still calling him back into places you are only beginning to understand. But the difference now is not in his absence. It is in what he leaves behind.

Freedom. Not as something distant or unreachable, but as something placed gently into your hands, as if he trusts you to decide what to do with it. And every day, without saying it out loud, you choose the same thing.

You stay. You find your own rhythm inside his space. It becomes your space too before either of you ever says it.

Some afternoons, he returns to find you in the library, curled into one of the deep chairs with a book resting open in your lap, your attention somewhere between the pages and the quiet comfort of knowing he will walk through the door eventually. Other nights, he steps inside to the soft glow of the television, your figure half-lost in the couch, a blanket loosely draped over you as if you never intended to fall asleep but did anyway.

And sometimes, like tonight, he finds you in the kitchen. Flour dusted lightly across the counter. A faint sweetness in the air. Your sleeves pushed up, your focus fixed on something you are trying to get right without entirely knowing if you will. He stops in the doorway when he sees you. Not announcing himself. Not interrupting. Just watching. Because this is the part of you he did not expect to matter as much as it does.

“You went out,” he says after a moment.

You glance over your shoulder, a small smile forming without effort. “I did,” you reply. “Your men were very serious about it.”

A quiet huff of amusement escapes him, barely there but real.

“I trust you,” he says, stepping further inside. “I do not trust them to leave you unguarded.”

You nod slightly, turning back to what you are doing.

“I figured that much.”

He leans against the counter, watching you more closely now.

“What is this,” he asks.

You hesitate for a second, then answer honestly.

“I saw something online,” you admit. “I wanted to try it.”

That earns a pause.

“You are experimenting,” he says.

“I am learning,” you correct softly.

Something shifts in his expression at that, something that lingers longer than it should.

Dinner ends up forgotten. Postponed by something neither of you plans but both of you recognize the moment it begins. You offer him food. He looks at you instead. “I am not hungry for that,” he says quietly.

The way he says it changes the air between you. The space between you disappears slowly, naturally, like it has done this too many times to be uncertain anymore. The connection is no longer something that surprises you. It feels known, like something your body understands before your thoughts can catch up.

Later, the kitchen fades into memory. The couch becomes the place where everything settles again. You are tangled together, the city lights dim behind you, the world outside reduced to something distant and unimportant compared to the quiet rhythm you share here.

Neither of you speaks at first. But eventually, your thoughts return to something that has lingered in the background of all this change.

“Seokjin,” you say softly.

He shifts slightly beside you, his attention already on you before you finish.

“What happened to him,” you ask. “Mr. Choi.”

The name feels different now. Less like a mystery. More like a piece of a story you have already stepped into.

He is quiet for a moment before answering.

“He is alive,” he says. “Somewhere far from here.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him.

“Alive,” you repeat.

“Yes,” he continues. “New name. New life. No connections to what he was involved in.”

You study his face carefully.

“You let him go.”

“I removed him from the equation,” he corrects.

That answer makes more sense for who he is.

“And the people who were looking for him,” you ask.

His gaze darkens slightly, not with anger but with something colder.

“They are no longer a problem,” he says.

You hold his gaze. “All of them?”

“The one who mattered is in custody,” he replies. “The rest are not in a position to reach you.”

You exhale slowly, letting that settle.

“For good,” you say.

He does not answer immediately. Then, quieter than before, he says, “For as long as I can control it.”

That honesty matters more than a promise. You shift closer to him, your hand resting lightly against his chest.

“You did all of that,” you say.

His gaze softens slightly.

“I did what was necessary,” he replies.

“For me,” you press.

A pause. Then, finally, “Yes.”

The word is simple. But it carries everything. Silence follows again, but it is different now. Warmer. Full. You study him for a moment longer before speaking again.

“You know,” you say quietly, “I could have left at any point.”

His gaze shifts slightly at that.

“I know,” he replies.

“I did not,” you continue.

He does not interrupt. Because he understands that this matters.

“I stayed,” you say, your voice softer now. “Because I wanted to be here.”

That changes something in him.

“I stopped asking myself when I would leave,” you add. “I started asking myself why I would.”

His hand moves slightly against yours.

“And what answer did you find,” he asks.

You meet his gaze fully.

“You,” you say.

The word settles into the space between you like it has always belonged there.

He exhales quietly, something shifting in his expression that he does not hide from you anymore.

“You are the only thing in this place that does not feel temporary,” you continue. “Everything else still feels like it could disappear if I look away long enough.”

His voice lowers.

“I am not going anywhere,” he says.

“I know,” you reply. “That is why I stayed.”

He studies you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “I used to think keeping you here was about control,” he admits.

You tilt your head slightly.

“And now,” you ask.

“Now I know it was about not wanting to come back to nothing,” he says.

That lands deeper than anything else. You smile softly, your hand brushing lightly against his cheek.

“You do not have to come back to nothing anymore,” you say.

His gaze holds yours. “I know,” he replies.

A pause. Then, softer, “I come back to you.”

The kiss that follows is not rushed. It carries everything that has been said and everything that has not needed words at all. And when you settle back into him, the world outside feels smaller than it ever has. Because it no longer matters in the same way.

The first time you step outside his world is not quiet. Everything about it carries weight, history, consequence. The kind of night that exists long before you arrive and will continue long after you leave. You feel it the moment you stand in front of the mirror, the city stretching endlessly behind you through the glass, your reflection unfamiliar in a way that makes your chest tighten just slightly.

You do not look like the person who once tried to escape this place. You do not feel like her either. There is something steadier in the way you hold yourself now. Something that has learned where it belongs, even if the path here was never something you would have chosen at the beginning.

Seokjin stands behind you, his presence filling the space without needing to announce itself. You catch his reflection before you turn, his gaze already fixed on you in that quiet, unwavering way you have come to understand.

“You do not have to do this,” he says.

His voice is calm, but there is something beneath it you have learned to hear. Not doubt in you. Concern for what this night might demand.

You turn to face him fully, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, grounding yourself in the moment.

“I know,” you reply softly.

He studies you for a long second, searching for something he cannot force out of you.

“Once we walk in there,” he continues, “there is no separating you from me in their eyes.”

You step closer.

“I am already not separate from you,” you say.

The words settle between you, steady and certain. His gaze lowers slightly, taking you in like he is memorizing something he does not want to lose.

“You understand what that means,” he says quietly.

“I do,” you answer.

And you do. It means you will be seen. Measured. Judged. Not as a guest. Not as a stranger. But as something far more dangerous in a world like his. You will be seen as his.

The venue is exactly what you expect and nothing like it at the same time. Elegant in a way that feels calculated rather than welcoming. Conversations that sound polished but carry something sharper underneath. Eyes that linger a little too long, noticing everything without appearing to.

The moment you step inside with him, the room shifts. You feel it in the way conversations pause just slightly before continuing. In the way glances turn into stares that are quickly hidden behind practiced composure. In the way space seems to adjust itself around him, around you, as if the entire room is recalibrating to account for your presence.

His hand finds yours. And you realize then that this is not just about them seeing you. It is about him standing with you in a space where nothing is ever simple.

“You can still leave,” he murmurs quietly, just enough for you to hear.

You look at him. At the man who once kept you inside walls you hated. At the man who now gives you every choice and still hopes you stay.

“I walked in with you,” you say. “I am not walking out without you.”

Something shifts in his expression at that, something he does not hide.

“Good,” he says.

People approach. One by one. Conversations begin that feel more like assessments than introductions. Names are exchanged, but you quickly understand that names mean less here than alliances, than history, than power that exists beneath everything being said.

You stand beside him through it all. And slowly, something changes. At first, they look at you like a question. Then like a possibility. And eventually, like an answer they do not like but cannot ignore.

Because Seokjin does not correct their assumptions. He does not distance himself from you. He does not soften your presence. He lets it exist exactly as it is. And that is what makes it undeniable.

At some point, the conversations fade into the background. The noise of the room becomes distant, replaced by something quieter between you and him.

You step slightly away from the crowd, toward a space where the city is visible again through tall glass, the lights stretching endlessly into the night. He follows without being asked.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just stand there, side by side, the reflection of both of you faintly visible against the glass.

“This is your world,” you say softly.

“It is,” he replies.

You glance at him.

“And now I am in it.”

He turns slightly toward you.

“You have been in it for a while,” he says.

You shake your head faintly.

“No,” you correct. “I was surviving in it. This is different.”

He studies you carefully.

“How.”

You take a breath, letting the weight of everything settle before you answer.

“Because I am not here by accident anymore,” you say. “I am here because I chose to be.”

The words feel heavier spoken out loud. His gaze does not leave yours.

“That changes everything,” he says.

“It does,” you agree.

Silence follows, but it is not empty. It is full of everything that has led you here. Everything that could have ended differently but did not.

You step closer, your voice softer now, but no less certain.

“I used to think you were the worst thing that could happen to me,” you admit.

A faint shift crosses his expression.

“And now,” he asks.

You do not hesitate.

“Now I think you are the only thing that ever made sense after everything stopped making sense.”

He exhales slowly, something in him giving way in a way you have only seen in rare moments when he allows himself to be unguarded.

“You make this place feel different,” he says quietly.

You tilt your head slightly.

“How.”

“Less like something I have to control,” he answers. “More like something I want to come back to.”

Your chest tightens at that.

“You always had something to come back to,” you say.

He shakes his head faintly.

“No,” he replies. “I had responsibilities. Power. Territory. None of that is the same thing.”

His gaze softens just enough to shift everything again.

“You are,” he adds.

The words stay with you. Settle into you. And for a moment, the world outside the glass feels smaller than the space between you.

You reach for him first this time.

“I love you,” you say.

It does not come out as a confession. It comes out like something that has been true for longer than you have allowed yourself to say it.

His eyes hold yours, steady and unshaken. For a second, he says nothing. And then, quietly, like it belongs in this moment and nowhere else,

“I love you too.”

No hesitation. No distance. Just truth. The kind that does not need to be repeated to be understood.

When you step back into the room together, everything feels different.

Because whatever exists between you is no longer hidden, no longer uncertain, no longer something either of you can walk away from without losing something real.

They see it now. All of them. In the way you stand beside him. In the way his hand finds yours again without thought. In the way neither of you looks away.

And for the first time, you do not feel like someone caught in his world. You feel like someone who belongs in it.

End.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading all the way through. I truly appreciate you spending your time with something I created.

A special thank you again to the lovely reader who commissioned this fic and generously allowed me to post it publicly so everyone else could enjoy it too. Thank you for trusting me with your idea and for supporting my work.

If you enjoyed this story, I’m currently open for fic commissions. Any genre is welcome! You can come to me with a detailed plot, a favorite trope, a character pairing, or even just a small idea, and I’ll be happy to help build the story with you.

Thank you again for reading, supporting, and sharing my work. See you in the next story.

The ring light casted a gentle glow over your bedroom as you sat cross-legged on the bed, camera focused on your smiling face.

You were not live, just recording a storytime video for your channel.

“So a lot of you have been asking in the comments about the brand collab video I posted a few days ago,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “The one with the espresso coffee? Okay, so the behind-the-scenes was actually chaotic. First of all...”

You continued with the story for few minutes until the door creaked open.

You paused mid-sentence, heart doing that familiar little flip it always did when Seokjin came home.

He looked exhausted, hair slightly messy, black shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed up his forearms, but still unfairly handsome.

He kicked off his shoes without a word, crawled onto the bed, and flopped down beside you... head resting near your lap, one arm draped lazily across the pillow, chin propped up slightly as he stared up at you with those warm, tired eyes.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, smiling down at him.

He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a long, dramatic sigh and nuzzled closer, his cheek brushing your thigh.

You tried to keep filming, but your focus was already wavering. “Jinnie, I’m almost done. Just five more minutes?”

He pouted.

Full, glossy lower lip pushed out, eyebrows drawn together in the world’s most devastating sulk. “Five minutes feels like five hours when I’ve been counting down to this exact moment since lunch.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so mean,” he whined softly, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. His fingers traced lazy circles on your knee.

“I came straight home. Skipped the team dinner. Ignored three calls from my manager. All because I wanted to bury my face in my wife’s neck and sleep for ten years.”

Your stomach fluttered.

You kept one hand on the camera, trying to salvage the storytime. “Just let me finish this story real quick—”

Seokjin shifted, rolling onto his side so his broad chest pressed against your leg. He looked up at you through his lashes, pouting harder. “You love your subscribers more than me. I see how it is.”

“Jin.”

“Come here, Baby.” His voice dropped into that low, teasing register that always melted you. “I’m dying here. Starving for cuddles. Look at me. I’m practically withering away.”

You snorted. “You’re literally the most beautiful man alive right now and you know it.”

He grinned for half a second before the pout returned, even stronger.

“Then why won’t you hold your beautiful husband? Hm?” His hand slid higher under the hem of your shirt, tracing slow circles just below your breast, thumb deliberately brushing the soft skin where your waist meets your ribs.

He was testing you, seeing how long you could keep talking while he was clearly trying to distract you. “I’ve been good. I deserve rewards.”

The suggestive little touch sent warmth rushing through you.

His thumb brushed slow, deliberate circles against your side, and you had to fight the urge to shiver. “Jin, I’m recording... I will have to retake if you keep going...”

“Record me complaining then,” he mumbled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh.

He pressed another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, tongue flicking out just enough to make your breath hitch.

His lips moved higher, dangerously close to the hem of your shorts, hot breath fanning over your skin. “Tell them how cruel you are. ‘My husband came home tired and I made him wait.’ They’ll cancel you for me. I’ll be trending.”

You laughed despite yourself, the camera shaking in your grip. The footage was completely ruined now—your cheeks were flushed, your voice breathy, and Seokjin was making it worse by nuzzling closer, lips brushing higher.

“Ugh, fine. This is useless anyway.” You clicked the camera off, set it on the nightstand, and turned fully toward him. He immediately brightened, arms opening wide like a needy koala.

You slid down into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you, but one hand immediately slid down to grip your ass, squeezing firmly as he pulled you flush against him.

He let out the happiest little hum, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “There she is. My wife. Finally.”

You could already feel him half-hard against your thigh.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, grinding slowly once against you.

“Rough day?” you asked softly, threading your fingers through his dark hair.

He nodded against your skin, lips brushing your pulse point. “The worst. Client meeting that was supposed to be thirty minutes turned into three hours. They kept circling back to the same pointless slides. I fake-smiled so much now my face hurts.”

He pressed a slow, wet kiss just below your ear, then another, sucking gently until you felt the faint bloom of a hickey. “And all I could think about was coming home to you.”

You melted, tilting your head to give him better access.

His hand roamed your back, slipping under your shirt again, palming your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Mhmmm... Jinnie…” you breathed, half-warning, half-plea.

“Mmm?” He nipped at your collarbone, soothing it immediately with his tongue. The touch was lazy and possessive, full of tired affection. “Missed you so much. Wanted this exact thing. You in my arms. Smelling like home.”

You cupped his face, pulling him back just enough to look at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly swollen from kissing you. “Did you eat anything?”

He shook his head, pouting again. “No time. Rushed straight here as soon as meeting ended like a lovesick fool.”

“I’ll cook something quick...”

“No.” His arms tightened around you instantly, pulling you flush against his chest. One leg hooked over yours, effectively trapping you in the coziest cage imaginable.

“I’m not that hungry. Not for food, anyway.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, then ruined it by yawning adorably.

You giggled, kissing the tip of his nose. “You need to eat, baby.”

“Later,” he murmured, voice turning husky as he rolled you both so you were half beneath him, his weight warm and comforting.

“I’ll order takeout in a few minutes. Thai? Pizza? Or that fried chicken you like? Whatever. But right now?” He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like longing and exhaustion and love.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Right now I just need you. Your cuddles. Your voice. Your hands in my hair. Let me stay like this until the food arrives. Please, my pretty wife?”

How could you possibly say no to that?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so his head rested on your chest. “Okay. But only because you’re cute when you whine.”

“I’m always cute,” he mumbled happily, already sounding half-asleep.

His fingers slipped under your shirt again, tracing idle patterns on your lower back, roaming around waist, promising more once he wasn’t running on fumes. “Tell me about your day while I recharge on you. Did the storytime go well before I ruined it?”

“You ruined it in the best way,” you laughed softly, scratching his scalp the way he loved. “I was telling them about the espresso brand collab incident.”

He hummed, pressing another wet kiss to the swell of your breast over your shirt. “Tell me instead. I’m a better audience. I give kisses as reward.”

You spent the next ten minutes recounting your day while Seokjin alternated between sleepy cuddles and teasing little nips along your neck and jaw, occasinally along the swell of your breasts.

Every time you tried to wiggle free to grab your phone and order food, he whined and tightened his hold.

“Five more minutes,” he’d murmur, echoing your earlier words with a mischievous grin. “Just five more minutes of this. Need you... Your skin. Your little sounds. Let me stay between your legs for a while, yeah?”

You melted under him, cheeks warm but still teased, “You need to eat actual food, baby.”

Seokjin gave you that devastating pout again.

“I’d rather eat you,” he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. “I’m so fucking tired… but I still want to bury my tongue inside you until you’re shaking on my face. Then I’ll feed us. Deal?”

His fingers played with the waistband of your shorts, dipping lower teasingly, brushing over your panties as he waited for your answer.

The sun hadn’t even considered rising yet when the rhythmic thumping began on your front door. It wasn't a polite knock; it was a rhythmic, confident beat that suggested the person on the other side believed they were doing you a favor by waking you up before the birds.

You groaned, pulling the duvet over your head. "Go away, Seokjin," you mumbled into your pillow.

"I can hear you through the wood!" his voice rang out, clear and bright, entirely too energetic for four in the morning. "The fish are waking up! They’re brushing their scales! They’re waiting for the World Wide Handsome guest of honor! Are you really going to make them wait?"

You stumbled out of bed, your vision blurry, and swung the door open. Kim Seokjin stood there in a vibrant, neon-orange windbreaker that could likely be seen from the International Space Station. He had a bucket hat perched precariously on his head and a grin that was far too symmetrical for this hour.

"You look like a traffic cone," you croaked, squinting at the brightness of his jacket.

He gasped, leaning back and resting a hand on his chest. "A traffic cone? This is high-fashion maritime couture, Y/N. I have to look good. If the fish see me and realize how handsome I am, they’ll jump into the boat just to get a closer look. It’s science."

"I’m pretty sure that’s not how biology works," you sighed, but you were already stepping back to let him in.

"Coffee is in the thermos, the car is packed, and I’ve already named the first three fish we’re going to catch," he said, marching into your kitchen with the authority of a ship’s captain. "Move, move, move! The tide waits for no one, and neither does Kim Seokjin!"

The engine of Jin’s SUV hummed a low, steady bassline against the silence of the sleeping city. Inside the cabin, the air smelled like expensive cologne mixed with the faint, sharp tang of the instant coffee he’d pressed into your hands the moment you’d buckled your seatbelt.

You watched the streetlights flicker past, a blur of amber against the dark blue of the 4:00 AM sky. To your left, Seokjin looked like a character pulled straight from a high-budget travel vlog. Even in the dim light of the dashboard, his profile was sharp- the kind of bone structure that seemed unfair to witness so early in the morning. He was humming a melody you didn’t recognize, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel.

"You're awfully quiet over there," he said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to fill the small space. "Is the coffee not working, or are you just overwhelmed by being in the presence of a legend so early in the day?"

"Option C," you yawned, shifting in the leather seat. "I’m wondering how you have this much energy. Did you even sleep?"

"Sleep is for people who aren't about to conquer the ocean," he declared, throwing a quick, playful wink your way. "And besides, I had to prepare. Do you know how long it takes to coordinate an outfit this vibrant? You can't just throw on neon orange; you have to earn it."

You looked at the jacket again. It really was blinding. "I’m worried the fish will see us coming from three miles away."

"That’s the point, Y/N! It’s psychological warfare. They’ll be so dazzled by the fashion that they’ll forget to swim away. It’s the Kim Seokjin Strategy."

He turned the radio up slightly- some pop song about biology was playing, who in their right mind sings about deoxyribonucleic acid this early- and for a while, the conversation drifted into the comfortable silence that only comes with years of friendship. You found yourself watching the way his expression softened when he wasn't trying to be "on." There was a quietness to him in these early hours, a version of Jin that the world rarely saw. It was the Jin who noticed when you were tired, who knew exactly how much sugar you liked in your coffee, and who had spent three weeks planning this trip just because you’d mentioned once, in passing, that you needed a break from the city.

~~~

Forty-five minutes later, you were standing on a damp wooden pier, watching Jin struggle with a massive plastic cooler. He had insisted on bringing enough food to feed a small navy, despite the fact that you were only going to be out for six hours. By the time you reached the marina, the world was beginning to wake up in shades of charcoal and violet. A thick mist rolled off the water, clinging to the docks like a damp blanket. The air was saltier here, cold enough that you could see your breath in little white puffs.

Jin was out of the car in a flash, his boots clattering on the pavement as he began unloading the "supplies."

"Stay there! Don't move!" he called out as you moved to help. "A captain does not let the guest of honor lift heavy objects. It’s bad for the aura."

You watched, leaning against the car, as he hauled a massive cooler, three tackle boxes, and four different fishing rods toward the boat. He looked ridiculous. A bright orange blur in the grey fog with a certain grace in his movements that caught you off guard. He was strong, his shoulders broad under the windbreaker, moving with a purposeful energy.

As he reached the boat, he realized the pier was slick with morning dew. He took one step, his foot slid, and for a terrifying second, he looked like a cartoon character trying to find balance on a banana peel.

"Jin!" you shouted, stepping forward.

He caught himself at the last second, gripping a wooden post with both hands, his chest heaving. Somehow, he had kept the tackleboxes safe in his arms and under his chin. He stayed frozen for a moment, then slowly turned his head to look at you. His bucket hat was slanted over one eye.

"I... I did that on purpose," he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. "I was checking the friction coefficient of the wood. It’s... it’s very low. Excellent data."

You couldn't help it. The laugh started deep in your chest and bubbled up until you were doubled over, leaning against the SUV for support. "You almost fell in before we even touched the boat!"

"Laughter is a sign of a healthy soul!" he shouted back, straightening his hat and puffing out his chest. "I’m glad I could provide you with such a high-quality soul-cleansing experience!". You finally take a look at what was so important to bring on this ship.

"Jin, do we really need a three-course meal for a fishing trip?" you asked, hoisting your own backpack.

"Fishing is 10% catching fish and 90% waiting for fish," he explained, pausing to wipe an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead. "And if I am going to wait, I am going to wait with high-quality snacks. I have kimbap, I have fruit, and I have those little sausages you like. Don't complain when you're hungry in an hour."

"Careful," he murmured, his grip on your hand firm and warm. "The dock is slippery."

You can’t help but laugh at his pout, God how you wish you could just take his face in your hands and-

You catch yourself midthought, it is too early to be picturing that about your best friend...right?

~~~

He led you to a small, slightly weathered motorboat named The Silver Scale. Finally coming aboard, you could see that the boat itself was a modest motorboat, but to Jin, it might as well have been a luxury yacht. He spent ten minutes "inspecting" the hull, nodding solemnly as if he knew exactly what he was looking for.

"She’s sturdy," he concluded, patting the side of the boat. "She’s ready for the weight of my talent."

Helping him load the gear turned into a comedy of errors. The cooler was packed so tightly with food that the lid kept popping open, revealing his containers of kimbap, neatly sliced fruit, and- inexplicably- a bottle of sparkling cider.

"Is the cider for the fish?" you asked, handing him a tackle box.

"No, the cider is for the victory toast," he said, stowing it under a seat. "We have to manifest success, Y/N. If we act like we’ve already caught the biggest fish in the sea, the universe will provide."

Once everything was on board, he reached out his hand to help you down. The joking tone vanished for a split second. The mist was swirling around his ankles, and the first hint of orange sunlight was hitting the horizon behind him.

"The boat is a little wobbly," he warned, his voice suddenly soft and grounded. "Give me your hand."

His palm was large and warm, his grip steady as he guided you onto the deck. For a heartbeat, as you stepped down, you were standing very close to him- close enough to feel the heat radiating from his chest, close enough to see the tiny flecks of amber in his eyes.

"Got you," he whispered.

He didn't let go immediately. He waited until he was sure you had your balance, his thumb brushing almost imperceptibly against the back of your hand before he pulled away to start the engine.

"Alright!" he shouted, the engine roaring to life and breaking the spell. "Destination: Victory! Or at least, destination: Lunch!"

~~~

The Silver Scale moved further away from the coast, the shoreline becoming a thin, green ribbon against the horizon. The mist had completely burned off, replaced by a sky so blue it looked painted. Jin was at the helm, his hand resting casually on the throttle, humming along to the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of the waves against the hull.  The boat cut through the glassy water as the sky began to bleed into shades of bruised purple and gold. It was peaceful, truly. The air was cool, the water was calm, and for a few minutes, Jin was actually quiet, focused on navigating to his "secret spot."

Once the anchor was dropped, the real performance began.

"Okay, Y/N, watch the master," Jin said, picking up his expensive-looking rod. "Fishing is about grace. It’s about the flick of the wrist. It’s about-"

Thwack.

He swung the rod back with immense flair, but instead of the line soaring out into the water, there was a sharp tug. Jin stumbled forward, his neon-orange shoulder jerked backward.

"Jin?" you bit back a laugh. "What happened to the grace?"

He froze, looking over his shoulder. The hook was firmly embedded in the thick fabric of his own windbreaker, right between his shoulder blades. He looked like a moth pinned to a board.

"I was... testing the durability of the equipment," he said, his voice reaching that slightly higher pitch it hit when he was flustered. "It’s a safety check! Very important!"

"You hooked yourself," you deadpanned.

"I am the catch of the day!" he shot back, trying to reach behind his back to unhook himself. He looked like a cat chasing its own tail, spinning in small circles in the middle of the boat. "Don't just sit there laughing! Help your captain!"

You spent the next five minutes trying to extract the hook without tearing the expensive jacket, while Jin grumbled about the "aggressive aerodynamics" of the wind. By the time he was free, his hair was a mess and his bucket hat was crooked.

"Okay," he huffed, straightening his collar. "That was a warm-up. Now, for the bait."

"Now that we’re finally here," he paused for dramatic effect, "This is the spot. My grandfather told me that the fish in this specific patch of ocean are particularly sophisticated. They have refined palates. They’ll appreciate the squid."  He opened a small plastic container. The smell hit you instantly- a pungent, salty, slightly rotting aroma that made your nose crinkle.

"Ugh, Jin, what is that?"

"Premium fermented squid," he said, though even he looked a little disgusted. "The salesman said it’s irresistible."

He picked up a slimy piece of bait with two fingers, his face contorting into a mask of pure horror. "Oh... oh, it’s squishy. Why is it squishy, Y/N? It’s touching me. It’s holding my hand."

"You're the one who wanted to go fishing!"

"I wanted the aesthetic of fishing!" he cried, finally managed to impale the bait onto the hook. "I wanted the sun, the water, and the impressive photos! I didn't sign up for squid juice!"

He wiped his fingers aggressively on a rag, looking deeply offended by the entire process. "If I don't catch a shark after this, I'm suing the ocean."

"I still think they’ll just be confused by the smell," you teased, grabbing your rod.

For the next hour, it was surprisingly peaceful. You both sat on opposite sides of the boat, lines cast deep into the turquoise water. The sun was getting warmer, and Jin had shed his neon windbreaker, revealing a simple white t-shirt that showed off the impressive breadth of his shoulders- a stark reminder that beneath the "traffic cone" exterior was a man who worked incredibly hard.

"You know," Jin started, leaning back against his seat, "fishing is a lot like life. You cast your line, you wait, you hope... and most of the time, you just end up with a sunburn and a sense of regret."

"That’s surprisingly dark for you, Jin."

"I’m a deep thinker! I contain multitudes!" He gestured grandly with his free hand. "I’m like an onion. Layers, Y/N. Layers of handsomeness and wisdom."

Suddenly, his line moved. In fact, his rod didn't just twitch- it arched violently toward the water.

"OH! OH! IT’S HAPPENING!" Jin shrieked, his "deep thinker" persona evaporating instantly. He scrambled to his feet, the boat rocking precariously under his sudden movement. "It’s a monster! It’s the Kraken! It’s coming for revenge!"

He began to reel in with frantic, uncoordinated energy. The line was zipping through the water, cutting left and right. You stood up to help, but Jin waved you off with a wild look in his eyes. "No! I must face this beast alone! This is a battle of wills!"

The "beast" broke the surface about ten feet from the boat. It wasn't a shark. It wasn't even a large fish. It was a medium-sized, particularly muscular mackerel that seemed personally offended by being hooked. As Jin gave one final, Herculean heave-ho, and the fish didn't just fly out of the water- it launched itself like a silver missile.

SLAP.

The fish landed square across Jin's face, its tail flickering rapidly against his cheek.

"AHHHHHHHH!" Jin’s scream was a high-pitched, operatic masterpiece that probably could have been heard back at the marina. He stumbled backward, his arms flailing, as the wet, slimy fish slid down his face and landed with a damp thud on the deck. He froze, his hands hovering near his cheeks, his eyes wide with genuine shock.

"It... it slapped me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Y/N. The fish. It physically assaulted the Mr. World Wide Handsome."

You were paralyzed. You were trying to breathe, but your lungs refused to work because you were laughing so hard. You had to grip the side of the boat to keep from falling overboard. "The... the look on your face..." you wheezed.

"I am a victim!" Jin shouted, though a grin was starting to break through his feigned trauma. He looked down at the mackerel, which was now flopping harmlessly near his boots. "Did you see that? It targeted me! It saw my face and thought, 'I must humiliate this beautiful man before I go.'"

He picked up a towel and wiped his face with exaggerated disgust, though he was finally starting to laugh along with you. "I'm retiring. This is it. The ocean has rejected me."

 ~~~

The sun was fully up now, turning the surface of the water into a sheet of hammered gold. The "Premium Fermented Squid" and the “Fish-ssault” incidents had been dealt with, and now, you were both settled into the rhythmic lull of the boat.

Jin sat across from you, his legs stretched out, looking surprisingly focused on his fishing line. The silence lasted exactly four minutes.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, not looking up.

"Yes, Jin?"

"Why did the fish get bad grades?"

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the edge of the boat. "I don't know, Jin. Why did the fish get bad grades?"

"Because he was below sea level!" He let out a loud, windshield-wiper laugh that echoed across the open water, startling a nearby seagull. "Get it? C-level? Sea level? Ah, I’m a genius. Even the birds are laughing."

"The birds are fleeing, Jin," you teased, but you couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips.

"They’re just going to tell their friends to come see the handsome comedian," he countered, reeling his line in an inch. "Okay, serious question. What do you call a fish with no eyes?"

"A fsh," you answered immediately.

He stopped, his mouth hanging open in mock outrage. "You’ve heard it. Someone told you. My material is being leaked! There is a spy in my circle!"

"It’s a classic, Jin! Everyone knows that one."

"Fine, fine. Try this: What do you call a wealthy fish?" He paused for dramatic effect. "A gold-fish."

"That’s actually terrible," you laughed, throwing a small piece of kimbap at his orange jacket.

"It's a masterpiece! Just like my face!" He caught the kimbap mid-air and popped it into his mouth. "See? I’m also a world-class athlete with lightning-fast reflexes."

Suddenly, your fishing rod jerked. Not a small nibble, but a genuine, heavy pull that nearly took the rod out of your hands.

"Jin! I think I have something!"

His eyes went wide, his own rod forgotten. "Wait, wait! Don't let go! Reel it in! Be the fish, Y/N! Feel its soul!" He scrambled over to your side of the boat, his hands hovering near yours on the grip. "Easy... easy... it’s a big one! It’s definitely a shark. Or a sunken treasure chest. Or a very heavy boot!"

You were laughing too hard to focus, your muscles straining against the pull. "It’s... it’s really strong!"

With one final, heave-ho tug, the line broke the surface. A small, shimmering silver fish, no longer than your hand, came flying out of the water. It landed with a wet thwack right on Jin's chest, sticking to his neon windbreaker for a split second before sliding down into his lap.

Both of you stared at the tiny creature. It flopped once, looking up at Jin with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Is... is that the shark?" you asked, breathless.

Jin looked down at the fish, then back at you. He looked genuinely moved. "Y/N... look at his face. He’s beautiful. He has my eyes."

"He's four inches long, Jin."

"He’s a fighter! He chose me!" Jin carefully cupped the fish in his hands, his expression softening into something incredibly sweet. "Hello, Little Seokjin. You are very brave to challenge the World Wide Handsome. But alas, our love is forbidden. You belong to the deep."

He leaned over the edge of the boat, gently lowering the fish back into the water. As it flicked its tail and disappeared, Jin sighed dramatically, wiping a phantom tear. "Go! Be free! Tell your friends of the man in the orange jacket who spared your life!"

~~~

The adrenaline of the "Big Catch" faded, leaving a comfortable, warm hum between you. The snacks had been eaten, the sun was high, and the boat swayed gently in the wake of a distant ship.

Jin had finally taken off the bucket hat, his dark hair messy and windswept. He looked less like a "maritime traffic cone" now and more like... just Seokjin. The man who made sure you had the best seat in the boat. The man who had been your best friend for years, hiding behind jokes so you wouldn't see how much he cared.

You realized you were staring.

"I know," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave. He wasn't looking at the water anymore; he was looking at you. "The view is incredible. It’s hard to look away from something this perfect."

Usually, this was where he’d make a joke about his own reflection. But he didn't. He just kept his eyes locked on yours.

"The water is nice, yeah," you whispered, your heart starting to race.

"I wasn't talking about the water, Y/N."

The humor that usually acted as a shield between you was gone. Jin moved closer, shifting his weight until he was sitting right next to you on the narrow bench. The boat rocked, bringing your shoulders together.

"You've been laughing at my jokes all morning," he murmured, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, warm against your skin. "Even the bad ones."

"Especially the bad ones," you breathed.

The sun continued its slow descent toward the afternoon, and the water turned a deeper, inkier blue. The jokes had run dry for a moment, replaced by the comfortable exhaustion that comes from too much laughter.

Jin sat down on the floor of the boat next to you, leaning his back against the side. He pulled out two sodas from the cooler, handing one to you.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet, devoid of the usual theatricality.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming today. I know 4:00 AM is a lot to ask of someone."

"I wouldn't have done it for anyone else," you admitted, looking out at the horizon.

Jin took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze following yours. "I know I joke around a lot. I know I’m... a lot to handle sometimes. The 'WWH' stuff, the dad jokes, the screaming at fish..." He trailed off, a small, self-deprecating smile on his face. "Sometimes I think I use it as a way to make sure people are always smiling, so they don't look too closely at the person behind the noise."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability. "Jin, you don't have to perform for me. You know that, right?"

"I know," he murmured. He reached out, his fingers tracing the pattern on the boat's floor. "But it’s scary, isn't it? Being quiet. When it’s quiet, you have to actually say what’s on your mind. And what’s on my mind is usually... complicated."

He looked up at you then, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath hitch. The playful "traffic cone" was still gone. This was the man who stayed up late to practice his vocals until they were perfect, the man who felt the weight of being the eldest, the man who cared so deeply for his friends that it sometimes looked like it hurt.

"I brought you out here because it's the only place where the world feels small enough to manage," he said. "No cameras, no schedules, no expectations. Just the water. And you."

He paused, his thumb brushing against your wrist where it rested on the deck. "I’ve spent a lot of my life making sure everyone else is okay. Making sure the mood is light. But when I’m with you, I feel like I can just... be. I don't have to catch the biggest fish to impress you. I can get slapped in the face by a mackerel and know that you’ll still be here, laughing with me, not at me,” he said, his thumb now grazing your cheek. "I’m very good at catching things. I can catch fish. I can catch people's attention. But I’ve been trying to catch your heart for a long time, and I wasn't sure if I was using the right bait."

You let out a small, shaky laugh. "You don't need bait, Jin. You just need to be you."

Your heart felt like it was expanding, pressing against your ribs as you continued, "You never have to impress me, Seokjin. I’ve liked the 'person behind the noise' for a long time."

The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was heavy with everything neither of you had been brave enough to say in the city. The boat rocked gently, pushing you a few inches closer to him.

"For a long time?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "How long?"

"Longer than the 'Analog Records' AU," you joked weakly, trying to break the tension.

Jin laughed, but it was a soft, breathy sound. He reached out, his hand cupping the side of your face. His skin was warm, smelling of salt and sun. "Y/N, I'm a very confident man. I tell the whole world how handsome I am every single day. But right now? My heart is beating so fast I’m worried it’s going to scare the fish away."

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut. "Let them be scared. I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn't. When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't chaotic or loud like the rest of the morning. It was soft, tasting of salt air and the lingering sweetness of the fruit he’d shared with you. It was a "perfectly timed" moment that had nothing to do with luck and everything to do with the man who had been waiting for this as long as you had.

When he pulled back, just an inch, he rested his forehead against yours.

"So," he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. "Does this mean I get a second date? Or do I need to catch an actual shark next time?"

You laughed, pulling him back in by the collar of his ridiculous orange jacket. "No sharks. No traffic cone outfits. Just you."

TEASER

Your friends often called you a snob for this, but you didn’t care.

You can tell immediately how much someone paid for their bedsheets by how soft they feel. When the thread count is high there is no itchiness. No weird lint balls. No flimsy fabric.

Just smooth, plush cotton that made it nearly impossible to get out of bed.

So when your alarm pulls you out of your slumber, and the sheets beneath you don’t melt around your body the way they usually do, you instantly know something is off.

Blindly, you reach toward your nightstand, head heavy from too many glasses of wine you’d had the night before.

But somehow your hand keeps coming up empty, swatting at nothing but air.

Huh?

Popping one eye open, you suck in a breath as your head spins, the insistent alarm doing absolutely nothing to soothe the headache splitting your skull in two.

“Fuck,” you groan, pressing the heel of your palm into your temple , forcing yourself upright.

That’s when you notice it.

The room.

Minimalist furniture. Dark wood floors. A massive window casting morning light across the bed.

None of it belongs to you.

Great.

Slowly, you lift the blanket, revealing the one thing you hoped not to.

Your nudity.

“Oh, this is not happening right now,” you mutter in disbelief, irritation steadily seeping into your bones.

Never in your life have you slept over at a man’s place. Not once.

You are a grown woman with your own apartment, your own routine, and a firm belief that post-hookup sleepovers were a fast track to unnecessary emotional attachments.

The dick couldn’t have been that good.

A loud snore cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

Slowly, you turn your head towards the other side of the bed, revealing a man beside you. He’s sprawled across the mattress like he owns the place, which, judging by the apartment, he probably does.

His bare, pale chest rises and falls steadily, hands tucked behind his head while dark strands of hair fall messily across his forehead. His lips are parted slightly as he snores, the sound surprisingly loud for someone so… attractive.

Annoyingly so.

Sharp nose. Full lips. Broad shoulders. Long legs disappearing beneath the sheets.

You squint at him for a moment, trying to jog your memory through the hangover-induced fog.

Nothing.

Not the bar. Not his name. Not how you got here.

All you have is the dull ache between your legs and the faint scent of cologne lingering on the sheets.

Well.

That answers one question.

With a quiet sigh, you carefully slide out of bed, wincing when your feet touch the cold floor.

Your dress is crumpled near the foot of the bed. One heel tipped over beside it, the other halfway under the nightstand.

As you bend down to gather everything, something gold catches your eye.

An empty condom wrapper. XL.

You stare at it for a long moment, breathing heavily through your nose.

Quietly, you start getting dressed, glancing over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure the stranger is still asleep.

He hasn’t moved. Still completely unaware that the woman he spent the night with is currently conducting a silent evacuation.

So invested in getting the fuck asap, you don’t watch your step, foot tripping over his belt.

Before you can react, you go flying forward, your ankle rolling beneath you as you hit the floor.

THUNK.

Pain explodes through your foot and you clap a hand over your mouth scrambling backward, clutching your ankle.

“Shit—shit—shit—”

Your eyes dart toward the bed.

The man shifts slightly, letting out a deep snore before rolling onto his side.

This cannot be your life right now.

You glare at his lump of a frame, hobbling up as you flee the scene, successfully this time.

The cool breeze of the morning air blows against your back as you wait for your uber.

If anyone you know sees you right now, you’ll be mortified.

Luckily, your Uber doesn’t keep you waiting long. Minutes later you’re in the back of the Cadillac, resting your forehead against the cool glass and desperately trying to erase this morning from your memory.

—

A few hours later, you step through the firm’s glass doors with oversized sunglasses shielding half your face.

Normally the sharp clack of your heels announces your arrival long before you reach reception.

But because your ankle is still throbbing and most definitely swollen, your entrance is muffled by your Tory Burch Flats.

“Whoa—” the receptionist startles, glancing up. “You scared me.”

You pause at the desk, clocking in.

“I didn’t even hear your heels,” she says, scanning you suspiciously. “You usually sound like a firing squad coming down the hall.”

Lowering your sunglasses just enough, you give her an unamused look.

“Good morning, Claire.”

“Good morning!” she chirps back, completely unaffected by your mood. “The new hires started orientation today. I’m pretty sure your paralegal is in meeting room B right now. He’s pretty handsome.”

“Great,” you deadpan. “Another thing to distract you from your work.”

Claire gasps, and you can’t help the small smirk that blooms across your face as you walk off. Teasing her is always so easy.

Inside your office, you flick on the lights and round the table to your desk, booting up your Mac.

It’s the first day after the weekend, which means you already have a mountain of emails and phone calls waiting for you.

From the window in your office, you can see the small group of new hires gathered in the hallway, their bright, eager faces turned toward Andrew, the head of the firm, as he leads them through their tour.

His eyes find yours through the glass and he waves you over, but you politely decline closing your blinds.

Unless he wants to start the interview process all over again, Andrew knows better than to volunteer you to give the new hires a lay of the land.

Besides, given the morning you just had, you desperately need to regroup.

And rest this ankle.

Propping your foot up beneath the desk, you get to work, checking off tasks from your to-do list as you slowly find your groove.

Work, at least, is something you’re good at.

Painfully good, according to most.

At just twenty-nine, you’ve already built a reputation in the industry as an attorney clients request when they want results instead of excuses. You were meticulous, relentless, and borderline impossible to impress.

Which is exactly why you keep getting assigned new paralegals. And exactly why you keep burning through them.

You’re not trying to be picky, but you have a reputation to uphold. You worked hard to get to where you are at such a young age. Especially as a woman of color in a male dominated field.

Most people saw the title of senior associate attorney as nothing more than a pay raise, a private office, and a pretty nameplate on the door.

But to you, it meant more than that.

It meant long nights. Sacrifices. Proving yourself in rooms where people were already waiting for you to fail.

So yes, your paralegal had to be on point.

Because they were the pipeline between you and your clients.

Two hours pass in uninterrupted productivity, which you’re grateful for.

The most demanding task on your list was talking one of your clients, a high-profile corporate account, off the ledge.

So a good portion of your morning is spent carefully walking their CEO through why breaching a multimillion-dollar contract in retaliation would not only tank the case, but very likely destroy their public standing in the process.

It takes patience. Precision. And repeating yourself more times than you’d like. But it beats having to clean up a catastrophe later down the road.

By the time you finally hang up the phone, stress lines have formed at your temple, and the heartbeat in your ankle is still persistent.

Glancing down, you notice the swelling isn’t getting any better. You definitely need to put some ice on it.

Deciding to put a pin in your work, you limp toward the break room to concoct a makeshift ice pack.

You try to move as quickly, and quietly, as possible, hoping to avoid any questions about how exactly you managed to fuck up your ankle before noon on a Monday.

But unfortunately, luck isn’t on your side. Andrew stops you on your walk back.

“Woah, slow down Speedy Gonzalez, I got someone I want you to meet,” He teases from his office.

You close your eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply before turning toward him with a practiced smile.

“Sure thing.”

Only as you get closer to his office, the person seated across from his desk swivels in their chair.

Everything in the room seems to fall just slightly out of focus.

The murmur of conversation in the hallway fades out. Andrew’s voice dulling into background noise.

Because the face turning toward you is one you recognize instantly.

A face you were never supposed to see again.

Mr. XL.

He rises, smooth and unbothered, all groomed up. It seems impossible to believe he was the man snoring like a chainsaw three hours ago.

Smiling politely, he extends a hand, cufflink catching the light as he moves.

“Hello, Attorney [+],” he says, his voice a rich, professional baritone. “I’m Seokjin.”

A daunting pause.

“Your new paralegal.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out your skull as you choke on your words. “My what?”

“Don’t be like,” Andrew jokes playfully, though you know there’s a warning behind his light tone. “You’re drowning in all that paperwork by yourself [+], you need a paralegal.”

You eye your boss, his ebony skin smooth despite his years of practice, thick brows raised in promise. “Seokjin here was top of his class. I’m sure he’ll be of great service to you.”

“You gave me a new grad?” You ask, voice strained.

“Well, Technically I’m not a new grad,” Seokjin pipes in, extending his hand further as if you don’t already see it. “I graduated three years ago. But the job market, well, we all know how that goes.”

He lets out a squawking laugh that makes your ears ring, migraine tingling from the assault to your ears.

Life cannot be real right now. Is this guy serious.

Seokjin’s staring at you as if he doesn’t have a clue the two of you shared a bed, amongst other things, last night. Is all this kissing up an act?

You plaster on a tight lipped smile, to appease Andrew. Desperately trying to keep your poker face intact as you internally lose your shit.

Reluctantly, you meet Seokjin’s grip, shaking his firm, yet surprisingly soft hand.

“Welcome to the team, Seokjin.” You grit out.

Andrew laughs from behind his desk. “Take that as a warning, Jin. Attorney [+] doesn’t exactly have the best track record with paralegals. Fingers crossed you can break the streak.”

Your back straightens and you pull your hand away as if it has caught on fire.

Seokjin only smiles, eyes lingering on you for a moment before returning to Andrew.

“Don’t worry, I don’t scare off easily” Seokjin reassures, “I’ll make sure to be on my best behavior.”

If only he’d been on his best behavior eight hours ago, this meeting wouldn’t be such a raging HR violation.

Seokjin couldn’t be your paralegal. You had to get out of this somehow.

“Anyways, I have to jump on a call, so I’ll be pretty busy for the rest of the day,” Andrew says, already dismissing the two of you. “[+], why don’t you show Seokjin to his desk and get him set up with IT?”

“Andrew, I’m pretty busy myself. I’m sure Claire can—”

Andrew waves you off. “Oh, it’ll only take a few minutes. Seokjin’s dying to get to know you. Isn’t that right, Seokjin?”

Like the world’s most eager ass-kisser, Seokjin nods, flashing all thirty-two.

“Absolutely ,” Seokjin says eagerly . “Show me the lay of the land”, he muses.

You watch him pensively as he smoothes a hand down the front of his suit jacket.

This was odd.

Usually your lawyer senses would be spiking in high alert when someone is deceiving you. But instead of indignation, your stomach pools with dread. Which means there’s a growing possibility that Seokjin has no recollection of the last twenty-four hours.

Meaning this happy go lucky personality isn’t just a front to keep up appearances.

Yeah, the two of you were bound to clash.

Without another word, you turn on your heels. Pace brisk enough your throbbing ankle sends sharp stabs of protest up your leg. But you refuse to let your discomfort show.

Seokjin falls into step beside you effortlessly, his long strides matching your hurried ones as you begin to rattle off your expectations. A desperate attempt to establish a clear boundary between you too.

“My schedule is structured,” you begin, staring straight ahead. “I like everything organized at least two weeks in advance whenever possible. If a client calls, you log it immediately, flag anything urgent, and forward it to me before responding.”

Seokjin hums in understanding beside you, so you continue without slowing.

“I don’t tolerate missed deadlines. I don’t tolerate sloppy filings. If you’re unsure about something, you ask before submitting it, not after. I review everything before it goes out to opposing counsel.”

You round the corner toward the cubicles.

“Court filings get priority. Client correspondence comes second. Internal documentation third. I prefer email summaries over verbal updates, and I expect you to keep my calendar airtight.”

Glancing at him, you notice he’s smiling. Not the usual response to your drilling.

“Do you find something amusing, Seokjin?” you snap.

“Nothing at all,” he says lightly. “Just trying to keep up.”

You stop beside an empty cubicle and gesture toward the desk.

“This is yours. I would say decorate it, but I have feeling it’ll all be in vain.”

Seokjin steps inside the cubicle, looking around with interest as he flops down in his chair, testing the wheels.

“It’s cozy. I have a Jade plant at home that would fit perfectly in that nook,” he says, nodding in approval, completely unbothered by your intimidation.

A blurry memory flashes of the row of plants you passed lining his window sill in your haste to flee this morning. You blink it away rapidly.

You needed to get a grip.

Footsteps approach and you straighten immediately, avoiding his gaze completely.

“Hey, Claire,” you call out to the receptionist passing by. “Do you mind helping Seokjin get set up with IT? I need to get back to work.”

Spinning around, you don’t even wait for a reply as you walk off, forcing yourself not to limp as you retreat down the hallway.

A pit of dread is beginning to form in your stomach, the salad you had for lunch suddenly weighing heavy. Which can only mean one thing.

Seokjin is going to be a problem.

—

You always wondered what would happen to you. Growing up you knew that your family was different. You were always accompanied by large men dressed in black, guns hidden under jackets. You were never allowed friends over, not that you had any to begin with. You were ten when you’d found out what your father did for a living, who your father was. It didn’t change anything though. Your older brothers were trained to work alongside your father, you were never brought into that world. The simplest reason being you were a girl and there was no place for you in the family business, however the hidden truth was that your father loved you too much. You were his only daughter and he didn’t want any harm to come to you, so he protected you the only way he knew how, by shutting you out. You weren’t an idiot, you knew what your brothers got up to after school, knew why you weren’t allowed in the basement, knew why you couldn’t have friends over, why those men in black followed you everywhere. You knew your father was a powerful man you just didn’t realise how powerful until you were wrapped in white and handed over to Jin.

You wanted to hate your father. The man you never really knew, the man who had protected you your whole life, and who had given you away; some deal made, your life the cost. But you couldn’t hate him, just as you couldn’t hate Jin.

When you’d first met Jin you had wanted to. Wanted to hate the man who was coming to steal you away. But then you’d met him. Not only was he beautiful to look at, his dark eyes shinning with unspoken mischief, lips pulled into a slight smirk as he took you in, he was also surprisingly kind. You had seen the way he smiled at the workers in your house, the way he had caught your nephew in the hallway as he went racing after a ball, saving him from face planting into the dark carpet. He hadn’t forced you to do anything with him once married, save the polite kiss he’d left on your lips on your wedding day, he had showed you around his large house and to your bedroom that was opposite his own. Telling you without words that you weren’t going to be forced into a relationship with him despite what your last name suggested.

You had barely seen the man since your wedding day. You shared dinner together each night, although your conversations never strayed away from small talk, you couldn’t help but notice the darkness under his eyes, couldn’t help but want to help ease the tension in his shoulders.

You filled your days exploring the house and the grounds. You found solace in the extravagant library on the second floor, the large windows overlooking your second solace, the gardens that surrounded the house. When you weren’t hidden between book shelves losing hours to different tales and stories you were outside, exploring the grounds and watering the plants. The gardeners had been shocked the first time you’d asked to help but after a week they welcomed you with warm smiles and your own set of gloves.

You easily fell into a routine, mornings spent alone, curled up with a book, afternoons in the garden breathing in the smell of dirt and flowers, your nights full of polite conversation with Jin. It could be worse.

Jin admired you. He hadn’t told you but he admired the kindness in your eyes, the soft smile that graced your lips despite the cards you’d been dealt. He knew you didn’t want this anymore than he did, but you had never complained, never sent a hateful glare his way. You had smiled and accepted your fate. After three days of married life he found himself counting down the minutes until he could see you again, until he could share an hour or so with you while you ate together. Your kind smile burnt into his mind. He had gone looking for you on one of his rare days off only to find you working in the garden, wearing a pair of dirt covered overalls, your hair tied back, though a few strands had fallen across your face. You dug at the mud, brows furrowed as you worked around the flowers that had begun to grow. Jin had watched a soft smile pulling at his lips at your concentration. Since that day he started to regret not pushing to get close to you from the beginning. Wanting to know more about you, about your apparent love for gardening, about how else you filled your days. His heart had swelled for joy when you had moved to work on the garden that lay below his office on the third floor. His desk was in front of a large window that overlooked the garden and granted him a first seat view as you got to work. He felt his heart tug when you laughed with the gardeners, sending smiles their way that he’d never seen before. You eyes shinning with joy as you beheld the garden around you. Your own little world to work in.

“Y/n.” You jumped, spinning from your spot on the stairs to see Jin standing in the hallway, a sheepish smile on his face as he realised he’d scared you.

“H-hi.” You stuttered, sending a quick smile his way. Jin took a step forward, running his hand through his dark hair. “You’re home early.” You noted. It was barely even noon but you’d been on your way to the kitchen, your stomach grumbling as you’d spent the morning lost in a book.

“I thought I’d take the rest of the day off.” He said, “I was wondering…” he started voice fading away. You smiled gently, urging him to continue, not used to the shyness he was radiating. He cleared his throat, straightening.

“Have you had lunch?” He asked.

“Uh, no,” you said taken aback, “I was just about to head to kitchen- would you like to join me?” You asked, your fingers played with the gold ring on your left hand as you waited for his answer. Jin’s shoulders seemed to loosen at your question, he nodded softly.

“If that’s okay?” You smiled, nodding in reply.

“What do you feel like?” You asked as you arrived in the large kitchen. The room was huge, marble counter tops and tiled floors, two industrial sized fridges stood to one side, too much for the amount of people that lived in the house.

“I- uh- I was actually thinking I could cook for you, if that’s okay?” Jin asked, cheeks dusting with pink as you looked at him in shock.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind-“ he nodded cutting you off.

“I actually really like cooking and I don’t get to do it a lot.”

“Oh.” You said, shocked at the new information. You took at seat at one of the stools that stood in front of the kitchen island watching as Jin rolled up the sleeves of his white work shirt. His whole demeanour seemed to change as he worked, he moved with such certainty, his face filled with concentration. You watched a small smile dusting your lips as he worked. You had never seen him like this before, so passionate yet seemingly at peace. It was clear that Jin didn’t just like cooking but loved it. He moved gracefully around the kitchen humming as he worked. You rested your head on your hand, watching him with a small smile.

“How did you get into cooking?” You asked softly. Jin looked over at you, smiling.

“My mum let me help when I was younger, before I knew about all of this.” He said gesturing to the house around him. “She taught me nearly everything I know.”

“My mum was never in the kitchen.” You said sadly, looking down at the marble counter top in front of you, “she thought cooking was below her. She only cared about clothes and parties and social standings.” You frowned running your fingers along the patterns in the stone. Jin watched you carefully. “She hated that I wanted to learn. She caught me in the kitchen once, our cook was teaching me how to make bread, I was only seven and she yelled at me. Pulled me from the room, yelling about what kind of example I was setting and what would it look like if someone else had caught me. She fired our cook too.” You pulled your hands into your lap, nails digging into the skin of your palms as you clenched them tight.

“I’m sorry.” Jin said softly. You looked up at him, the compassion shinning in his eyes.

“Don’t be.” You said, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’m sure you’ve been through worse.”

“It’s not a competition.” He said gently, turning back to the frying pan, “you’re allowed to feel your own pain, you don’t need to compare it to others.” A comfortable silence settled over the two of you as Jin continued the meal. You smiled at him brightly as he dished out the food. He handed you a fork, digging in where he stood opposite you, a soft smile on his lips as you took your first bite. You moaned as the flavours filled your mouth, blushing at the sound. Jin laughed at your reaction, eyes crinkling with joy.

“I could teach you,” he said, “if you still wanted to learn.” Your eyes widened.

“Really? I don’t want to be a hassle I know you’re busy-“

“You could never be a hassle.” He said, eyes not meeting your shocked ones, “Besides is it a crime that I want to spend time with my lovely wife?” You smiled softly at his words, cheeks turning pink.

“Then yes.” You said quietly, his eyes looked up, taking in your gentle features, “I would like that very much.”

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