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Blood streaks along his cheekbone, a dark crimson contrast against his pale skin, and bruises are blossoming over his jaw and temple. His knuckles are raw, skin split, his shirt clinging to his chest in patches—whether from sweat or blood, you can’t quite tell in the dim light. His stance is unsteady as he steps inside, but his eyes? Those are soft. Warm. Familiar. They meet yours, and there's an unspoken reassurance in them.

"I'm okay," he murmurs before you even have the chance to ask, his voice low and gravelly. "Just… needed a second."

You open your mouth, but before you can speak, he places a finger gently against his lips, silencing you. He tilts his head toward the hallway.

"Lemme check on her first."

You watch as he moves down the corridor, the slow, purposeful rhythm of his steps echoing in the stillness of the house. A minute later, you hear the soft creak of Yenna’s door. Eli’s in there for longer than usual—longer than you expect. But you know. You know he’s just watching her, making sure her little chest rises and falls with each breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, maybe even brushing a soft kiss to her forehead. It's what he always does, no matter how battered he is. His love for her is a quiet, unwavering thing.

When he finally steps out of her room and closes the door behind him, there's something different in his eyes.

His gaze is darker now. Hungrier. It's like he’s shedding the weight of his day’s fight, his bruises, his pain, and replacing it with something more primal. More urgent.

When his eyes find yours again, you know exactly what’s coming.

The breath catches in your throat as Eli turns toward you, his lips curling into something that is half smirk, half promise. You know it. You know how this goes. His presence fills the room like a force you can’t escape, and before you can even respond, he’s on you.

You try to be quiet. God, you really do.

But it’s hard when Eli’s got you bent over the edge of the bed, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly it feels like he’s branding you. The position he has you in leaves you vulnerable, exposed, and all you can do is brace yourself for what comes next. The first thrust hits hard, deep, relentless. The kind that makes your breath hitch in your throat and your body arch instinctively. The kind of thrust that leaves no room for anything but him.

You’re not sure what you expected, but you certainly weren’t prepared for this.

The bed creaks under you with each powerful movement, your hands gripping the sheets so tight your knuckles turn white. Your forehead presses to the mattress as Eli pulls you back against him, his cock filling you so perfectly, so completely, you can’t do anything but take it. He fucks into you from behind like he’s been starved for this moment, every movement an attack on your senses.

His voice rumbles in your ear, low and rough, just before another deep thrust knocks the air from your lungs.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he mutters, breath hot against your skin.

You barely get the chance to respond before his rhythm picks up. Fast, hard, each thrust pushing you further into the bed, deeper into the world of him. The moan that slips from your lips is involuntary, your body betraying you as Eli drives into you with a force that makes your head spin. The sweet burn between your legs has you trembling, your thighs slick with arousal as he doesn’t stop.

You try to stay in control, to stay quiet—but the sounds of his movements, the wet slap of skin against skin, the way he makes you feel like you’re about to break, is too much. You can’t contain it.

A tiny creak. The faintest crackle from the baby monitor next to the bed. Yenna’s restless shifting. Your heart skips a beat, and your entire body tenses.

“Eli…” Your voice is a breathless whisper, panic bubbling in your chest.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even hesitate.

His hand moves swiftly from your hair to your mouth, covering it with firm precision. The pressure of his palm makes your breath hitch, and the noise you try to stifle is nothing more than a muffled gasp. He pulls you up against him, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as he growls against your ear.

“She’s fine,” he breathes, voice strained with restraint. “You’re not.”

And then he slams into you again.

You choke on your moan, the sound swallowed by his hand as he continues, relentless. His grip on your hip tightens, nails digging into your skin, but it’s the way he moves that really has you shaking. He doesn’t slow down, even as your knees begin to buckle. His arm around your waist is like iron, holding you steady while he fucks you like he’s trying to claim you.

“Told you to be quiet,” he mutters, voice rough with frustration and desire. “Thought you said you could keep it down.”

Every word out of his mouth is a command. Every thrust is a challenge.

And you can’t stop. Can’t even think straight. You don’t know how much longer you can hold it together when he’s pounding into you like this. His movements slow just slightly, but each one feels like it’s carved into your very soul. Every inch of him dragging along your insides has you gasping, legs shaking, and you know you’re not going to last long.

“Let me hear you, baby,” Eli murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to your temple. “But keep it quiet, yeah?”

You can’t help it. You come undone beneath him, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that has your entire body trembling. You bite down on his hand to keep your cries muffled, but it’s no use. He feels it. He feels every shudder, every flutter of your walls tightening around him, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” he growls, and his pace falters just long enough for him to release into you with a low groan. His hips stutter as he comes, and the sensation of him filling you sends a fresh wave of heat through your veins. His chest heaves against your back, breath ragged.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of both your breathing, the gentle whir of the baby monitor, and the steady thud of your hearts. He slowly pulls out of you, easing you back down onto the bed with the gentleness that only Eli has, even in moments like this.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he tucks some stray hair behind your ear.

You nod, too breathless to speak, but the contented smile that pulls at your lips says enough.

“Be right back,” he murmurs, his voice tender. “Gonna clean you up.”

You can’t find the words to respond before he’s slipping into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a warm towel. His touch is gentle as he wipes between your legs, tender with his aftercare, kissing the bruises on your hips, massaging your thighs until the ache starts to fade.

When he finally lays down beside you, pulling you close into his chest, you let yourself relax. You melt against him, safe and satisfied.

Tonight is one of those nights. His office is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of tobacco and expensive liquor. He sits at his desk, brows furrowed, jaw tight as his eyes skim over the latest shipment reports. Someone’s been screwing with his supply line again. A name he doesn’t recognize keeps popping up—some punk trying to prove himself, no doubt. Gitae nearly crumples the paper in his hand, his frustration mounting with every second.

He leans back in his chair with a sigh, tilting his head toward the ceiling as he clenches and unclenches his fists. His muscles are tight. His brain won't shut up. He needs a damn break.

Then, as if the universe finally decides to cut him some slack, there’s a soft knock on his door. The quiet creak as it opens, followed by the gentle click of it closing. He doesn’t even need to open his eyes to know it’s you.

“Gitae?”

Your voice alone melts the tension in his shoulders. He hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t move.

“It’s late,” you murmur, stepping softly into the room. “Come to bed already?”

You pause a few steps away, watching him. Even with his eyes closed, his brows are still drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers twitch against the armrest, like he’s still trying to hold something back. You move around behind him, your hands settling gently on his shoulders. You don’t ask if you can—you never have to. Your thumbs press into the tense muscles at the base of his neck. “Rough night?” you ask, voice light, teasing.

“A rough week,” he mutters, but one of his hands lifts, circling around your forearm, holding you there.

You give his shoulders a firm squeeze before stepping around the side of his chair, and he tugs you closer until you’re standing between his legs. His grip doesn’t loosen—it shifts, moving to your waist, steady and grounding. Your fingers thread through his hair, and his eyes finally open, dark and unreadable as they scan your face.

You recognize that look. The one he gives you when he wants something but doesn’t say it out loud. It's all in the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb rubs slow circles into your side.

“Someone’s handsy tonight,” you murmur.

“Can’t fault a man for missin’ his wife.”

There’s a pause. A charged silence where neither of you breaks eye contact. Then, suddenly, he rises from his chair and lifts you onto the desk like you weigh nothing. You let out a soft gasp as your hands fly to his shoulders for balance. “You—” you barely manage the word before he leans in, his breath warm against your lips. He doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just watches you—lingering, waiting—his fingers brushing against the knot of your robe.

“I’ve been stressed all damn week…was hopin’ y’could help me out…” he murmurs, voice low and deliberate. Each word rolls off his tongue with heavy intent, like he’s daring you to stop him. His fingers finally tug the knot loose, but he doesn’t move further. He gives you a chance. A window to say no.

You don’t.

Instead, you smile, hooking a finger around his collar and tugging him even closer. “Then stop wasting time,” you whisper, popping open the first button of his shirt. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “That’s my girl.”

He finally kisses you—deep and greedy. Like he’s starved for you. His hands glide over your body, slow but possessive, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s mapping you all over again. Your robe slips from your shoulders, pooling around your elbows as his lips trail hot down your neck. You sigh, tilting your head to give him more space. His mouth lingers at the dip of your collarbone, tongue tracing a path as he hums at the taste of you.

“I have ways of convincing you to come to bed,” you whisper, breath hitching when he pauses to admire the curve of your breasts.

“Oh, you’ve done more than convince me.”

The kiss you pull him into next is messier, more desperate—your hands in his hair, his chest pressing to yours as the heat between you builds. One of his hands slides up to your breast, thumb flicking over a sensitive bud with expert pressure. A gasp escapes you. The other hand drags down your side, slow and deliberate, before slipping beneath the hem of your underwear.

His fingers hook around the waistband, knuckles brushing your thighs as he peels them down with maddening slowness. The fabric catches briefly at your ankles, then falls forgotten to the floor. He leans back just enough to look at you—eyes roving over your flushed cheeks, parted lips, the faint tremble in your breath. “Gorgeous,” he mutters like it’s a secret just for him.

You don’t have time to respond before his lips find yours again, rougher this time. His hands skim up your thighs, parting them slightly as he steps between them. He presses closer until your knees bracket his hips, fingers digging into your waist like he’s trying to ground himself in you. “You’re not gonna let me get any work done, are you?” he murmurs, mouth brushing your ear. “You were already distracted,” you breathe, slipping your fingers beneath his shirt again. “Can’t help it,” he replies, voice thick with want. “Got my wife sittin’ here lookin’ like a damn dream.”

He undoes the rest of his shirt with quick, practiced motions, shrugging it off before pushing you gently back onto the desk. Papers scatter beneath your skin, forgotten, crinkling beneath every shift. Gitae doesn’t make it to the bedroom. Not when you’re laid out like this—robe open, body glowing in the golden light of his desk lamp, pupils blown wide just for him. It’s more than enough to burn away the last of his patience.

“Change of plans,” he growls, the clink of his belt hitting the floor punctuating the sentence. “Not movin’ an inch.”

You smirk. “Could’ve told you that myself.”

“Cocky,” he grunts, gripping your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the desk. “Guess I need to remind you who you’re talkin’ to.”

He presses against you slowly, deliberately. The stretch is toe-curling—every inch of him dragging along your walls with agonizing precision. His jaw clenches, one hand bracing the desk, the other cradling the back of your thigh as he watches your face intently. “Fuck,” he hisses, voice strained. “Always so perfect—how the hell do you do that?”

Your only answer is a whimper, already rocking your hips against his, trying to pull him deeper.

But he holds you still. “Easy,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck. “We’ve got time, pretty girl.”

And he proves it—driving into you slow, steady, deep enough to make your toes curl. He watches the way your mouth falls open, the way your hands grip the edge of the desk, how your thighs tremble around his waist.

“Could’ve had me in bed,” he mutters, lips brushing your jaw. “But no… you wanted to act sweet. Rub my shoulders. Sneak around behind me like a little temptress.”

Your breath hitches when he snaps his hips forward just a little harder.

“You think I don’t know what that robe was for?” His voice is dark velvet, teasing and rough. “You wore it on purpose.”

Your nails drag down his back, leaving red marks in their wake. He groans—low and ragged—because he likes when you’re greedy for him too. Your legs tighten around his waist, your rhythm syncing with his until every thrust feels like fire under your skin. His name slips past your lips in broken syllables, and he leans back just enough to see your face again.

“Look at me,” he says, breath catching. “Wanna see you cum.”

And when it hits, it crashes through you like a wave—your back arching, mouth falling open, body tightening around him. Gitae follows seconds later, a deep groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself in you, hips stuttering, release crashing through him like thunder.

The room is silent after. The only sounds are your mingled breathing and the soft creak of the desk beneath you both.

Eventually, Gitae lifts his head. His thumb brushes your cheek, and he gives you a crooked little smile.

“Think I’m convinced to come to bed now.”

You snort softly. “After wrecking your entire office?”

He glances around—papers scattered everywhere, chair knocked sideways, your robe somewhere on the floor—then shrugs.

“Worth it.”

“Babe.” Your voice is warm, sweet—like honey dripping into tea. You slip an arm around Goo’s waist, resting a hand on his stomach, nails teasing along the fabric of his shirt. “Didn’t think you’d keep me waiting this long.”

Goo snickers, looping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in without hesitation. “Aw, c’mon, baby. You know I’d never make you wait on purpose.” His voice dips low, his breath brushing your ear. The woman stiffens, her eyes darting between the two of you.

“Oh—I didn’t know he was taken,” she says, shifting awkwardly.

You smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, he is.”

Goo hums, amused, as he watches you. The way you cling to him, the way your fingers tighten just a little too much against his shirt—he knows that look in your eyes. You don’t like sharing. And it’s so cute, really. You always try to play it cool, but he knows better.

The woman mutters a quick goodbye and scurries off, disappearing into the crowd. You don’t even bother looking at her. “You’re so tense,” Goo murmurs, fingers ghosting over your lower back. “Jealous, baby?”

Your lips curl at the edges as you tilt your head up at him. “I don’t get jealous,” you say smoothly, hands smoothing down the fabric of his jacket. “I just don’t like pests.”

He grins, teeth glinting under the dim lights. “Ohhh, so that’s what we’re calling them now?”

You hum, slipping your fingers into his. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Goo lets you lead him out of the bar, his smirk never fading. You’re so fun to mess with, but what really gets him is knowing—you don’t even realize how obvious you are. You think you’re subtle. You think he doesn’t know.

Oh, but he does.

And he enjoys every second of it.

The second the bar door swings shut behind you both, you don’t wait. Goo barely has time to blink before you shove him back against the wall of the dimly lit alley, fingers curled tight around the front of his shirt. His grin is all teeth, sharp and entirely too entertained.

“Oh?” he drawls, tilting his head. “That bad, huh?”

“Do you enjoy making me pissed?” Your grip tightens.

Goo chuckles, hands lifting—not to push you off, but to trace your wrists, a slow drag of fingers that sends heat curling in your stomach. He leans in, his breath warm against your lips, and fuck—he’s still smiling.

“Nah,” he hums, mock-thoughtful. “I just really, really like it when you get like this.”

Your nails dig into his chest, and his smirk only widens.

“Possessive,” he muses, rolling the word on his tongue like a sweet he wants to savor. “Kinda hot, not gonna lie. So? What’re you gonna do about it?”

He’s provoking you. Daring you.

And you always take the bait. You never hesitate.

Fisting the front of his stupidly expensive shirt, you yank him forward, crashing your lips against his. Goo laughs into the kiss—the audacity—but you swallow the sound, sinking your teeth into his lower lip just to hear the sharp inhale that follows.

His hands are on you in seconds, big and greedy, gripping, roaming, pressing. He lets you take control for a moment, lets you devour him like he’s yours to own—because he is. You make sure he knows it, the way you tug his hair, the way you press your body against his like you’d crawl inside his skin if you could.

“Damn,” he breathes when you break away, panting, pupils blown wide. His tongue flicks out to taste the sting you left on his lip. “Jealous much?”

“What do you think?” you murmur, trailing your fingers down, down, just to tease. His smirk twitches—oh, he likes where this is going alright. “I think,” he says, voice huskier than before, “you should take me home before you do something illegal out here.”

You drag your lips up his throat, feeling the chuckle vibrate against your mouth. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll just have to make you.” He says with a tilt of his head, the glint in his eye nothing short of wicked. You only glare at him, and for a minute, it’s just a heated staredown. The next minute is just a heated makeout session in his car while you’re both trying to get each other’s clothes off. You shift, just enough to straddle his lap, the tight space making the move even more intimate. He hums in approval, hands sliding down your waist, squeezing. “Ohh, someone’s in a mood.”

“You started it.”

“Damn right, I did.”

His lips crash into yours, hungry, feverish, messy. The leather seat creaks beneath you as he shifts, pressing up, pulling you closer—like he needs you. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you, grinding you against him, making you feel exactly what you do to him. The car windows fog up in seconds.

"Baby," he groans, tilting his head back against the headrest, hands tightening their grip on you. God, he looks good like this—flushed, reckless, needy. You roll your hips against him, slow and deliberate, just to hear that sound—the one Goo doesn’t make often. That low, breathy groan he barely lets slip between clenched teeth. The sound of a man who isn’t used to being pushed to his limits.

But tonight? You’re setting the rules.

Goo tips his head back against the car seat, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips even as his fingers twitch against your waist. “Damn, babe,” he rasps, voice rough with something needy. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”

You drag your nails down his chest, feeling his breath hitch. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

His grin widens, sharp and teasing. “Oh? Is that what this is about?” His hands slide up your thighs, slow and taunting, but you grab his wrists—pinning them down. “Shit,” he exhales, letting you push him deeper into the seat. 

You smirk, rolling your hips again—harder, slower, crueler. Watching the way his jaw tightens. The way his breath stutters just a little. “You like this, don’t you?” you murmur, leaning in, “You love it when I make you feel weak.” Lips brushing against his ear.

Goo laughs, but it’s breathless, edged with something dangerously close to surrender.

“Babe, you can do whatever you want to me,” he grins, voice a little rough, a little wrecked. “You already own me anyway.”

“Alright, the next photoshoot is moved to…” You check your watch as you approach, tone crisp and professional. “2 in the afternoon.”

You offer him a polite smile—nothing more, nothing less. The same smile you give the stylists, the photographers, the assistants. The same one you’ve given him since the day you started managing him.

James nods, forcing himself to appear unfazed. “Great. Well, I’ll be outside if you need me.”

He waits. For a pause. A glance. Anything.

But you’re already turning away.

Gone.

His shoulders drop as he exhales a dramatic sigh, staring at the empty space where you stood just seconds ago.

“Didn’t even get a damn word in…” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You were going to be the death of him.

And he can’t just let this go on.

This was supposed to be easy. A look, a compliment, a little charm—yet nothing seemed to faze you. And the worst part? It only makes him want your attention more.

Maybe he’s been going about this the wrong way. Maybe it’s not about making you swoon. Maybe it’s about making you look at him.

Really look at him.

And he isn’t above playing dirty to make that happen.

James starts small.

First, it’s the little things. Making sure he’s always in your peripheral vision, conveniently stationed wherever you happen to be. Leaning a little too close when you’re discussing schedules, letting his fingers brush yours when he hands you something.

Then he escalates.

He starts dressing sharper—switching to fitted shirts that highlight his build, rolling up his sleeves just enough to showcase his forearms. He purposefully runs a hand through his hair when he knows you’re looking.

Nothing.

No reaction.

You remain unfazed, completely immersed in work.

So, James changes tactics.

If looking good won’t work, he’ll try something else. One that's way off his base, being completely honest about his feelings.

It happens late one evening. You’re at your desk, finalizing tomorrow’s schedule, when James steps in.

“Alright, I give up,” he announces, hands on his hips.

You barely glance at him. “Good to know.”

“No, I mean it.” He strides closer, stopping just in front of your desk. “I’ve tried everything, and you’re still treating me like I’m just another name on your damn clipboard.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “DG—”

“Let me take you out.”

That finally makes you pause. You look up, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“A date,” he clarifies, leaning down, palms pressed against your desk. “One date. No business talk. No work. Just you and me.”

You let out a short laugh. “DG, you’re only interested because I don’t throw myself at you like everyone else.”

He doesn’t even deny it. “And? Is it working?”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re impossible.”

James smirks, sensing a crack in your armor. “Come on, just one date. If you hate it, I’ll back off.”

You stare at him for a moment, considering. He looks so damn smug, like he’s already won—but beneath that, there’s something almost… hopeful in the way he watches you.

With a sigh, you finally say, “Fine. One date.”

James straightens instantly, a small victorious smirk spreading across his face. “You won’t regret it.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting it a little. “We’ll see.”

And for the first time since you met him, you find yourself actually looking forward to whatever he has planned.

“You’re not givin' out on me yet, are you?” His voice drips with mischief as he trails his fingers lower, his thumb grazing your sensitive breasts, letting his touch linger there, teasing, tracing. His hand finds its way to one nipple, fingers rolling gently over it, and even that light touch feels magnified, your breath hitching as you gasp, your back arching up to meet his hand.

“Oh, so sensitive,” he murmurs, a click of his tongue following as he watches your every reaction with a smirk. “Can’t even handle a little touch, huh?” His thumb rubs slow, tantalizing circles over you, making you squirm as the ache within you intensifies. Each light brush sends sparks skittering through your body, every nerve attuned to him, the tension steadily building all over again.

“Goo, I…” Your voice is a whisper, broken, as he leans in to press his lips over your collarbone, letting his mouth trail up to your neck, leaving a line of goosebumps in his wake. He hums with amusement, his hand moving up to cup your face, bringing your hazy gaze up to meet his, his smirk widening as he takes in your half-lidded, pleasure-drunk eyes. “You weren’t trying to fall asleep on me either, were you?”

You shake your head weakly. Every inch of you sensitive and responsive, mind too foggy to keep up with his words. “Can’t even answer, hmm?” he murmurs, his smirk widening as he slides his hips back before thrusting deeply once more, with a smooth grind that has you gasping, your body arching up to meet him in instinctual response. Your fingers dig into the sheets, knuckles going white as you cling to the feeling, holding onto something solid as your world tilts.

“Not starting to get bored of me, are you?” he mocks, his gaze unwavering, enjoying the way you can only shake your head in response, struggling to form words in the haze of pleasure he’s pulled you into. “No?” he repeats, voice low and mocking as he punctuates it with a sharp thrust that makes you cry out, pleasure sparking again as he sends your mind spiraling back under.

“Should we—oh, fuck,” he chuckles, his rhythm unbroken as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear, “—try another position?” he murmurs, as if it’s just a passing thought. Though his tone has a taunting edge. The sound of his skin against yours, accompanied by your quiet whimpers and cries, becomes its own symphony as he continues, each beat in perfect time.

You try to respond, but all that escapes is a broken whimper, your entire body teetering on the edge. “Goo, I…mmh.. I can’t—ah!” The words break off as another jolt of pleasure rolls over you, your body trembling beneath him. Your hips buck up in response again, torn between begging for more and retreating, every nerve set ablaze under his relentless touch.

Goo prides himself on his stamina, though even he feels like he’s losing himself. His styled hair is completely out of place, tousled with the sheer effort he’s been putting in, his own breathing rough and uneven. It feels like he’s reached his limit a thousand times, in fact, he’s pretty sure he’s cummed enough times to fill a bucket. 

Yet he refuses to stop, his hands grip your waist tighter, his pace even more relentless. Your dazed, blissed-out expression and the way your body feels around him is far too satisfying to pull away from.

Ah, his poor girl—maybe he’s gone a little too far this time.

Your vision is blurring, your mind unraveling as you lose yourself to the flood of sensations. You’re trembling, head empty, with nothing but his touch and the way his body moves against yours. The pleasure tightening and breaking, leaving you breathless. And then another wave hits, another climax that crashes through you without mercy, leaving you gasping as you come undone beneath him.

Your body shudders uncontrollably, and without realizing, you’ve squirted, the rush of wetness coating him, some of it dripping down his abs. You’re barely aware, but Goo’s stilled, staring down with wide eyes, his rhythm faltering briefly as he registers what’s happened. His smirk returns more devious as his gaze roams over your flushed, spent expression.

The satisfaction in his grin is unmistakable, but you feel his hand slip down to grip your thigh, his hips twitching as he struggles to keep himself steady. He slowly pulls out, watching his cum dribble out of your cunt as he presses down on your stomach. He’s barely holding back, caught somewhere between teasing and the need to push further.

“Oh, forget going too far,” he mutters, his voice a dark whisper, licking his lips as he lets his fingers trace lightly over your body, trailing down to brush against that sensitive spot between your legs, still throbbing from your recent high.

“Think you could do that for me one more time, sweetums?” His words are low as his mouth finds your ear, breath hot against your skin, his body already moving in rhythm again. You can barely manage a response, your body numb with pleasure as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind.

Through the haze, you see him watching, his eyes sharp with intent, his hands guiding your hips back to meet each thrust, deliberate and unrelenting. His thumb brushes over your clit in slow circles, tracing teasingly as he watches you squirm and gasp beneath him.

“Jus' one more,” he coaxes, his voice gentle but playful. The way each teasing touch is accompanied with a strong thrust, has you caught in the overwhelming rhythm, unable to resist, only drawing you deeper.

You don’t know how much more you can take, but with his warmth surrounding you and the way he’s looking at you, you’re ready to follow him wherever he leads.

All he can do is nod, gaping as you hold the phone out to him. You smile a little, amused at his reaction. “Here, let me just—” you say, gently fitting the phone back into the stabilizer and even adjusting the LED light. You’re talking, but all Jihyeok hears is a sha-la-la-la as he imagines cherry petals fluttering around.

“You guys are the ones going viral on NewTube, right?” you ask, snapping Jihyeok out of his daze.

“Ye–yes—um, yeah,” he replies, clearing his throat. “You, uh—are you a..uh.. a fan?” He’s a bit disappointed when you shake your head.

“You guys just pop up on my feed every now and then.”

“Ah, I see.”

An awkward silence falls between you before you stand up. “Well, I’ll get going—”

Jihyeok jumps to his feet as well, suddenly realizing you’re tall, taller than him and Hobin. He feels his heartstrings tugging with every second he’s in your presence. “Jihyeok.” He stammers as he extends his hand. “Name’s Jihyeok Woo.”

A smile forms at the way there's an obvious blush on his face and how he trips all over his words. You shake his hand, and introduce yourself. After a brief exchange, you jot down your socials and number on his arm. “Good luck with your next video,” you say, flashing a thumbs-up before walking away.

Jihyeok watches you leave, a dorky grin spreading across his face.

His lovesick daze is broken when Hobin shouts, “Jiksae! Did you even catch any of that?”

“Oh shit—” Jihyeok glances back at his phone, already filled with angry comments from viewers.

masterbaiter69: yo, wtf happened to the cameraman?

htfluvr: I didn’t see hobin’s cool new trick!

suhyeonstanktop: asshole, hold the cam up properly lmao

He looks back up at Hobin with a wobbly, half-apologetic smile. Hobin groans, launching at him and grabbing his collar, shaking him violently. “I didn’t get my ass beat just for you to miss all of it!” he seethes.

Oh well, Jihyeok thinks. He’ll make it up next time. He can't bring himself to feel sorry—not when he was blessed with meeting you.

Sinu approached you casually, as he always did, with his trademark grin lighting up his face the moment he saw you. He stood just behind you, waiting for you to notice him, the bouquet tucked behind his back.

"Hey, you," he said, his voice light, laced with affection.

You turned around, blinking in surprise as you noticed him standing there. His grin grew wider when he caught your eye, the warmth in it reaching his gaze. Before you could say a word, he revealed the bouquet, holding it out toward you. The vibrant colors seemed to brighten the whole street as he passed them into your hands.

“Why—”

“Just because,” he said, the simple words wrapped in the sincerity of someone who didn’t need a reason to give. "I thought you'd like them."

You blinked, taken aback. "Sinu, you didn’t have to—"

"I know," he interrupted, stepping closer. "But I wanted to."

You couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto your lips as you held the bouquet to your chest. It was such a small thing, but it meant everything to you. The thoughtfulness behind it was typical of him—selfless and full of heart.

Sinu looked down at the flowers for a moment, then back at you, his eyes softening as his smile turned more playful. Without warning, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, light as a whisper but warm enough to send a flutter through you.

"Just a little something extra," he added, his tone teasing yet tender.

You laughed, the sound gentle but full of affection. His spontaneous kindness always had this way of disarming you, making your heart swell even when you least expected it. There was no fanfare, no big speech—just Sinu, being Sinu, with all his unassuming warmth and charm.

"Thank you," you said, a little flustered but utterly charmed by him. "You really didn’t have to, but... I love them."

Sinu just shrugged nonchalantly, but the happiness in his eyes said it all. He was content simply seeing you happy, knowing he could bring a smile to your face without the need for anything more.

"Anything for you," he said, his grin returning as he patted your head lightly. "Now, don’t forget to take care of those tulips."