#dgfmasterlist

“F-fuck!”

The two of you had been going at it since the second Jungkook stepped foot in your apartment.

Both a horny mess as you scrambled to rip each other’s clothes off.

You barely made it past the threshold of the entryway before he was thrusting inside you. Insistent and heavy.

You fucked everywhere.

On the sink.

On the couch.

On the bed.

On the floor.

On the stove.

You were on a roll.

No place off limits in your eyes. And you were turning Jungkook every which way but loose.

It explains how you ended up in your current state: Jungkook flat on his back, your meaty thighs locking him in place as you bounce on his thick, veiny dick.

“[+], slow d-down,” he groans, all loud and needy. Desperately fighting off the urge to cum.

You ignore him.

Head thrown back, rightfully taking what’s yours—at least for the moment. Your stamina on ten as if you weren’t already three rounds in.

You planned to milk him like cow.

Smack. Squelch. Smack.

The sticky sounds of your unison, reverberating off the walls. Jungkook’s hips meeting yours mid air. It was almost as if he hated the thought of being out of your wet heat, even an inch.

You were certain the tip of his dick had made an imprint on your cervix at this point.

“Stop whining,” you heave, fingers teasing and twisting your ebony areolas, perky tits just bouncing. “You were begging for more two seconds ago. Now you’re telling me to slow down? Which. One. Is. It?”

Your hips punctuate each word, ass slapping against his muscular thighs. Overjoyed at the way his eyes flutter from pleasure, failing to will off the pressure building in his pelvis.

Your rickety bed rocks against the hardwood, in sync with your hips. The loud furniture dragging against the floor, ramming into the wall repeatedly.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

If your neighbors didn’t hate you already, they certainly would now.

Jungkook had made an “effort” to muffle the ruckus by sticking a pillow behind the headboard.

But that effort had long turned futile. The pillow abandoned on the floor as the two of you damn near drive a hole into your apartment wall.

Yeah, you weren’t getting that deposit back.

“O-Oh my god, [+]! I’m going to cum.” He grits, your pussy tightening instinctively. Jungkook’s cock twitches inside you, pre-cum painting your walls like a leaky faucet. His heels digging into the mattress, body desperate for a release.

“Nuh-uh,” you giggle breathlessly, smacking his chest playfully before hopping off. Much to his annoyance.

Kneeling beside him, you wrap your hand around his slick dick, all coated with your arousal. Squeezing it gently, you press your thumb over his oozing slit.

“I told you, we cum together. You better wait,” you say leaning over him, lips attracting his like a magnet.

You let him lead.

The kiss a messy exchange of tongue and heat, reminding you exactly why you always let him back through your door.

Jungkook’s tongue roams every crevice of your mouth with a familiarity no one else on this planet has. It’s a language only the two of you speak.

Blunt, heavy, and desperate.

Every time his teeth grazes your bottom lip, your breath hitches. Your unoccupied hand tangling into the strands at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and a cherry sucker. His own hands reaching down to return the favor, the pads of his fingers rubbing your swollen clit with practiced ease.

Jungkook truly knows you inside and out.

And you desperately wanted his outside in.

He flips the two of you over and you reach between your heated bodies, stroking Jungkook’s dick firm enough he hisses, sinking his teeth in your bottom lip.

You revel at the taste of iron on your tongue, giggling breathily.

“Don’t forget,” you whisper against his lips, thumb running along a vein. “Who’s in control here.”

Jungkook lets out a growl that’s borderline animalistic, dick jumping in your hand.

He raises up just enough for you to line his length up with your entrance, mouth gasping into yours when his mushroom tip breaches.

“So good,” you mewl, raising your hips, giving Jungkook clear access to sink in to the hilt.

His hands cup your face, big orbs locking with yours, developing a rhythm.

You can’t help but stare back into his starry eyes. All clouded with lust and something far too complicated to dissect while he’s nine inches deep.

“So beautiful,” Jungkook sighs wistfully, voice a low vibration. “You always look so beautiful like this.” He plucks a curl from your face, eyes intense. “Do I make you feel good, [+]?”

Toes curling, you nod, words catching in your throat. “So g-good Kook. Don’t s-stop.”

His smile grows wicked, blooming with a dark, possessive satisfaction at the praise.

Jungkook raises up, looming over you to part your thighs, forcing you into missionary. Increasing his speed, he drives into you like a mad man.

The room grows lively again. The percussion of your bed slamming into the wall, competing with your sultry moans and Jungkook chanting your name.

The two of you so lost in each other that you are oblivious to the pounding coming from the other side of the wall. Followed by a frustrated string of curse words and thunderous footsteps leaving the apartment next door.

“I’m close,” Jungkook breathes out, his voice strained. Hips stuttering off-beat as his composure slips, nearing his climax. “[+], please.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

It’s not the wall this time. It’s your front door. Heavy, balled-fist strikes that make the wood groan in its frame.

You remain unfazed, Jungkook follows suit. Fingers digging into your hips, desperately trying to hold onto the ledge he’s about to fall off. Breathing like a marathon runner, jaw clamped shut so tight his muscles cord in his neck.

“Keep going.” You breathe, a command to him and perhaps a prayer to the door. Pushing through it. His pace turns desperate.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“I know you’re in there!” a voice bellows from the hallway. It’s deep, gravelly, and vibrating with an annoyance that could peel paint. “And I know for a fact you’re still awake because I can hear you moaning all the way out here!”

Just as fast as your orgasm starts to approach, you feel it slowly slipping away. Lustful haze clearing enough for you to make out the pounding at your front door.

Irritation prickles your skin.

“Jungkook, baby stop,” you sigh, pushing at his shoulders gently.

As much as you wanted to ignore whoever was at the door and let Jungkook put you through the mattress, you couldn’t afford another noise complaint. It would be the second one this month…

It takes Jungkook a moment to register your words, dick still pumping in you as he searches your eyes. When he detects that you’re serious, he lets out a frustrated groan, pulling out reluctantly. Irritation prickling his face as he flops down on the bed beside you.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Come to the door!”

The voice is louder now, likely shouted right into the wood. It’s a command, not a request, and it carries the weight of a man who has spent the last three hours staring at his ceiling in a silent rage.

“Man fuck off,” Jungkook groans, earning pinch from you as you slip out of bed.

“Don’t make it worse Kook, I got this.” You slip on your silk robe, eyes pinned on his dick which still jumps wantingly. “Keep it hard for me, okay?”

Jungkook looks lethal. Hair a mess, chest flushed, and a scowl that could kill.

He runs a hand down his face, clearly still pissed. But his tatted hand wraps around his length anyway, pumping slowly.

Good boy.

You spin on your heels and head to the door, rolling back your shoulders.

Bang—

You pull the door open before the second strike can land, the wood swinging back with a violent creak. Mentally, you’re preparing for a fight, but the man on the other side looks like he just got hit with a bucket of cold water.

He’s tall, strikingly so, with tan skin and black-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt and grey joggers, a pen tucked behind his ear as if he’d been interrupted from a study session.

His fist is still frozen in mid-air, but his aggressive scowl melts into a look of pure, wide-eyed shock as he scans your frame. He actually stumbles back half a step, face turning a shade of pink that rivals your silk robe.

“[+]?” He questions more to himself, voice hesitant as he attempts, and fails, not to ogle your frame.

You arch a perfectly groomed brow, leaning against the doorframe. Unbothered by how the tie around your waist loosens some.

“Have we met?” You question, arms crossing, completely suffocating your breast. “I don’t remember being on a first name basis.”

You already knew the answer to your question: the two of you had never crossed paths.

You would remember a face like that. All handsome, dorky, a little sexy. His short trimmed hair perfectly framing his face.

“N-no, I uh,” He adjusts his glasses with a shaky hand, gaze frantically bouncing from the ceiling to the carpet, doing everything in his power to avoid the view of your chest. Though his peripheral vision is clearly betraying him.

“I just overheard…the walls, they’re…you know.”

He’s struggling, clearly.

“They’re thin. Yeah… sorry about that,” you say, voice softer this time, a hint of sincerity woven in. Your gaze drifts over him, catching the way he shifts on his feet, like he can’t decide whether to stand his ground or bolt. “I didn’t realize it was carrying that much.”

A small, almost sheepish shrug lifts your shoulder before your lips curve again.

“Though… you must’ve been listening for quite a while to learn my name,” you add, tone tipping back toward teasing. “Why didn’t you knock sooner?”

Tilting your head, you enjoy the way his blush creeps from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His mouth parts, caught off guard.

“It wasn’t that I was trying to listen,” he rushes out, voice pitching higher, a dead giveaway. “It’s just, you guys were so loud, and every time I thought it was over…it wasn’t. I finally had enough.”

Now he’s looking at you properly, brows drawn together, like he’s trying to gather whatever dignity he has left.

The courteous person in you wants to promise to keep the noise down and wish your neighbor a good night studying. But your eyes wander down, down to the very prominent print showing beneath his joggers. And all politeness goes out the window.

“Had enough, hm?” You murmur, pushing off the doorframe to step a little closer. You make a show of trailing your eyes from his pants to his face. “You sure about that?”

His breath hitches

The faint creak of the floorboard sounds behind you, his eyes snapping up, signaling you’re no longer alone.

Glancing over your shoulder, you catch Jungkook slipping into a pair of shorts. His brows raised in silent confusion on what’s taking so long.

“Jungkook,” you say smoothly, turning back toward the door, “it seems our… activities have attracted my neighbor’s attention.”

You gesture lightly between them.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

His eyes widen just a fraction. “It’s Namjoon,” he says, clearing his throat. “And, uh…” Namjoon’s hands come up in a quick, flustered motion, glancing toward Jungkook. “It’s not like that, I can assure you.”

You pout.

“Oh? And just when a girl starts to feel special. Here I thought your hard-on was because of me?” Faking disappointment, Jungkook comes up behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist lazily as he rest his chin atop your curly fro.

He knows how this goes.

Namjoon splutters, hand quickly covering himself. “I’m not—” he breaks off, composure slipping.

You don’t help him.

In fact, you lean back into Jungkook’s hold, perfectly at ease as his arms settles. His grip loose, casual. Like he’s done this a before.

You both have.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Baby,” Jungkook murmurs, voice low, amused rather than annoyed, “you’re gonna scare him off.”

But there’s no real warning in it.

Only curiosity.

You smile.

“If he scares that easily,” you reply, eyes still locked on Namjoon, “why’d he come knocking?”

That seems to hit a nerve.

Namjoon straightens a little, like he’s trying to recover his dignity.

“I told you,” he says, squaring his shoulders, “it was the noise.”

“Mhm.”

You don’t sound convinced.

Jungkook hums softly behind you. “Damn, [+] we must’ve been pretty loud then,” he adds, tone teasing now, playing along as a hand travels up your abdomen to thumb absentminded patterns around your perky, clothed nipples.

Namjoon’s eyes flick to the movement, gaze hooded.

His resolve is breaking. The polite, boy next door facade slipping.

“I-I should go.” Namjoon says, voice uncertain and contradicting his stance which remains rooted in place.

“Or,” you say, stepping closer, rising onto your tiptoes to pluck the pen from behind his ear, “you could stay.”

Namjoon’s breath catches as your fingers brush the shell of his ear, the tiny point of contact enough to short-circuit whatever coherent thought he had left. You twirl the pen between your fingers absentmindedly before sliding it into the pocket of your robe.

“A thief too?” Jungkook muses from behind you.

“Borrowing,” you reply, gaze seductive as they challenge Namjoon’s. “Just for the night.”

Namjoon’s eyes are fixed on you with a focus that’s lost all traces of polite neighborly restraint. Like he’s finally letting himself acknowledge the situation for what it is.

Dangerous. Tempting. Fun.

“You flirt with all your neighbors like this?” Namjoon asks, voice dropping an octave.

You smile sweetly, knowing you’ve got him.

“Of course not, silly,” you sing-song, spinning on your heels and lacing Jungkook’s hand in yours. “But for you, I’m making an exception.”

Leading Jungkook back down the hall to your room, you leave Namjoon at your door.

You were giving him an out.

Or an in.

The decision ultimately up to him.

And it seems he chooses in judging by how the floorboards creak under the weight of his slippered feet. Followed by the thud of the door as it shuts.

A slow smile curves your lips.

Jungkook catches it immediately, squeezing your ass before flopping down onto the edge of your bed without a care in the world.

Meanwhile Namjoon lingers near the doorway. Not awkward, but not exactly confident either.

Just… taking it in.

The discarded clothes on the floor.

The tangled sheets.

The sexual tension hanging in the air.

You watch as he scans the space.

“Nice room…,” Namjoon says lamely, adjusting his glasses.

“You were yelling at us five minutes ago,” you tease, sitting down beside Jungkook, resting your hand on his thigh. “Now it’s nice room.”

Namjoon’s mouth twitches, Jungkook emitting a quiet laugh beside you, lounging back on his elbows. Completely at ease.

“Does this usually work on people?” Namjoon asks.

You tilt your head innocently. “What?”

“This…” His eyes drift between you and Jungkook vaguely. “Whatever this is.”

Jungkook pipes up before you can answer. “She does this thing where she acts sweet enough that you forget she’s manipulating you.”

Your jaw drops in fake offense. “Manipulating is such an ugly word.”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh despite himself. “And what word would you use?”

You hum thoughtfully, “Seducing.”

The air thickens with lust.

Namjoon’s gaze dropping to where your hand pats the empty space beside you.

He walks over slowly, settling cautiously, like he’s trying not to disturb the balance that’s formed between the three of you.

But if anything, he equals the scale.

You turn toward Jungkook first, a flicker of amusement in his expression. But beneath it sits something warmer; trust, familiarity, anticipation.

Your fingers curl around his bicep, tugging him toward you.

Jungkook comes easily.

He always does.

The kiss heated. Picking right up where you left off as he cups your neck, to deepen it. Both of your tongues fighting against each other like a fencing match.

And of course, you’re winning.

You run your hand over his clothed dick, Jungkook’s shaft jumping at the attention. He groans in your mouth as you squeeze him, teeth nicking your lips.

Slipping your hand under his waistband, you give him a tug, more like a silent thank you for waiting so patiently. The veins along his dick so pronounced, you’re sure it won’t be long before he loses his composure completely.

With one final squeeze, you pull away, turning to your guest.

Namjoon’s expression is completely captivated. Eye wide, pupils blown like he forgot how to blink.

The second your hand settles against his stubbled jaw, his lips part, eager for you to close the gap.

So you do.

Namjoon’s lips plush and unfamiliar against yours. Careful, as if he’s scared one wrong move will end it all.

His fists ball into your sheets, afraid to touch you without your permission.

That won’t do.

Grabbing his shirt, you pull him closer, forcing him to grab your waist for balance. He squeezes your hips, tongue dipping into yours as he grows more bold.

His breath hot and minty against yours, tongue moving languidly as if he wants to savor the taste of you.

When you pull back, Namjoon follows a fraction too far, earning a chuckle from Jungkook as he palms himself.

“Gone already huh?” Jungkook teases.

Namjoon shoots him a look, but it lacks any real bite.

Because Jungkook’s right.

Namjoon was a goner.

Smiling widely, you reach back toward Jungkook, fingers catching his chin, guiding him closer.

The space between all three of you disappears slowly, breaths blending together as the tension finally gives way to curiosity.

Jungkook tilts in first.

Namjoon tentatively follows right after him.

You wait patiently, welcoming their lips as they fit against yours.

Like three pieces to a puzzle.

It’s all over the place at first, messy as the three of you find your rhythm.

Jungkook kisses you like he already knows every sound you’ll make before it leaves your mouth, while Namjoon kisses you like he’s still discovering them in real time. The contrast sends warmth curling through your stomach.

Somewhere in between soft breaths and shifting mouths, the three of you finally find a rhythm. Slower than expected. Closer. Jungkook’s hands traveling to unclasp your robe while Namjoon’s fingers massage circles into your hips, like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you at all.

And when their mouths brush briefly against each other, neither of them pulls away.

The silk robe pools around your waist as you shrug out of the material, revealing yourself completely.

Without hesitation Jungkook’s hands slip between your legs, mouth now trailing down your neck as he caresses your wet folds, sinking two fingers inside.

“Yes,” you breathe against Namjoon’s lips, peeking his curiosity as he leans back to take in the sight.

“Damn,” he croaks, eyes glued to Jungkook’s tatted fingers thrusting in and out of you. He palms his clothed dick openly now, desperate to ease the tension a little.

“Help him, Joonie,” you tease, testing out the nickname. Gracefully, you lie back on the bed. “Don’t just stare.”

Namjoon lets out a groan that sounds borderline painful, snatching off his glasses which earns a giggle from you.

Though that giggle dies in your throat the moment Namjoon slides a long digit inside you alongside Jungkook’s two.

The both of them move in tandem, Namjoon curling deeper as Jungkook pulls out and vice versa. The stretch so good, you can’t hold in your sounds.

“Just like that,” you coach, walls fluttering and squeezing around them both as they stretch you open. “You boys are making me feel so good, fuck.”

Your ruined orgasm from before has resurrected, approaching fast and intense. The wet squelch of their fingers fucking into you pushing you closer to the edge.

Mesmerized, Namjoon’s thumb flicks against your clit, making you yelp from the friction. He’s pulled his dick out now, the hard rod curved toward his chest as it throbs, achingly.

It’s even bigger than Jungkook’s.

“Stop.” You command, startling the two men as they blink at you, eyes clouded with lust. “Join me on the bed. No clothes.”

You scoot further up to watch as Jungkook practically jumps out of his shorts, joining you on your right.

Namjoon moves slower, dropping his joggers carefully and folding them neatly, followed by his shirt. He crawls up the bed, lying on his back as he stares at you.

“You okay?” You ask, loving the way his dick reacts to your voice alone.

He smiles, dimples showing. “Never better.”

Satisfied by his response you peck his lips, before turning back to Jungkook, saddling his thighs.

You don’t waste anymore time, sinking down to the hilt. Jungkook gritting his teeth as he grips your ass.

“Fu-uck, [+]. I’m not gonna to l-last much longer,” Jungkook whines. Sweat beading along his hairline. He’s bucking into you involuntarily, beyond ready for a release.

Leaning forward, you brace yourself against his shoulder, pecking his nose “You’re doing so good baby. Feel so good inside me, just hold on a little longer.

Turning to Namjoon, you smile. “Come join us. There’s room for you too.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen the size of a quarter. “Really?!”

Enamored by his dorky charm, you giggle. “Really. Though you may want to move fast, because someone’s getting a little antsy.”

Jungkook huffs beneath you, slapping your ass, which only makes you laugh harder.

Without further hesitation, Namjoon joins you from behind, pushing you gently against Jungkook’s chest to give himself better access.

You wait with excited anticipation, breath hitching the moment Namjoon’s dick prods at your slick entrance.

Namjoon starts pushing in slowly alongside Jungkook, his dick breaching your entrance. It completely knocks the wind out of your chest, Jungkook’s vibrates beneath you.

“Ah shit— this is tight as fuck.” Jungkook wheezes, fingers tightening on the globes of your ass, spreading them apart further.

Namjoon continues to inch in slowly, breath heavy against your back. “You feel so good, [+]. So goddamn wet.”

As his tip fully submerges inside, your mouth forms an “o,” entrance burning slightly from the stretch.

You try not to tense up as he slides in further, body trembling from the intensity. Dropping your head against Jungkook’s chest you release another broken moan. Completely in bliss.

“Fuck—I need to move. I can’t hold it,” Jungkook moans, bucking his hips. The filthy slide of his dick along Namjoon’s making his eyes roll.

“Hold up,” Namjoon groans, dragging his dick out of your wet cunt just to push in further. The pressure emitting a wet cry from you.

In your normal state, you’d be coaching them through it, telling them how fuck you.

But this was your first time taking two dicks at once, and you definitely overestimated how intense it would be.

Feeling bold, Namjoon pulls you further down on his cock, emitting a squeal from you and an embarrassingly loud whine from Jungkook, his dick perfectly snug against your cervix.

“You guys really don’t know—hngh—how to shut up huh?” Namjoon teases. The pressure of being squeezed so tight inside you seemingly getting to him too, judging by the way his voice pitches higher.

The two of them thrust inside you, slow and steady, dicks coated a creamy ring of your arousal, sliding against each other. All sensitive and throbbing inside your sodden pussy.

“I can’t hold it! I’m cuming—fuck!” Jungkook shouts, heels planted into the mattress as he thrust widely, cock spurting heavy strings of cum inside you, pulling you over the edge as well.

Biting into his shoulder, your eyes well with tears as your pussy clamps down, hard. A vice grip that paralyzes Namjoon. Hips stuttering to a stop as he reaches his own climax.

He burries himself to the hilt, groaning deeply, chest coated with a dewy sheen of sweat from the exertion.

You barely register Jungkook scooping you into his arms.

“C’mon,” he laughs softly when you groan into his shoulder. “Can’t let you pass out sticky.”

The bathroom light burns behind your eyelids as he cleans you up.

There’s nothing rushed about it.

Jungkook washes your skin carefully, thumbs smoothing along sore muscles while warm water cascades down your body. By the time he’s rubbing shea butter lotion into your thighs and slipping one of your nightgown over your head, your eyes can barely stay open.

“You alive?” he asks, amused.

You respond with something that sounds vaguely like a yes.

His laugh rumbles against your temple.

Familiar.

Easy.

That’s always been the thing with Jungkook.

No awkwardness. No pretending this is more than it is. Just comfort carved out between late nights, tangled sheets, and him knowing exactly how to take care of you afterward.

He lays you back against the mattress, pulling the blankets over your body before leaning down to press a lazy kiss against your forehead.

“Text me me in the morning,” he murmurs.

You smile sleepily, “No promises.”

“I’m not playing, [+]. Or I’ll spam you.”

Jungkook snatches his discarded shirt from the floor, tugging it over his head before glancing back at you one last time.

And true to his word, your phone is glowing against the nightstand by the time you finally wake the next afternoon.

Twenty missed texts from Gremlin🐰

Your entire body aches as you sit up.

Thighs sore.

Lips swollen.

Neck tender.

Worth it.

With a groan, you drag yourself out of bed in search of water, shuffling down the hallway half-awake before noticing something tucked beneath your front door.

A note.

Your brows knit as you bend down carefully, very carefully, to pick it up.

The handwriting is neat. Slightly rushed.

Turns out the noise wasn’t actually the problem.

Feel free to be as loud as you want next time.

Maybe over coffee you can explain how exactly I got manipulated into all of that.

— Namjoon

At the bottom, he’s scribbled his number beside a tiny smiley face.

You stare at it for a moment before laughing softly to yourself.

Cute.

——-

Your eyes widen and you tug the blanket tighter around yourself, sitting up just as Bam comes trotting back in.

A moment later, Jungkook appears around the corner, tossing something into the sink as he speaks to Eunwoo behind him. He stops mid-step when he spots you.

“Baby, I told you not to wait up,” he says, lips quirking into a smirk.

“I know,” you murmur, voice quiet. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

He walks in slowly, looking more amused than surprised, while Eunwoo lingers in the kitchen—like he’s unsure if he should follow.

Your fingers tighten around the blanket as you shift. “Hey, Eunwoo. Nice to see you,” you say, trying to sound casual despite your current state of undress.

He bows slightly. “Nice to see you too, Y/N.”

Jungkook finally drops onto the couch behind you, pulling you gently into his chest with a familiarity that makes you feel a little less exposed.

“Man, you can come sit,” he calls out to Eunwoo. “You don’t have to stand there like a weirdo.”

He lowers his voice to your ear. “It’s cool if he stays, right? We weren’t expecting you to be up, so I suggested we continue our drinking at my place.”

You nod. “Sure. I can give you guys a little privacy.”

You shift, attempting to stand, but Jungkook’s arm tightens slightly.

“Nah, baby. You’re good right here. More the merrier, right Eunwoo?” His tone dips, teasing, and your stomach drops.

“Right,” Eunwoo replies with a smirk, glancing briefly at you before his eyes flick to the TV, his own face on screen. The episode must’ve kept playing after the remote fell.

“We can put something else on if you want,” you offer quickly, reaching for the remote, only for Jungkook to kick it across the floor with a sharp thud.

You look back at him, eyebrows raised.

He knows exactly what you have on. He saw it before he left. A skimpy nightgown that clings to your curves, leaving little to the imagination.

You hadn’t felt the need to change out of it. This is your home, after all. But you also weren’t expecting guests, otherwise you would’ve put on a bra. And underwear.

“I’m not getting that,” you say flatly, your voice laced with annoyance.

The humor drains from Jungkook’s face almost instantly. In its place: something darker. His posture shifts, still relaxed, but commanding. You know that look. His dominance slipping into the space between you like a charged current.

Your breath hitches.

Jungkook leans in slightly, his voice low and sharp. “No, Y/N. I think you are. Now.”

Before you can protest, he yanks the blanket off your lap in one swift motion, exposing the full length of your nightgown to your guest.

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t move.

You hear the slight intake of breath from Eunwoo, now seated on the adjacent couch, watching this all play out.

Still, you hesitate.

“Crawl,” Jungkook demands, the word sending a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.

You know what crawling means. What part of you will be exposed as soon as your knees hit the floor.

“Jungkook,” you whine lowly, peeking at Eunwoo. “Don’t make me do this.”

Your voice is small, shaky with something you can’t quite name, part embarrassment, part thrill. You clutch at what’s left of your dignity, fingers digging into the cushion beneath you.

But Jungkook just stares. Slow. Deliberate. His eyes glitter with control.

“You should’ve thought about that before you started acting like a brat,” he says coolly, the amusement in his voice gone. “Now be a good girl. Or I’ll make it worse.”

Your stomach flips at the warning.

From the side, you feel Eunwoo’s gaze lingering, steady and unrelenting. He hasn’t spoken again, hasn’t moved, but the awareness of him is enough to make your skin prickle.

Still, you hesitate for one breath longer.

Then your knees slide forward.

The first brush of the floor against your bare skin sends a shiver through your spine. You keep your eyes down, but you feel the shift in the room instantly. Your nightgown rides up just as you feared, baring the backs of your thighs. Your most vulnerable parts kissed by the cool air.

You hear the faintest curse under Eunwoo’s breath.

Shame licks up your chest. Arousal coils low in your belly.

And still, Jungkook says nothing.

Not until you reach the remote.

“Now bring it to me,” he says, voice calm and collected, like he hasn’t just unraveled you with a single command.

You grab the remote and turn, cheeks flushed, arm extended as you offer it back to Jungkook, eyes avoiding his completely.

He doesn’t take it right away.

Instead, he leans back, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch. His eyes trail over your body, slowly, unapologetically, lingering on the spot where the nightgown has risen.

You swallow hard, pulse racing in your throat. He finally reaches out, brushing his fingers against yours as he takes the remote. The small contact sends a shiver to your core.

He turns the TV off. The muted LED light becomes the only illumination in the room.

You stay there on your knees, feeling the weight of not just Jungkook’s gaze, but another. Steadier. Quieter.

Eunwoo.

He sits on the adjacent couch, manspread with a glass in his hand, watching your every move. A part of you burns under his attention. But another part of you… revels in it.

Jungkook lets the silence stretch.

Then, he hooks two fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to his. The touch is gentle, but there’s nothing soft in his expression.

“She had to be told twice,” he says, voice low, almost thoughtful. “You know how much I hate repeating myself.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it. But at Eunwoo.

“What do you think?” he asks, tone casual. “Should I punish her?”

A slow sip from the glass. Ice clinks. A pause.

“She was a little mouthy,” Eunwoo replies, voice calm but edged now with something darker. “I’d say she needs reminding.”

Jungkook hums, satisfied.

“Thought so,” he says, his thumb brushing lazily over your bottom lip like he’s testing how much more you’ll take. “I think she forgot who she belongs to for a second.”

You can’t speak. Your breath catches in your throat, your body warm all over.

And the worst part?

They’re talking about you like you’re not even there.

Like you’re already theirs to decide over.

The room feels heavier now, the dim LED glow throwing soft shadows across their faces. Bam has long since retreated to another room. The only sound is the faint clink of ice as Eunwoo swirls the liquor in his glass.

Jungkook shifts on the couch, one hand dragging lazily down your neck to the exposed dip of your collarbone.

“You like being watched, don’t you?” he murmurs, more a statement than a question.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes.

Jungkook leans in, voice a whisper meant only for you. “Say it.”

Your throat tightens. The words catch somewhere between embarrassment and arousal, but they’re there.

“Yes,” you breathe. Barely audible. Barely brave.

Your response is met with a sharp, sudden slap to your cheek. Not hard enough to harm, but enough to sting. Enough to make your eyes water instantly.

Heat blooms beneath your skin. Arousal stirs in your stomach like a low flame catching wind. Shame curls in your chest, quickly eclipsed by the wetness pooling between your thighs.

Jungkook’s voice slices through the silence, low, controlled, and unmistakably commanding.

“Yes what?”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his, lips parting before the answer even fully forms.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, breath hitching, your tone full of submission, and something deeper.

Need.

He nods in approval.

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing firmly against your lips until they part. He slips it inside, resting it on your tongue.

You obey without thinking, lips sealing around the digit, your cheeks hollowing as you suck. Slow, deliberate.

His eyes darken.

“That’s it,” Jungkook hums, watching you.

His other hand strokes lazily through your coarse fro, tightening just enough to ache at the scalp.

He leans in, voice low. “Let’s show Eunwoo how well you use this mouth, hmm? I’m sure he’s been dying to see.”

Your breath catches.

Jungkook shifts in his seat, legs spreading slightly as he guides you forward with a gentle but firm tug of your hair. Your knees slide between his thighs, slow and trembling, until you’re eye level with the thick outline pressing against his jeans.

You’re certain there’s a puddle beneath you now. Your thighs already slick, sticky from how turned on you are. The room feels hotter, as you shift your weight, trying to breathe through it.

With shaking hands, you reach for his belt. The sound of the buckle coming undone echoing loud in the quiet room, and you feel every heartbeat between your ears.

Stage fright tugs at your chest, the weight of two sets of eyes on you pressing down like a heavy hand.

But more than anything, you want to do good. For Jungkook.

Your fingers work quickly, tugging the waistband of his boxers down just enough.

A small, involuntary gasp slips past your lips as his cock springs free. Thick, flushed, and already half-hard. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, it always steals your breath. Always makes your throat tighten in both anticipation and awe.

A shudder runs through you.

You glance up.

Jungkook watches you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted slightly like he’s already imagining how you’ll take him. One hand remains tangled in your hair, possessive. Guiding.

But it’s Eunwoo you feel, too.

Still silently watching.

Eunwoo’s hand flexes around his glass, knuckles pale. Eyes dragging slowly from Jungkook’s cock down to your lips, and you swear his jaw ticks.

Heat floods your cheeks, and your core pulses.

Jungkook tilts your chin again, commanding your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Make it pretty.”

You inhale through your nose and lean forward, lips brushing against his tip, warm and heavy against your mouth. You press a soft kiss there first, reverent. Then your tongue flicks out, kittenish and slow, tasting him, lips wrapping around the crown in a motion that’s more worship than act.

Jungkook’s jaw flexes.

“Good girl,” he breathes, the praise curling low in your stomach.

You take him deeper, inch by inch, one hand wrapping around the base, the other steadying yourself on his thigh. Your mouth works gently, tongue sliding along the underside as he groans, deep and approving.

But it’s not long before his patience thins.

His hand tightens in your hair, not hard, but firm, guiding you off of him slowly before pulling you right back down, just a little deeper than you dared on your own.

Your throat clenches around him and you fight back a gag.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “Let me use that pretty mouth. You wanted to be good, didn’t you?”

You nod around him, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. The stretch burns, but so does the need. The arousal between your thighs now unbearable.

Jungkook finds a rhythm, hips rolling slowly, steadily. His hand keeps you in place, fingers fisted in your hair, dragging you forward again and again until your lips are wet, your cheeks hollowed, and your jaw aching in that addictive, perfect way.

The wet suction of your mouth around him, and the soft, broken groans Jungkook lets slip when your tongue swirls just right fill up the room.

You lose yourself in it, lips stretched, jaw burning, the warmth of his cock filling your mouth and your senses. Every little noise he makes feeds your hunger to keep going, to do better.

You’re so focused on pleasing him, so wrapped up in his rhythm and praise, that you almost forget.

You’re not alone.

The sudden heat of a palm sliding over your ass makes you jolt.

You flinch instinctively, trying to lift your head, but Jungkook’s hand presses firmly on the back of your skull, holding you in place.

Then—

Smack.

The slap stings sharp and sudden, echoing through the room, ass heating from the touch.

You moan around him, more shocked than hurt, hole tightening instinctively around nothing.

Jungkook sighs at the feeling. “Fuck.”

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “Eunwoo just wants a taste.”

Your body tenses.

You can feel Eunwoo shift behind you, the air moving with him, closer and lower. A second later, a warm breath fans over your core, and you jolt forward, but Jungkook doesn’t let you go.

A broad hand spreads across your lower back. Steady. Possessive.

Followed by a slow, deliberate lick up your center.

Your moan is immediate, muffled around the thick length still resting on your tongue. The sensation is overwhelming. Your thighs twitching as your fingers dig into Jungkook’s jeans, knees threatening to give out.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses above you. “She liked that.”

You can’t think. Can’t breathe.

Eunwoo does it again. Slower. Flatter. A lazy stripe that has your spine arching and your hips rolling back into him without permission.

Another slap, harsher this time. It burns hot across your skin, sure to leave a mark.

“Stay still, Eunwoo mumbles against your flesh.

You cry out around Jungkook’s cock, the noise muffled.

You try, God, you try, but your body is vibrating, torn between the ache in your throat, the wet heat between your legs, and the sharp sting of his palm still seared into your skin.

“You hear that?” Jungkook says from above, his voice calm, amused. “You’re making him work harder than he should.”

You whimper, tears blurring your vision.

“You gonna behave?” he asks.

You nod desperately, body trembling.

“Use your words, baby.”

You pull back just enough to speak, voice hoarse and soaked in heat.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

Another deep hum from Eunwoo. A teasing lick against your folds. “She’s learning,” he says, almost to himself.

Jungkook exhales a slow breath. “Good,” he says. “Then she’s ready.”

In one swift motion, he lifts you off his cock, hand still firm in your hair as you gasp, spit and pre-cum dripping down your chin, glistening in the low light. Your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath, the room spinning slightly with heat and humiliation.

“Up,” he murmurs.

You obey immediately, legs shaky as you rise to your feet.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s guiding you again, hands on your waist, spinning you to face Eunwoo.

Jungkook pulls you into his lap with practiced ease, your back pressed to his chest, your legs falling naturally over his spread thighs.

“Spread your legs,” he hums in your ear, breath warm against your neck. “Let Eunwoo see how pretty that pussy is.”

Your core clenches at his words.

Still breathless, you let your knees fall open slowly, painfully aware of how soaked you are, of how your arousal glistens between your thighs

Jungkook’s hands slide down to your inner thighs, thumbs gently pulling you open wider, until there’s no room left for modesty. No hiding.

Only display.

“She’s fucking soaked,” Eunwoo mutters from between your legs. “Messy little thing, aren’t you?”

The sound of his voice that close, dripped in hunger, sends a jolt straight through your spine. You twitch in Jungkook’s lap, breath catching in your throat as your thighs try to close on instinct.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you.

His hands tighten around your legs, keeping them open, keeping you exposed.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You wanted to be a brat earlier, remember? This is what happens.”

Eunwoo leans in closer, breath fanning across your inner thighs, nose nearly brushing your center.

Jungkook’s fingers trail down your chest, toying with the hem of your nightgown, dragging it higher.

“She can take it,” he says, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “She doesn’t have much of a choice.”

Eunwoo doesn’t wait a second longer.

He dives back in, this time far less polite, tongue firm, confident, moving with purpose. The first stroke has your head rolling back against Jungkook’s shoulder, your mouth dropping open in a silent cry.

Your legs try to close again. Too much, it’s too much. But Jungkook holds them apart, pulling them against your chest to give Eunwoo better access.

“Take it,” he murmurs, voice all silk and command. “Let him taste all of it.”

Eunwoo moans into you, tongue lapping deep, mouth a filthy mess. Each swipe firmer, more deliberate.

Your breath catches on a sob, hips stuttering against Jungkook’s grip. You’re trembling, thighs shaking in his hands, the pressure between your legs coiling tight and dangerous.

“Shit,” you whisper, voice barely there.

But Jungkook hears it.

He chuckles, dark and low in your ear. “Already?”

You nod, eyes clenched shut, your whole body drawn taut like a wire pulled to its limit.

“Eunwoo,” Jungkook says, voice smooth but clipped now, “Slow down. She’s not allowed to cum yet.”

You can’t move, not with your legs pinned to your chest, not with Jungkook’s arm locking you in place like you belong there.

Eunwoo groans against you, but obeys, his movements softening, tongue flattening, pulling back into something maddeningly slow and shallow.

It doesn’t stop the build. If anything, it makes it worse.

You squirm in Jungkook’s hold, whimpering, your hands flying to grip his thighs as your high teeters just out of reach.

“Please,” you breathe, barely coherent. “Please, sir please—”

Jungkook tilts your face toward him, lips brushing your temple.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmurs. “Not until I say.”

You whimper, desperate, frantic, as Eunwoo’s mouth moves with cruel precision.

Every lick is slower. Every flick of his tongue more deliberate. But then his lips close around your clit, and suck.

Just right.

Your whole body jerks in Jungkook’s lap, a broken cry tearing from your throat before you can stop it.

“No—fuck! Please!”

He doesn’t stop. His mouth locks there, tongue swirling in sync with every tug of suction, and your vision goes white at the edges. Nails digging into Jungkook’s thighs as your hips rut forward, chasing it, needing it.

And all the while, Jungkook holds you steady.

“You wanna cum that bad?” he breathes against your jaw. “After being a brat?”

You nod frantically, tears prickling behind your eyes.

“I can’t—I—please, sir.”

A beat of silence. Then.

“Cum.”

The second the word leaves his mouth, your body shatters.

Your orgasm hits hard. Unforgiving, hot and fast and violent as it rips through you. Your thighs clamp instinctively around Eunwoo’s head, but Jungkook forces them open, making you take it, making you feel all of it.

You sob his name, both of their names, as your hips tremble and your breath breaks.

Eunwoo doesn’t stop until you’re fully undone, until the overstimulation starts to blur into pain, and even then it takes Jungkook’s voice to end it.

“That’s enough.”

Eunwoo pulls back, chin glistening, chest rising with his own heavy breaths.

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the side of your temple, his voice lower now. “Good girl.”

He pushes you off of him without a word, and you flop onto the couch, boneless and trembling.

Your hit the cushions with a soft thud, thighs still twitching, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. The room spins a little, your pulse thudding in your ears, every nerve in your body humming with aftershock.

The cool air kisses your soaked skin, reminding you of how messy and exposed you are.

You try to pull your nightgown down to cover yourself, but Jungkook catches your wrist mid-movement.

“Uh-uh,” he says, firm but quiet. “We’re not done.”

He maneuvers you onto your hands and knees, body weak as you struggle to hold yourself up. “Please sir, I need a minute,” you beg. But it falls on death ears.

He’s already lining himself up against your pussy, running his head through your messy folds before sinking in. To the hilt.

You yelp at how full you are with no prep, the burn causing your eyes to water as your arms buckle beneath you.

“Eunwoo, how about you test out her mouth,” Jungkook grits out as he fucks you slowly. Dragging his dick all the way out, just fill you to the brim all over again.

“She’s already warmed up,” Jungkook murmurs. “Might as well put her to use.”

You don’t protest. You can’t. Your limbs feel heavy, your mind swimming in submission, and the lingering throb of overstimulation.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Eunwoo says as he stands, walking over to the edge of the couch.

He lifts your chin, forcing you make eye contact with him as he brushes a curl from your face. You were sure your twist-out would be no good by the end of the night.

You watch as he unzips his jeans, releasing his monstrous dick. It was no longer than Jungkook’s, but boy was it girthy.

A sharp thrust from behind sends you gasping for air and Eunwoo takes the opportunity to slip between your lips.

“Fuck,” he moans out causing Jungkook to chuckle, palming the globes of your ass as he drives into you.

“I told you,” Jungkook pants out, “her mouth is unreal.

Eunwoo’s heavy on your tongue, and a little salty from precum, but you don’t mind. Though you struggle to keep up with them both. As one pulls out the other thrusts deeper, you caught in the middle, like a spit roast.

You try to engage, bobbing your head on Eunwoo’s cock, bouncing your ass back to meet Jungkook’s thrusts, but it’s no use. You were no match for these two.

Eunwoo works you until jaw hurts and you muster up the courage to pinch his thigh, signaling him to stop. He pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop and you gasp for breath, coughing slightly.

“You ok baby,” Jungkook asks. Concern in his voice, though he doesn’t slow up, hip pounding into your ass.

You could feel your second orgasm steadily approaching, and you were sure he could too by how hard your walls were contracting around him.

“Fuck,” he sighs out breathless as he slaps your ass, obsessed with the jiggle in response. “Does my princess want to cum?” He asks, earning a shudder from you in response.

He grips you by the hair, arching your back as the head of his dick stabs you right on that special spot, making you see stars.

He tightens his hold in your hair, causing you to wince. “Answer me,” he growls in your ear.

You stare straight ahead at Eunwoo, who’s currently fisting his cock as he watches, the tip an angry purple.

“Yes sir, please let-,” your voice sounds pathetic but you don’t give a fuck. “Let me cum please. I can’t take it,”

He laughs releasing you as he pulls out. You flop back into the couch, well spent.

“I can’t let you come again before our guest Y/N. That’s bad hospitality. Now spin around and present that pretty pussy for Eunwoo. I’m sure he’s been dying to get inside.” Jungkook commands, nudging you.

It takes a minute, but you comply on shaky legs, giving Eunwoo clear access to your soaked pussy.

“So pretty,” he whispers, rubbing a finger through your folds, before sinking in slowly.

You glance over your shoulder and watch as he pulls his digit out of you, popping the finger in his mouth and sucking.

You hang your head, surprised. Who the fuck knew Eunwoo was this freaky.

Too caught off guard by his act, you aren’t prepared for when he sinks in, dick pulsating inside of you.

It doesn’t burn as much anymore, but the stretch was still there.

“Do what you want, but don’t cum inside,” Jungkook warns Eunwoo, watching from his end of the couch.

Eunwoo huffs out a laugh, hips slamming against your ass, jostling you into Jungkook.

“You’re doing so good princess,” Jungkook says as he pats your face. “You’re taking Eunwoo so well.”

He smooths the sweaty curls out of your face as you whine. Eunwoo’s dick had a sick curve to it, and it was hitting you just right, you wouldn’t last much longer.

“I need to cum,” you choke out, orgasm approaching stronger than the first. Eunwoo’s thrust were growing irregular behind you, off-beat signaling he wasn’t too far behind.

“Oh you need to huh?” Jungkook asks, teasing. “Too bad.”

You groan resting your head on your forearms as you take it, fighting the urge for as long as humanly possible.

“Please sir, I can’t hold it,” you cry, begging for mercy. You stare at him with a tear streaked face, completely ruined.

“I don’t know baby, I think you can wait a little longer,” Jungkook trails off, chuckling as you yelp when Eunwoo leans forward, fingers circling your clit.

“Fuck! She’s squeezing me so tight,” Eunwoo gasps out, hips stuttering.

He plows into you once more before pulling out, seed spilling all over you ass. You feel it trickle down your thighs, Eunwoo rubbing it into your skin.

Jungkook slouches down in front of you, stroking his cock. He still hasn’t cum yet either. Fuck.

“Come ride me, Y/N,” he says, voice dripping with arousal.

“I can’t,” you whine out, “I can’t feel my legs,” you were struggling to hold yourself up, completely spent.

“Are you telling me no, Y/N?” He asks voice deep, lacking any humor. Goosebumps pierce your skin.

“Of course not, Sir,” you hurry out, mustering up the energy to move towards him.

Eunwoo had slouched down into the couch, watching hungrily as he comes down from his orgasm

Jungkook helps you out, hoisting you up by the arms as you struggle to line yourself up his cock.

When you sink down on it, the both of you hiss, your legs giving out forcing you to engulf the whole length.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he latches onto your waist, lifting you up and slamming you right back down.

The pace is slow, Jungkook enjoying the fucked out look on your face. You were so beautiful to him. So ethereal like this, coming undone on his cock.

“You did so good today, baby,” he praises as he quickens his thrust. “You took the both of us so well, I think you deserve an award.”

The praise goes straight to your core, your orgasm circling back. “Please sir…” you trail off unable to complete the sentence. You need this release.

He kisses your temple, then your nose and cheek, before finally your lips, before finally saying the words you’ve been dying to hear. “Cum for me Y/N.”

And you do.

Your orgasm rushes over you so intense that you shout out as your vision blurs. You clinch like a vice around Jungkook, sending him over the edge as he paints your walls.

“Fuck Baby,” he groans against you, fucking you through it, making it all the more intense.

You slump against him, mind soft and distant, like someone turned the volume down on the world. Your body melts into his, boneless and quiet, your skin humming with the aftershocks of release. Thoughts barely forms, just sensation: his warmth at your front, the steady thump of his heart, the low rumble of his voice somewhere far away.

You don’t speak. You can’t.

You only breathe, slow and shallow, as the room sways gently around you, everything hazy and far away. A gentle fog wraps around your thoughts

It takes you a minute to come back around, a lot longer than you realize. When awareness finally starts to return, you’re no longer on the couch, no longer bare and trembling under their gaze.

You’re warm.

Clean.

Wrapped in blankets and the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heartbeat beneath your cheek.

His chest rises and falls beneath you, one hand stroking lazy, comforting circles into your back. The scent of him is all around you.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs against your hair, kissing your head softly. “I’m here. You were so good for us, princess.”

Your throat is dry when you whisper, “Where’s Eunwoo?”

Jungkook smiles against your temple, voice still low, still gentle. “He left a little while ago. He wanted me to let you know that he enjoyed tonight.”

Heat blooms across your cheeks, slow and deep.

You bury your face further into Jungkook’s chest, heart fluttering at the thought. You’ll never be able to see Eunwoo the same after this.

Jungkook chuckles softly. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs, voice rich with warmth. “You were everything I knew you’d be,” he adds, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And more.”

You smile against his skin, body still heavy but finally at peace.

The two of you drift off to sleep after that—tangled in sheets, in each other, and in the quiet aftermath of something you both know neither of you will forget.

“Oof,” you blurt, stumbling back as your balance wavers. Strong arms shooting out to catch you before you topple backward.

Reorienting yourself, you lower the bag just enough to finally see who you crashed into, and your stomach drops.

Before you stands your mystery neighbor. The fine one.

Shit.

“Oh! Hey, uh—” you stutter, brain scrambling because you still don’t know his name. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize someone was standing at the entrance. I hope you’re not hurt.”

The elevator doors try to close but his broad frame keeps the sensors triggered.

He just… stares. Thick brows drawn, expression unreadable, like he’s been stunned or trying to figure out what exactly hit him.

Reality seems to bring him back and he steps to the side, giving you room to actually leave the elevator. “No worries… do you need help?” He asks.

His voice is deep, yet soft, the kind of voice that makes the tiny hairs under your scarf stand at attention.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I think I can manage. Thank you.”

He nods once and steps fully into the elevator, allowing the doors to slide shut.

You stand there dumbfounded, pouting at your own reflection in the metal. Why do you have to make a fool of yourself every time you run into him?

Mystery Neighbor lived across the hall in Apartment 1705. Tall, handsome, and criminally quiet. He’d never said more than five words to you in a single exchange, which is exactly why, after five months, you still had no clue what his name was.

He was impossible to read, and even more impossible to catch, so moments like these were rare.

And you always managed to screw them up.

With a sigh, you adjust your overflowing bags and wrestle with your keys, struggling to unlock your apartment.

Better luck next time… if the universe decides to give you one.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Your living room looks like the North Pole threw up on it. Discarded ornaments everywhere, abandoned lights sprawled across the rug, garland draped messily over the couch.

You’ve been hard at work decorating your Christmas tree. Or, you would be, if you could figure out why the hell the lights won’t turn on.

You paid over fifty dollars for these incandescent lights. Fifty. Dollars.

So these suckers are turning on one way or another.

All week you’ve been itching to get this tree up, delayed Amazon packages and your overloaded work schedule tag-teaming to push it off. Now that you finally have the time, these tiny little bulbs want to cop out on you.

“Damn it!” you whine, tossing the lights away in defeated frustration.

Cashew, your long-haired dachshund, gives you a tilted-head stare like you’ve personally offended him with your incompetence.

You huff out a breath. You need a break before you commit a crime against holiday décor.

“Wanna go for a walk?” you ask your pup, crouching down to ruffle his fur.

His tail immediately goes wild, and you take that as a yes.

Laughing softly, you gather his leash and the tiny sweater you bought on impulse. The one that reads Santa’s #1 Helper. You can’t help yourself; you take a thousand photos of Cashew posing like a reluctant Christmas model before finally slipping into your own coat.

“Okay, let’s go!”

The two of you make your way down to your apartment’s dog park, one of your favorite amenities mostly because it’s residents-only and usually quiet.

Spotting just one owner and their dog inside, you deem it safe enough to bring Cashew in. He’s practically dragging you forward, as soon as you open the gate, eager to run free.

“Hold on, buddy, let me close the gate,” you laugh, fumbling behind as he strains against the leash.

The other dog is slightly bigger than Cashew, a fluffy white Bichon Frisé trotting circles at her owner’s feet.

Not sure yet if she’s friendly, you keep Cashew tethered while he sniffs around like an investigative journalist.

You pull out your phone, googling the brand of lights you bought, praying someone has a resolution to your issue.

You’re so engrossed in reviews that you don’t even notice the other dog approaching until she’s weaving between your legs with Cashew darting after her, tangling the leash around your ankles.

You yelp as you pitch forward, mentally preparing to faceplant directly into dog shit, when strong arms wrap around you, breaking your fall just in time.

What is up with you and falling this week?

“I’m so sorry,” a deep, very familiar, voice rushes out. He steadies you, making sure you’re upright before letting go.

Of course. Mystery Neighbor saves you from public humiliation. Again.

And for whatever reason, you burst out laughing.

His worried expression shifts into mild confusion as you fold over, laughing so hard you wheeze.

“I’m sorry,” you manage between breaths. “I just… I can’t stop imagining how pissed I’d be if I fell face-first into a pile of shit.”

The mental image sets you off again, tears prickling your eyes. It’s hilarious now. It would’ve been tragic if it actually happened.

“Are you alright?” he asks slowly, like he’s not fully convinced.

His attire today is the same thing you usually catch him in, a heavy-duty work uniform that fits him way too well. His wavy dark hair framing his face beautifully. Your heart flutters at the sight.

You almost forget he asked you a question.

Snapping out of it, you smile… weirdly.“Yes! I’m a-okay. Or maybe not. All this almost-falling might be knocking a few screws loose,” you say with an awkward laugh.

He doesn’t join in.

Great. Now you kind of wish you’d fallen in dog shit.

“Anyways… thank you for breaking my fall. Once again, neighbor. Though I never happened to catch your name.”

He glances toward the dogs, who are now fully invested in sniffing each other’s butts.

“It’s Eunwoo.”

Your face heats up immediately. You know you’ll embarrass yourself if you try to pronounce it. And you couldn’t dig a deeper grave of embarrassment, or worse, offend him.

Sensing the internal struggle written all over your expression, he steps in.

“Eun-woo,” he says slowly, breaking it down.

You repeat it back to him, relieved when he nods in approval.

“Sorry,” you say softly. “I’m sure you get that a lot living in the States. I just didn’t want to butcher it.”

His expression doesn’t change much, but something in his eyes soften.

“I’m [+],” you add with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you.”

He nods once, eyes drifting back toward the dogs.

You return to your phone, still desperately searching for a solution to your light problem. But every forum, review, and troubleshooting guide basically says the same unhelpful thing.

And considering you tore the box to shreds in a blind fit of holiday excitement…

Yeah. There was no returning that.

You sigh dramatically, rubbing your forehead before sneaking a glance at Eunwoo. Your eyes drift down over his uniform again.

Heavy-duty work gear. Sturdy boots. Hands that look like they know their way around tools.

He might know something about lights. Or fuses. Or electricity. Or literally anything more than you do.

You clear your throat. “Excuse me, uh—”

His head lifts, gaze settling on you with that unreadable calm he always seems to wear.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about Christmas lights?”

He just… stares. Not rude. Just waiting.

So you keep going.

“Um, I bought some from the store recently but I can’t get them to turn on. At all.” You hold your fingers a millimeter apart. “Not even a flicker.”

“What kind?” he asks, eyes dropping to your phone.

You quickly turn the screen toward him, angling it so he can see the product page.

He leans in to look, and being this close, you catch a faint waft of his cologne. Warm, clean, distinctly masculine.

You inhale without meaning to. Great. Now you’re sniffing him.

“There’s most likely a short somewhere,” he says, his accent curling softly around the words. “But… I could check them out, if you want?”

Your eyes widen immediately. “Really? Oh my gosh, that would be great!”

Taken aback by your excitement, he steps back a little, nodding in that quiet, awkward way of his.

Okay. You definitely need to play it cool.

Calling over your pups, the four of you head back inside and up to your floor. When you reach your apartment door, you unlock it and hold it open for Eunwoo to step in.

He doesn’t.

Your face heats instantly. “I’m sorry! Please don’t mind the mess. I promise it won’t look like this tomorrow,” you rush out, scratching the back of your neck like that’s going to help.

“No, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “It’s just, uh… my uniform’s dirty. I wouldn’t want to mess up anything.”

You shake your head firmly.

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Seriously. Cashew tracks in more dirt than any uniform ever could. You’re not gonna mess anything up.”

He hesitates, eyes flicking from your face to the chaotic array of decor behind you.

Widening the door, you give him your most reassuring smile, and he caves, shoulders dropping as he steps inside.

He slips off his shoes, and you take his coat, hanging it up before leading him toward the faulty lights beside your tree.

Eunwoo wastes no time. The second he crouches down, he’s already focused, hands moving confidently as he checks each bulb.

You stand there watching him like a total creep, eyes glued to the way he works.

Should you offer him a drink? A snack? Maybe a—

The lights flick on.

“There you go,” he says as he stands.

You gasp.

“That was absurdly quick. Now I feel kind of silly. What did you do?”

“Just twisted a few bulbs,” he shrugs, giving a quick whistle for his pup. She trots over, and he scoops her up effortlessly before heading toward the door, already sliding back into his boots.

Shit, you have to move fast.

“Uh, well, thanks. I’ll have to repay you, Eunwoo. Do you like cookies? I bake a mean chocolate chip!” you ask, scurrying after him.

He shakes his head. “No need, Y/N. Have a good night.”

And before you can protest, he’s slipping out of your apartment, leaving you standing in your entryway dumbfounded.

No one turns down your cookies.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You cannot believe yourself.

After spending hours in the grocery store, fighting for your life against stir-crazy people preparing for the holidays, you still managed to forget a bag of sugar.

Fuck.

Normally, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But right now, you’re knee-deep in making three twelve-dozen batches of chocolate chip cookies for your job’s holiday potluck. Which is tomorrow.

You’d already wasted most of your weekend binging Hallmark movies instead of attending to the task at hand, and now you’re paying for it.

You glance at the DoorDash rates and let out a long sigh. With snow expected in the next few hours, delivery fees have tripled. And now they’re trying to charge you three times the price for a single bag of sugar.

Absolutely not.

You groan, staring down at your dry ingredients, already knowing the sad little scoop of cane sugar left in your pantry won’t even come close to cutting it.

You’ll have to improvise. Throwing on a hoodie and grabbing your house keys, you slip into the hall, shaking your head at yourself as you go door to door, asking neighbors for a bag of cane sugar.

You feel like you’re canvassing for votes, each polite shake of the head chipping away at your confidence. Some neighbors don’t even bother opening the door. It was the holidays and not many can come up off of the amount of sugar you need. Especially after ten o’clock at night.

By the time you reach your last door, 1705, your shoulders slump. There’s a hesitation in your knock, your pride still hurting from how quickly he’d turned down your cookies last time.

But you need this sugar. So, summoning every ounce of courage, you knock again.

Nothing.

You gulp and try again. “Hey, Eunwoo, it’s [+]… from across the hall.”

A little shuffling comes from inside, followed by the pitter-patter of his pup’s feet.

You brace yourself as the door opens, though nothing could have prepared you for what’s on the other side.

Eunwoo stands there in a muscle T and pajama bottoms that sit dangerously low on his hips. His face puffy from sleep, eyes half-lidded as he stares at you.

Instantly, you feel terrible.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I should’ve expected you to be asleep. It’s kind of late… I’m so sorry for waking you! Please, go back to bed, don’t worry about me!” You stumble backward, waving your hands like a maniac, heart pounding.

“It’s okay,” he croaks, voice raw and deep as he scoops up his dog. You cannot ignore the way it makes your insides tingle. “Is something wrong?”

You wince, feeling instantly silly. “Uh…kinda. B-but it sounds dumb now. Please, just go back to bed!

“What is it, [+]?” His tone is firm, almost stern, but there’s no hostility.

You straighten, taking a deep breath and cutting to the chase. “I have to bake three dozen cookies for my winter potluck tomorrow, and I ran out of sugar… I was wondering if I could borrow some from you.” You rush the words out in one hurried breath.

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes hiding whatever thoughts flicker across his face. Then he says, simply:

“Wait right here.”

He disappears back into his apartment for a moment, the soft shuffle of cabinets echoing through the quiet hallway. A few seconds later, he returns, holding a large sack of sugar.

Your eyes widen, and a small puff of air escapes you as he gently sets it in your arms. You fumble slightly, trying to get a good grip on the hefty bag.

“You got it?” he asks, his gaze holding yours.

You nod meekly, ignoring the strain in your arms, heart doing a little flip at the intensity in his eyes.

“All good, thank you,” you reply, praying there’s no strain in your voice. “I can return it to your tomorrow?”

He shakes his head, “don’t worry about it [+]. Have a good night.”

Your mouth parts at his generosity.

“Oh, okay! Thank you so much! And… you too! Sweet dreams!”

The tiniest tilt of a smirk graces his lips as he tips his head at you and closes the door.

You stand there for a moment, grinning like a fool, until it hits you. His door has a peephole.

Scurrying back into your apartment, you get to work baking the cookies. The process moves twice as fast now that you have all the ingredients. Baking was like a second nature.

When you finish, you arrange the cookies neatly on a festive Christmas tray, wrapping the leftovers on a separate plate.

Morning arrives in a frantic blur, and you run around your apartment like a chicken with its head cut off, hurriedly getting ready. You overslept, again.

But even amidst the chaos, you don’t forget to return Eunwoo’s sugar. Leaving the sack at his door, along with the extra cookies you wrapped and a small thank-you note.

Later, when you return home, you’re pleased, and a little smug,

to see the cookies are gone.

Just as you said, no one can resist your chocolate chip cookies.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Resting your forehead against the steering wheel, you let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

You twist the key again. Nothing.

The engine sputters weakly before going completely silent. You’ve been at this for fifteen minutes now, desperately trying to beat the eight o’clock traffic, but that hope is officially dead.

You should’ve taken the weatherman more seriously when they said the snow was expected to pick up, with temperatures dropping low enough to freeze engines.

But that has never happened to you before. Plus you parked in the sheltered parking garage, so expected to be a-okay.

Man were you wrong.

Resting your forehead against the steering wheel, you let out a long, exasperated sigh.

Now you’re going to have to call in late to work, pray AAA or someone can get here fast enough, and hope they don’t charge you an arm and a l-

A sudden tap on the driver-side window scares you shitless, making you jump so hard you hit the horn.

Heart racing, you look out the glass, and freeze.

Eunwoo is standing there, gloved hands resting lightly against the glass, his breath fogging the window as he peers in, dark eyes filled with…concern?

“[+]? Are you okay?”

You smile weakly, rolling down the frosty window.

“Not really. My car won’t start and I don’t know why exactly,” you groan glancing at the clock. “And I have a feeling I may have to call out of work.”

He crouches down slightly, one large hand braced against the door as he studies you through the open window. He’s in his work uniform again, lunch bag slung over his shoulder, clearly on his way out.

“It’s probably the weather,” he says calmly. “Do you want me to take a look?”

You shake your head instinctively, lying through your teeth. “No, no. I already called a car service. They’re on the way.”

He hums, clearly unconvinced.

“With this snow, they won’t get here until the afternoon.” He meets your eyes. “I don’t mind checking it for you.”

You bite your lip, pride warring with desperation, before finally sighing. “…Okay.”

The moment you step out of the car, the cold bites straight through your coat, making you shiver.

“Here.” He his keys into your palm.

You stare at him confusingly.

“You can go sit in my car. Warm up. Hopefully this won’t take long.” His voice is light, friendly despite his neutral face.

You’re taken back by his hospitality but you don’t refute, knowing that will on prolong the process further.

“Th-thank you.”

You walk the short distance to his car across the lot, a rather expensive Mercedes that takes you an embarrassing long minute to operate.

Eunwoo didn’t seem the type to be flashy, but still somehow this car fits his vibe. A sleek black sedan with all the latest whistles and gadgets.

The leather interior is warm, the seat heater kicking in almost immediately. You sink back with a sigh, calling your job to explain the situation.

Fifteen minutes later, the driver’s door opens.

Eunwoo slides into the seat, placing both of your lunch bags in the back.

You don’t miss the action, eyes raising as you turn toward him. “So… were you not able to figure out what’s wrong with it?”

He nods once, fastening his seatbelt. “No, I did. It’s the engine. The damage isn’t permanent, but your car won’t be moving until the temperature rises.”

You stare at him confused, so he continues.

“Sometimes when the weather drops, the oil thickens,” he explains calmly. “It makes it harder for the engine to turn over, while also reducing the battery’s power.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, lips pursing as you absorb the information. Well… what the hell are you supposed to do now?

He glances at you, throat bobbing before he speaks. “I can give you a ride. To work. If you want.”

You shake your head quickly.

“No, I can’t ask that of you. I don’t want you to be late.”

“It’s no problem,” he says, already handing you his phone. “Just put the address in. I’ll get you there.”

You smile softly as you take it, warmth blooming in your chest at his easy insistence. His willingness surprises you, especially given how reserved he usually is, but you won’t complain.

Eunwoo intrigues you.

And this feels like the perfect chance to learn a little more.

You plug in the address and he takes off, one hand stirring as rests the other in his lap, tapping his thigh to the soft music in the background.

You gnaw at your lip, unsure how to break the silence. “Thank you again for the sugar the other night. I promise I won’t come knocking for anything else at ten p.m.,” you say.

He nods, “Oh, it’s no big deal. Glad I could help.”

“Did you like the cookies?” You ask, trying to remain casual, though you’re dying to know.

The ghost of smile graces his face again. “I did actually, thank you.”

“Yes!” You should animatedly. I knew you would, no one with good taste buds dislikes my cookies.” You shimmy in your seat, peeking a glance at him to see a full smirk on his face.

And man, Eunwoo is attractive already, but when he smiles. You feel like an anime character with heart eyes as you swoon.

He glances away quickly, back to the road much to your disappointed.

A comfortable silence settles between you, and you can tell Eunwoo seems more at ease now, shoulders relaxed, grip on the wheel loose.

“So… you’re pretty handy,” you say, glancing over at him. “You know stuff about Christmas lights and cars. Are you a mechanic? Or an engineer or something?”

He exhales softly, almost like he’s deciding how much to say.

“I’ve done both.”

Your brows lift in interest.

“I bounced around a lot,” he adds, eyes staying on the road. “Construction, auto shops, electrical work. Whatever paid and kept me busy.”

That tracks. Somehow, it really does.

“Now?” you prompt gently.

A pause. “Now I run my own company,” he says. “Small. Mostly maintenance and repairs. Residential, commercial. Stuff like this.”

You smile, impressed. “That’s… actually really cool.”

He shrugs, but there’s the faintest hint of pride there. “It keeps the lights on.”

And apparently fixes them, too.

His thumbs drum lightly against the steering wheel, his expression thoughtful. “What about you?” he asks. “What do you do?”

You brighten instantly, a little too excited that he’s asking. “I’m an editor for a publishing company.”

“Like… books?” he asks, glancing over at you.

“Yep! Romance, fantasy, thriller, you name it. I basically get paid to read all day and make grammatical edits.”

“You sound like you enjoy it,” he says.

“I do!” you reply easily. “I love literature, so it’s kind of a dream job. Plus, my coworkers are nice and the benefits are great.”

“That’s good,” he says simply.

You nod, smiling to yourself.

Talking to Eunwoo is nice, surprisingly so, even if it is just small talk. His voice is soothing, deep but comforting, slowly unraveling a feeling you really shouldn’t be developing for your neighbor.

The car slows much sooner than you’d like, and you struggle to hide your disappointment as he pulls up in front of your building.

“Thank you so much Eunwoo for giving me a ride, and checking out my car. I hope I didn’t make you too late.”

He shakes his head. “You’re fine, the guys can get started without me. He stares at you for a long moment. “…What time do you get off work.”

“Four-thirty,” you answer. “Though I’ll probably stay an extra hour to make up the time. Why?”

“I’ll be here.”

Your eyes widen comically.

“Oh,no! You’ve already done enough! I can get an Uber—”

“I’ll be here, Y/N,” he says gently but firmly. “Have a good day at work.”

He drives off, leaving you standing there, gaping like a fish out of water.

You watch his car disappear down the street.

What are you going to do about Eunwoo?

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

“Girl, why do you keep picking these cheesy ass holiday movies with the same three terrible actors.” Mahogany your best friend complains, crunching on a candy cane as she glares at the credits.

She’s been plucking them straight off your Christmas tree since she arrived, and by the looks of it, there won’t be a single one left by the end of the night.

Kam laughs, flicking her lightly on the forehead. “Stop complaining, Mo. You know this is her favorite time of year. Let her have her moment.”

Mahogany pouts, rubbing her forehead as Kam leans in to kiss it, rolling his eyes dramatically. You can’t help but smile at their antics.

The two of them have been pining after each other since high school. You playing full-time Cupid and professional third wheeler, dragging their scared asses together.

And despite how aggressively single they make you feel sometimes, you’re genuinely happy they found their way to each other. Their story a living proof that true love actually exists.

You sigh softly, scratching Cashew behind the ears. Your time will come. Eventually.

“Fine,” you say, tossing Mahogany the remote, far away from her baby bump. “You can pick the next movie. Just, please let it be Christmas related.”

She sighs dramatically, like you’ve personally wronged her.

You head toward the kitchen, ready to refill your hot chocolate, when a knock sounds at the door.

That must be the food delivery.

You hurry over, stomach growling as you swinging the door open, completely unprepared for who’s standing on the other side.

Eunwoo.

He’s dressed in workout clothes, a fitted compression top that leaves very little to the imagination. His hair is damp, strands slightly disheveled signaling he just finished up, and he’s holding your food out toward you.

For a moment, you forget how to speak.

“Hey,” he says, glancing briefly past you at the guests settled on your couch. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt. I saw this sitting at your door and figured I’d give it to you. I’m not sure how long it was left out here.”

He nudges the bag of takeout, pulling you out of your unholy thoughts as you take the bag from him.

“Oh, thank you!” You say, voice higher than necessary. A small pause settles between you, awkward but not unpleasant. You shift your weight, nerves buzzing.

“Um… I’m just watching some Christmas movies with friends, if you want to join. We ordered a shit ton of food, so there’s more than enough if you’re hungry.”

You immediately feel like you’re rambling, but it’s out there now.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks.

“No, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he says, already stepping back. “Plus, I’m all sweaty and stuff.”

“Oh.” You try to keep your voice light despite the disappointment curling in your chest. “I mean, you wouldn’t be intruding, but I get it. Have a good night.”

He nods, lips pressed into a thin line, and you close the door.

You carry the food back into the living room, forcing yourself to shake off the rejection. It was silly to think you and Eunwoo had grown close enough to hang out. Sure, he’d driven you to work a few times, but that was all.

“About time!” Mahogany says, immediately reaching for the bags. “This baby has me starving.”

You laugh, setting everything out and sliding a plate toward her. Leave it to Mo to lift your mood without even trying.

An hour passes with the three of you sharing dishes and half-watching The Best Man Holiday. Mo never misses an opportunity to tease you about your love for cheesy Christmas movies, yet here she is, reciting almost every line like from memory.

Kam jumps up during the Can You Stand The Rain scene, dancing along dramatically as you and Mo burst out laughing.

“Kam, I’ll be glad when you finally find the beat,” you tease.

“I dance to my own beat, thank you,” he rebuttals, gyrating his hips with full confidence.

A knock sounds at the door, almost drowned out by Mahogany’s loud laughter.

“Ooo, you bringing someone else to the party?” Kam teases, rolling his chest dramatically as Mo lets out a whistle.

“You guys are some fools,” you mutter, shaking your head as you stand. “No, I don’t know who would be knocking at this time of night.”

You head for the door anyway, peeking through the peephole.

Eunwoo stands on the other side, shifting on his feet. He’s changed now, in comfortable looking sweatsuits, fluffy blow dried hair falling against the frames of his glasses.

Your breath stutters. What is he doing back here?

You open the door, and his eyes immediately find yours.

“Sorry, were we too loud?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder as you wave at the cackling couple to quiet down.

Eunwoo shakes his head quickly. “No, no. It’s not that.” He scratches the back of his neck, gaze drifting away for a moment before returning to you. “I was just… wondering if the offer was still open. For me to join you all.”

You can’t help the smile that grows on your face. Over the moon he changed his mind.

God, you’re so easy.

You step aside, opening the door wider and gesturing him in.

“Of course. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to my friends.”

He nods, slipping off his shoes as he follows you deeper into your apartment.

“Guys, this is Eunwoo, my neighbor from across the hall,” you announce. “He’s joining us for our Christmas movie marathon.”

You pointedly ignore Mahogany’s knowing smile and Kam’s aggressively wiggling eyebrows as they introduce themselves. You are definitely hearing about this later.

“Nice to meet you,” Eunwoo says, offering a small, polite smile.

You shift on the couch, making room for him beside you. Though once he sits, it feels as if the couch shrinks, appearing comically small compared to his larger frame.

You swallow pretending not to notice.

The movie ends somewhere between shared laughs and Mahogany’s random reenactments. Another starting right after, playing softly in the background as conversation drifts in and out. Kam asking Eunwoo any and everything about his company.

Of course Eunwoo’s still pretty shy, answers short and polite. But you don’t blame him as Kam can be a talker.

By the time the credits roll again, Mahogany lets out a wide yawn, stretching her arms over her head. “Okay, I’m officially movied out for the night,” she announces.

Kam chuckles, already standing. “That’s our cue.”

You walk them to the door amid hugs and gentle rubs to Mahogany’s belly, promising to do this again soon. When the door finally closes behind them, the apartment grows noticeably quieter.

Just you. And Eunwoo.

“You can pick the next movie,” you call from the kitchen as you prepare him a drink.

He doesn’t answer, but the Netflix previews change, confirming he heard you. You smile to yourself, happy he decided to stay.

When you return, you hand him a mug of hot chocolate, dusted with cinnamon and cocoa.

“Oh, thank you,” he says, accepting it with a small smile.

You watch as he takes a sip, warmth blooming in your chest when he goes back for another. “Good?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Really good, [+]. Thank you,” he replies, that familiar shy smile making another appearance.

You nod, turning your attention to the TV just as recognition sparks. “How the Grinch Stole Christmas? A classic. I wasn’t expecting you to pick this out of everything up there.”

“It was one of my favorite American Christmas movies as a kid,” he shrugs, ducking behind his mug like it might shield him.

You laugh softly. When Eunwoo isn’t being the sexy, mysterious neighbor, he’s… cute. The duality is almost unfair.

A comfortable silence settles as the movie plays, the glow from the screen washing over the room. It doesn’t last long before curiosity gets the better of you.

“What made you decide to come back?” you ask.

He glances over. “Come back?”

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes. “You turned me down earlier… then changed your mind. Why?”

He sets his almost-empty mug on the coffee table, clearing his throat.

“I… don’t really do stuff like this,” he admits, eyes fixed on the TV though the scene has long faded into background noise. “Dropping in on people. Being social.”

You stay quiet, letting him have the space.

“But when I got back to my apartment,” he continues, fingers lacing together, “it was too quiet. And I kept thinking about how you looked when I said no.”

Your breath catches.

“Not upset,” he adds quickly. “Just… disappointed.” He finally looks at you then, something open and sincere in his gaze. “I didn’t like being the reason for that.”

“So,” he exhales softly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, “I figured I’d stop over. If the offer was still there.”

You nod slowly, not expecting his blunt sincerity. “Well, I’m glad you changed your mind. I enjoy your company Eunwoo.”

His eyes soften at that, something fond passing through them.

“I appreciate that [+], I-I enjoy yours as well.”

The admission hangs between you, fragile but warm. You unable to stop yourself from laughing at his shy demeanor.

He shifts slightly on the couch, long legs adjusting until his knee brushes yours. Accidentally of course, but neither of you moves away.

Something shifts between you tonight. The harsh platonic line of “just neighbors” starting to blur.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You and Eunwoo start running into each other more often after that night. Almost too often to be coincidence.

In the mornings, it’s in the hallway as you’re fumbling with your keys and he’s locking up, coffee already in hand. In the evenings, it’s by the elevators, gift bags cutting into your fingers while he wordlessly takes half the weight from you. Sometimes it’s in the parking garage, sometimes by the mailboxes, sometimes just outside your doors like the universe is nudging you together.

And Eunwoo doesn’t shy away either.

He lingers now. Asking about your day or if you’ve eaten. Remembering small details about your routine, your coworkers, and your unreasonable hatred for early mornings.

He tells you small things too. About a client running late, a project taking longer than expected, how his dog, Dongdongie, refuses to sleep anywhere but his side of the bed.

It was during one of your spontaneous conversations that Eunwoo admitted how he’d never been ice skating.

You’d been rambling about how the local rink finally opened for the season, how you couldn’t wait to break in your new skates, when he slips it in quietly, almost as an afterthought.

“I’ve… never gone,” he says.

You stop mid-sentence. “What? Wait—no. Absolutely not. Now we have to go. I need to break your ice-skating virginity,” you blurt, voice echoing a little too loudly down the hall.

His ears turn pink immediately as he looks away, embarrassed but smiling. “I mean… I’m down,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just don’t know how good I’ll be.”

“Perfect! It’s a date—” you pause, eyes widening. “I mean, not a date date. Just like… an outing. A friendly outing.”

You laugh nervously, waving your hands as if that somehow fixes it.

Eunwoo watches you, the corners of his mouth lifts. “An outing,” he repeats, amused.

“Exactly. An outing,” you nod quickly, relief washing over you.

He chuckles under his breath, a soft sound. “Okay,” he says. “An outing sounds good.”

So that’s how you end up here, standing in the middle of your walk-in closet, irritated as fuck because you can’t figure out what to wear for your “outing.”

You don’t want to look as casual as you usually do, but you also don’t want to try too hard. You want something memorable. This is the first time you and Eunwoo are hanging out outside of your apartment complex, which means it matters, even if you keep telling yourself it doesn’t.

It has to be perfect.

At least your hair is cooperating. Your twist-out came out flawless, juicy curls bouncing at your shoulders every time you move. Your soft glam is on point too, the new blush you picked up complementing your skin beautifully.

Now if only your outfit would get the memo.

You try on six different outfits before finally settling on skinny jeans that hug your curves just right, a cream sweater, matching leg warmers, and your winter boots. A quick shrug into your pea coat, a scarf tossed around your neck, and you’re rushing out the door.

Eunwoo leans casually against the wall across the hall, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s been waiting, because he has.

It looks like he decided to dress up too. A blue cable-knit sweater and dark jeans sit neatly beneath his puffer coat. While he’d looked hot in his work uniform, there’s something about seeing him like this, relaxed, intentional, that makes him even more handsome.

Your heart gives an embarrassing little flip.

“Sorry I’m late, I uh, couldn’t find my other boot,” you lie giving him an apologetic smile.

He shakes his head smiling. “It’s all good, I didn’t wait too long.” You nod at that, the two of you heading to the parking garage.

When you reach Eunwoo’s car he opens the passenger seat for you. “Aw, thank you,” you murmur shyly, slipping inside.

He closes the door carefully before circling the car, settling into the driver’s seat a moment later. The engine hums to life, warmth slowly filling the cabin as he adjusts the heat.

“So,” he says after a beat, glancing over at you briefly, “you skate often?”

“Every winter,” you grin. “I’m not Olympic-level or anything, but I can stay upright most of the time. That’s a win in my book.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, shoulders relaxing. “Good. Falling in front of you now feels a little less…embarrassing.”

“Oh don’t worry,” you tease, buckling your seatbelt. “I fall all the time. It builds character.”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself as he pulls out of the garage.

Snow lines the streets. Streetlights glowing softly against the white as the city passes by in a calm blur. There’s something comforting about riding in Eunwoo’s car. No rushed movements, no loud music, just the steady rhythm of the road and his intoxicating signature scent.

You steal a glance at him.

His hands are relaxed on the steering wheel, sleeves of his sweater pushed up just enough to reveal his wrists. You gulp at the faint veins tracing along his skin, forcing yourself to look away.

Eunwoo is your type on paper, and being around him more only continues to confirm it.

But this isn’t your average dating situation. This is your neighbor. From across the hall. Which means you can’t let things get awkward or sticky. You have to play it safe.

Thankfully, the drive to the rink is short, giving you a much-needed break from your spiraling thoughts.

The cold bites the moment you step out of the car, and you tug your scarf tighter around your neck. Your gaze drifts to the rink, a slow smirk curves your lips.

Practically empty. Perfect.

You and Eunwoo sit side by side as you lace up your skates, your fingers fumbling with the knot thanks to the thick gloves crowding your fingertips.

Noticing your struggle, Eunwoo shifts closer, then drops to a knee in front of you. Your breath catches as he gently takes the lace from your fingers, working it tight with practiced ease.

“Tight enough?” he asks, glancing up at you.

You can only nod, not quite trusting your voice.

He straightens and offers you a hand, steadying you as you stand. Together, the two of you hobble toward the ice, skates scraping awkwardly against the concrete.

You step on first, confidence slowly returning as muscle memory kicks in. The ice feels familiar beneath your blades, solid and smooth as you test your balance.

Eunwoo hesitates behind you, one hand gripping the railing like a lifeline.

“Are you okay?” you giggle, earning a stiff nod from Eunwoo just as a little girl skates past him with effortless ease.

He watches her glide by, wonder filling his eyes.

“Do you mind if I do a quick lap?” you ask lightly. “Just to break the rust off.”

He gives you a soft glare, lips pressing together cutely. “Don’t forget about me,” he says hoarsely, nose tinged pink from the cold.

You laugh, skating backward for a moment. “How could I?”

You push off, blades cutting into the ice. It’s shaky at first, legs wobbling until muscle memory kicks in halfway through the lap, confidence blooming in your chest as you circle the rink.

Eunwoo stays glued to the railing, wobbling as he watches you with cautious eyes.

When you glide back to his side, you slow to a stop. “Okay! Ready to learn how to skate?”

He gulps, fingers tightening around the rail as he tries to stay upright. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, entirely unconvincing.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so completely out of his element, and you almost feel bad for how much you’re enjoying it. He looks like a baby deer learning how to stand.

Patiently, you demonstrate how to angle your feet, apply pressure as you push off, and engage your core to maintain balance.

He mirrors you from the safety of the railing, moving cautiously while you skate alongside him.

“Exactly! Just like that!” you beam as he starts to find his footing.

“Now let go of the railing and try it on your own.”

He shoots you a playful glare, the very idea throwing him off balance.

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh, holding out your gloved hand.“Come on, Eunwoo. I’ve got you..”

He stares at it for a long moment, clearly weighing his options. Then, slowly, he reaches out and laces his larger hand with yours, grip tight as he finally lets go of the railing.

“Move slowly,” he murmurs. “Please.”

You laugh softly, pushing off just enough to guide him forward. You move slowly at first, your grip firm but gentle as you skate, eyes locked on his face.

“That’s it,” you encourage. “Small steps. You’re doing great.”

His shoulders loosen little by little, tension melting as he starts to trust his balance, trust you. His grip on your hand eases, no longer a lifeline but something steady.

“See?” you grin. “You’re a natural.”

He scoffs softly, a hint of pride creeping into his expression. “I don’t know about that, but… I think I’m getting it.”

And then, emboldened by the success, he pushes off just a little harder.

“Eunwoo—” you warn.

His skate catches awkwardly, confidence turning into panic in an instant. His eyes widen as his balance slips completely.

He reaches for you on instinct.

You barely have time to yelp before he’s pulling you with him, the world tilting as the ice rushes up to meet you.

You land with a soft thud, breath knocked from your lungs, but not painfully. Eunwoo hits the ice first, arms reflexively wrapping around you to cushion the fall.

Sprawled on top of him, you brace your palms against his chest, faces far closer than they should be.

For a second, neither of you moves.

The rink noise fades, replaced by the sound of his breathing beneath you. l. Your own heart hammers as you register the solid warmth of him under your gloves, the way his hands are still holding you, protective even now.

“I—” he exhales. “Are you okay?”

You blink, then bust out laughing, unable to help yourself as nod, tears in your eyes.

His lips twitch, holding his own laugh as he smiles at you. “I guess I got a little too bold,” he admits bashfully, causing you to wheeze harder.

You should move. You know you should.

But for just a moment longer, you don’t.

You stay there, tangled together on the ice, staring into each other’s eyes as you both try to catch your breath.

Eventually, you scramble up, brushing snow from your knees. Eunwoo follows far less gracefully, grumbling under his breath as he pushes himself upright.

It takes some convincing, and a lot of reassurance, but he agrees to keep skating. Slowly, carefully, until his confidence returns.

The two of you stay until the rink finally closes, determined not to let the fall be the end of it.

By the time you make it back to the apartment complex, you’re both exhausted, legs sore from skating, faces aching from smiling too much.

“We should do that again,” you say casually, leaning against your doorframe with your skates slung over your shoulder.

Eunwoo lifts a playful brow. “I think I’m all skated out for the year,” he says, then hesitates. “But… if you think of anything else, you can text me.”

He looks away immediately, ears turning pink.

“Smooth,” you tease, grinning as you fold your arms across your chest. “But how exactly am I supposed to do that without your number?”

He freezes. Then, quietly, he reaches for his phone.

A beat passes before he holds it out to you, wordlessly giving you permission. You take it, fingers brushing his as you enter your number and send yourself a text.

When you hand it back, he smiles softly down at the screen. “I had fun tonight, [+].”

Elated to hear that, warmth blooms in your chest, heat spreading through you. “Me too, Eunwoo.”

Unsure who should turn in first, you bow out gracefully, wishing him a good night before slipping back into your apartment. You rest your head against the door, letting out a slow breath.

Oh you are so screwed.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You giggle a little too loudly at your phone, earning a curious look from your nosy work neighbor, Jake, who peeks over the top of his cubicle.

You mouth a quick sorry before grabbing your phone and slipping out onto the balcony, thumbs tapping furiously against the screen as the cold air bites at your cheeks.

Ever since exchanging numbers with Eunwoo, you’ve discovered another endearing trait about him.

He’s unintentionally funny.

Not in a try-hard, dad-jokes kind of way. But in a dry, perfectly timed, says-the-most-unexpected-thing way. The kind that catches you off guard and pulls laughs out of you when you least expect it.

The two of you have been texting more and more. Awkward at first, stilted replies, polite emojis, but slowly, the ice cracked. Each conversation revealing more of him. His humor. His thoughtfulness. The parts he didn’t show at first.

Before you even realized it, texting Eunwoo had become part of your routine. You looked forward to his messages when you woke up, during lunch breaks, and again when you got off work.

You felt ridiculous. Giddy. Like a schoolgirl waiting for a notification from her crush.

The thought sobers you slightly.

You straighten up, exhaling as you pocket your phone, forcing yourself to reel it in before it drifts any further.

You had to get a grip.

You make a promise to yourself not to reply to Eunwoo until you’re back in the security of your apartment, where no one but your four walls can witness your random outbursts.

Though, of course, upon returning home, you run into the very cause of your manic laughter. Lugging a Christmas tree into his apartment.

“You’re a little late putting your Christmas tree up, don’t you think?” you tease, catching his attention. “Need some help?”

“Could you get the door for me?” he asks, voice strained as he tosses you his keys.

The moment the door opens, Dongdongie sprints out, nails clicking against the floor as she barks at your feet.

You laugh, holding the door open while Eunwoo maneuvers the tree inside, your gaze drifting.

His apartment mirrors yours in layout, just inverted, dark furniture, clean lines, everything meticulously in its place. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, warm and grounding.

You watch as he uprights the Christmas tree in the corner of living room. You would help, but he didn’t really invite you into his apartment, so you deem the safest option is to hang awkwardly by the entrance.

Once the tree is positioned to his liking, Eunwoo rests his hands on his hips, looking at you. “How does it look?”

“Great,” you say honestly, tilting your head. “Though it could be fluffed a little.”

He scratches the back of his neck, a touch sheepish. “I’m not really good at that… if you aren’t busy, could you help me?”

“Sure!” You answer immediately, slipping out of your work flats and setting your purse on the counter.

You probably should feel a little embarrassed about how quickly you jump at the chance to stay longer with Eunwoo.

You don’t.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, fluffing branches and adjusting gaps while trading small details about your day. Somewhere between fixing bent needles and stepping back to assess your progress, Eunwoo mentions that he doesn’t usually decorate for Christmas.

“But this year,” he adds quietly, glancing at you, “I had a change of heart.”

Curiosity stirs, your face warming as you turn the words over in your head.

Was he talking about you?

You shove the thought aside before it can take root. “So,” you say lightly, clapping your hands once, “what’s next? Are you actually going to decorate the tree?”

“I was thinking we let it replicate its natural state,” he says in faux seriousness.

You squint at him. “You didn’t buy ornaments, did you?”

He shakes his head, sheepish. “No…”

You laugh. “Wait right here.”

Darting across the hall, you grabbing the box of leftover ornaments from your apartment before returning to Eunwoo’s. Setting it down on his coffee table with a soft thud.

“Wow, [+],” he says, eyes widening. “That’s a lot. I couldn’t possibly take all of these.”

“Of course you can. My tree doesn’t need them,” you say with a reassuring smile. “And it’s better they get put to use than collect dust.”

You inch toward the door, already picturing his tree in your head. “Just send me pictures of how it turns out, okay?”

“You’re not going to help me?” he asks, brows lifting. “I mean, if you’re busy, I understand, but I figured there’s no one better to decorate a Christmas tree than the Christmas connoisseur herself.”

There it is. The smirk.

You fight your own smile, attempting to act nonchalant. “I mean, I guess I can spare you a couple more minutes of my time.”

He laughs, warm and genuine, and you find yourself joining in. Decorating becomes effortless, the two of you settling into a shared focus that feels strangely domestic. Eunwoo pauses often, holding up an ornament for your approval.

“Here?” he asks.

“Lower. Balance it out,” you instruct, stepping closer to fix it yourself.

Before you know it, the tree is glowing. Soft lights reflecting off the ornaments, filling the room with a quiet warmth. You step back, hands on your hips, admiring your work.

“All that’s left is the star,” you announce.

Eunwoo looks up at the top of the tree… then down at you. Then around his apartment.

“I don’t think I have a stool,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well,” You pause, gauging his height. “You’re probably tall enough to reach.”

He grimaces, “Yeah but I don’t have a nack for placement like you do.”

There’s a beat. Then Eunwoo exhales softly, almost like he’s bracing himself.

“I can lift you,” he offers, voice careful. “If that’s okay.”

Your heart flips inside your chest, but you nod before you can overthink it. “Yeah. Okay.”

He steps closer, tentative at first. “Just tell me where to put my hands.”

“Uh… my waist is fine.” You breathe out.

His palms settle there, warm and firm even through the fabric of your sweater. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you say, gripping the star.

He lifts you with surprising ease, and suddenly you’re eye level with the top of the tree. Your breath catching as you realize just how close you are to him. Your knees brush his chest, his hands firm and steady, grounding you.

“Take your time,” he murmurs.

You reach up, carefully placing the star into position, adjusting it until it sits just right.

“Got it,” you whisper and Eunwoo lowers you back to the ground, but his hands linger. Still firm at your waist, anchoring you there. Eyes locked on yours, dark and unreadable.

Everything else seems to fade. The lights. The tree. The quiet hum of his apartment. His stare almost invasive, yet you don’t pull away.

Your eyes trace the arch of his brows, the bridge of his nose, the dip of his cupids bow, the curve to his lips. Everything about Eunwoo is mesmerizing, to the point where you don’t even realize you’re leaning in.

But then Dongdongie barks.

The sound snaps you both out of it. Eunwoo’s hands drop immediately, like he’s been burned, and you take a step back, heart racing.

“Shit! Cashew is probably pawing at the door right now,” you blurt, heading to the entrance, grabbing your purse. “It’s time for his walk.”

You’re talking too fast. Moving too fast. You need space before you do something you can’t undo.

“Yeah,” Eunwoo says, voice rough as he looks away. “Thank you for your help, [+]. I’ll… see you.”

You pause at the door, glancing back at him once more before nodding. “Anytime.”

And then you’re gone, leaving behind a perfectly decorated tree, and a moment that hangs in the air long after the door clicks shut.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

“Wait, so you almost kissed him after decorating a Christmas tree?” Mahogany snorts, tossing snacks into the cart. “Who knew tree toppers were your kink. I know you’re a Christmas freak, but I didn’t expect it to manifest like this.”

“Stop,” you groan, pushing the cart forward. “This isn’t funny.”

It very much is, judging by her grin.

The two of you weave through the crowded aisles, grabbing last-minute supplies for your annual Christmas Eve party while you unload the latest drama of your life.

Your very inconvenient crush on Eunwoo.

“He hasn’t texted me since then,” you admit, voice dropping. “And I swear he’s been dodging me in person. I think I might’ve messed everything up.”

Mahogany stops the cart dead and fixes you with a look.

“[+], stop being dramatic,” she says flatly. “The man is shy. You two almost kissed in his living room. He’s probably still replaying it in his head on a loop.”

She tosses a bag of pretzels into the cart like punctuation. “That, or he’s just as confused as you are. I mean, you did flee the scene before you could talk about it.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping as you start walking again. “I was scared ok, I didn’t want to make things worse, or make a fool of myself. I just hate not knowing where I stand.”

“I know,” she says more gently, bumping the cart into your hip. “But if you really want clarity, send him an invite to your party. At least then you can talk to him in a space where there’s no pressure.”

You mull over her words, knowing she’s right. You can’t keep spiraling through mixed signals and unresolved tension.

Exhaling slowly, you pull out your phone and send him an invite, heart thudding as you hit send.

Christmas Eve arrives, and you’re a jittery mess.

You dart around your apartment, hanging last-minute decorations, adding garnish to appetizers, fluffing pillows that don’t need fluffing. Anything to keep your hands busy.

Anything to distract you from the conversation you know is coming.

Eunwoo agreed to swing by your party tonight, and your stomach has been in knots ever since. You don’t know if his yes means friendly, polite… or something else entirely.

But either way, you needed this conversation to happen.

Once everything is set up to your liking, you retreat to your room to get ready. You take your time at your vanity, perfecting your makeup, unraveling your freshly done silk press, and slipping into your deep V-cut sweater dress.

By the time you step back into the living room, fully glammed and glowing, guests are already trickling in.

Kam and Mo arrive first, of course. Loud, laughing, and already making themselves at home. They’re followed by some of your coworkers, workout buddies, and friends from college. Your apartment slowly filling with chatter, music, and the warmth of the season.

Like a switch, you flip into hosting mode, determined to make sure everyone is having a good time. Popping champagne, tagging in on karaoke, and keeping Kam far away from the buzzed eggnog.

You try to stay present, you really do, but your eyes keep drifting back to the door, half-expecting it to open at any second.

“Relax,” Mo says, waddling up beside you as she steals a cracker from the charcuterie board you’re fussing over. “He’ll come. He literally lives across the hall. He literally can’t miss it.”

You pout. “Exactly. He lives across the hall. He only has to take, like, two steps—”

The door opens.

Your words dying in your throat as Eunwoo peeks his head inside, scanning the room until his gaze lands on you. When it does, his expression softens, and he steps in fully, closing the door behind him.

You inhale sharply.

Eunwoo looks… really good.

His hair is slicked back neatly, a crisp button-down tucked into slacks. In one hand, he holds a bottle of wine; in the other, a small gift bag.

“See,” Mo murmurs smugly, snatching the tray from your hands before waddling off again.

He walks toward you slowly, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I couldn’t figure out what kind of wine you’d like.” He holds the bottle out to you.

You take it with a soft smile. “Thank you, Eunwoo. You really didn’t have to bring anything.”

He shrugs, bashful, and the two of you just stand there, hovering in that familiar, awkward limbo.

“So—” you both start at the same time.

You laugh softly, Eunwoo chuckling along, the tension easing just a bit.

“You go first,” he insists, and you take a deep breath.

“Okay… I just wanted to clear the air about last week. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable when I—uh—tried to kiss you. I know it was sudden, and I’m really sorry if it caught you off guard.”

You search his eyes for a hint of his thoughts, but he just stares at you, which only spikes your anxiety. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you this Christmas, and I hope I didn’t screw anything up with my actions, or read things the wrong way.”

He takes a careful step forward, and you instinctively step back, mouth snapping shut as your back press against the counter. “Here,” he says, holding out the gift bag to you.

You take the bag, fingers brushing his as you tug it closer. “You didn’t have to get me a gift Eunwoo.”

He glances away, throat clearing as he speaks. “I saw this and thought you’d like it since you enjoy drinks like hot chocolate and stuff.”

Curious, you ruffle through the bag, pulling out a porcelain mug. Printed on it is a candid photo of the two of you at the ice rink, mid-laugh, skating hand in hand on the ice.

“How … how do you get this?” you ask, astonished, holding it up.

He shifts his weight slightly, hands tucking into his pockets, voice calm. “When you went to the bathroom that day, one of the rink photographers came by and asked if I wanted to see the pictures he took of us. I thought they looked nice, so I bought one and got it printed on a mug.”

You stare at the mug in awe, cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling.

“Do you like it?” He asks, staring at you intensely.

You meet his gaze, nodding as your heartbeat quickens. “I love it…but what does it mean?”

Eunwoo exhales softly, a small, deliberate smile tugging at his lips. “It means that you have nothing to worry about, [+]. I feel the same way about you.”

He sets the mug on the counter and slides his hand into yours, his thumb brushing lightly across your palm. “I’ll admit, I’ve been a little distant the past few days, trying to work things out in my head. I was scared to mess things up too.”

Your heartbeat quickens.

“From every little interaction we shared, I could feel my feelings growing for you. And that kind of freaked me out, especially since I didn’t know where your head was at.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue. “But when you almost kissed me that day,” he continues, voice steady, “I realized I didn’t want to keep guessing. I just needed a minute to be brave enough to meet you where you were.”

Your throat tightens.

“I was scared,” he admits, glancing away for a brief moment before looking back at you. “Not of you—of how much I like you. How easy it feels. I didn’t want to rush it and ruin what we have building between us.”

Your chest blooms with warmth, emotion pressing behind your ribs.

“I thought you were pulling away,” you whisper. “I didn’t know if I imagined everything.”

“You didn’t,” he says immediately. “Not for a second.”

Smiling, you pull him into a hug. His arms wrap around you without hesitation, warm and sure. With your head against his chest, you can feel how fast his heart is beating. Matching your own.

A camera shutter snaps, yanking you back to reality.

“Aww, look at the Christmas miracle unfolding before us,” Mahogany snickers as Kam snaps another photo.

“Guys,” you start, turning to glare at them, but Eunwoo only laughs, one hand rubbing soothing circles into your back.

“What?” Kam shrugs. “We’re just preserving memories. Your kids are gonna want to see these.”

Your face heats instantly. “Oh my god—”

They scatter before you can finish, laughter echoing in the living room.

“I’m so sorry about them,” you mutter, mortified. “They always have to be weird and ruin a good moment.”

Eunwoo’s hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. He shakes his head, eyes soft. “The moment isn’t ruined,” he says gently. “I want you, [+]. And everything that comes with you. Even your crazy friends.”

“We heard that!” Mahogany shouts.

You both laugh.

“Should we… get back to the party?” you ask.

He nods, fingers threading through yours.

The rest of the night unfolds easier than you expected.

Eunwoo stays close, your fingers brushing more than once as you move through the apartment together. You introduce him to everyone. And though he’s still reserved, he warms up quickly. Polite smiles turn into quiet laughter, short answers turn into thoughtful conversation.

Kam takes an immediate liking to him, looping him into a debate about the best Christmas movie soundtrack. Mahogany corners him at one point, nodding approvingly like she’s conducting a silent background check. Whatever she sees must pass, because she gives you a subtle thumbs-up from across the room.

You catch Eunwoo watching you when he thinks you’re not looking. The way you laugh too loud. The way you move through the room like you belong everywhere at once. And when your eyes meet, he doesn’t look away this time.

At some point, someone gasps near the window.

“Wait! Oh my god, it’s snowing.”

That gets everyone moving.

Coats are grabbed, shoes hastily slipped on, champagne flutes abandoned on the counter as the party spills outside in a mess of laughter and excitement. Snow drifts down slow and soft, dusting hair and shoulders, turning the night quiet in that magical way only snowfall can.

You step out beside Eunwoo, breath fogging in the cold. He tilts his head up slightly, watching the snow fall, something thoughtful settling over his expression.

“I know it’s not the first snow of the season,” he says, almost sheepish. “But back home, people say the first snow you share with someone is a sign of good fortune and lasting love.

Your heart skips. “Is that so?”

He nods, turning to you, eyes steady and sincere. Snow gathers in his hair, lashes dusted white.

“Well then I hope the tradition rings true.” You say, stepping closer.

The words land slowly, deliberately.

Eunwoo’s gloved hand lifts, hesitating just long enough to give you time to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean in, closing the space between you.

His breath mingles with yours, warm against the cold, and when his lips finally meet yours it’s gentle. Testing. Like he’s asking a question with the press of his mouth.

You answer by kissing him back.

The second kiss is deeper, surer. His hands settle at your waist, pulling you tighter as snowflakes melt between you. You rest your hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath your palms.

Kissing Eunwoo is better than everything you imagined. Unhurried, warm, the faint sweetness of peppermint lingering on his tongue as it brushes against yours. The cold around you fades, leaving only the warmth of him, the snow, and this perfect moment suspended in time.

When you finally pull back just enough to breathe, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling. His gaze meets yours, soft and steady.

“I’m so glad I ran into you that day on the elevator,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know it then, but that was the start of something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

You smile, heart full. “Me too.”

He takes your hand, fingers intertwining with yours, and gives a gentle squeeze. “Here’s to our first snow… and to many more.”

As the snow continues to fall around you, quiet and soft, you can’t help but think how unexpected life can be. Who knew the best gift you could ask for had been across from you this whole time?

“See?” you whisper, rising to your feet. “I told you. Piece of cake.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get inside,” Yoongi grumbles. “We won’t have long before the backup alarm goes off. I’m sure they have one in place somewhere.”

You exchange a quick look with the others, Jae already unclipping his harness, Mina tugging her gloves into place, and give a small, sure nod. Team choreography. No wasted moves. No heroics. You hook the line, test the tension, then cut the circle of glass cleanly, the cutter whispering like a knife through silk.

One by one you drop. Gravity swallows you for a breath, then the floor rushes up. Marble cool and unforgiving beneath your boots. Statues stand like witnesses; their blank faces are a chorus of stone.

“West wing,” Jae whispers. “Two portraits. Crate’s in the northwest storeroom. Move.”

You glide through aisles of gilded frames and placards. Labels in neat serif type that mean nothing to the work of your hands. Flashlight beams slice at dust motes; your reflection in a display case skims past, impossible and blurred. The thrill flares sharp and hot behind your ribs. You breathe steady. You work fast.

Everything goes according to plan.

Until it doesn’t.

You’re halfway through securing the last of the crates when the sharp echo of footsteps slices through the silence. Not the quick, coordinated rhythm of your team’s boots, these are heavier, slower, deliberate.

Your head snaps up. “Yoongi,” you whisper into your earpiece. “Tell me that’s you.”

Static. Then a low curse. “Negative. Security must’ve doubled their night staff. Get out of there. Now.”

You scan the shadowy exhibits, pulse racing. “No time. Split up. Grab what you can and head to the van. I’ll meet you.”

“Y/N—”

But you’ve taken off, moving fast and quiet down the nearest hall. Glass cases and marble busts blur in your peripheral as you slip into an unmarked door and shut it behind you.

The air inside is colder, heavier. Like the room hasn’t been touched in months. Dust motes drift lazily through the narrow beam of your flashlight as you pace the room softly, eyes sweeping over the walls for any sign of cameras or motion sensors. Nothing.

Once you’re sure it’s safe, you let out a shaky breath and slide down the nearest wall, the adrenaline slowly bleeding out of your system. The edge of your jacket catches on something behind you, tugging a heavy drape loose. It crumples to the ground in a cloud of dust, sending you into a fit of coughing.

“Shit,” you hiss, waving a hand in front of your face.

When the air clears, your flashlight catches on what the fabric had been hiding.

A painting, regal and strangely pristine compared to everything else in the archive.

And the subject…

You suck in a breath.

It’s a man half-reclined against a dark backdrop, skin like marble dusted with gold, a thin sheet draped low across his hips. His eyes, heavy-lidded and smoldering brown, seem to follow your every movement, unsettlingly aware. Midnight-black hair falls in soft waves around his face, framing sculpted cheekbones and full, plush lips that curve into the faintest smirk.

You blink once. Twice.

He’s beautiful. Unnervingly so.

You can’t tear your eyes away. Every brushstroke, every shadow, every detail of him seems almost… alive. You’ve seen plenty of portraits before, but this was on another level.

The way his gaze holds you, the subtle tension in his posture, the curve of what lies beneath the drapery. It’s impossible to look away.

Minutes slip by before a voice cracks through your earpiece, sharp and low. “Y/N. Move. Now.”

Right. You had to go.

You turn for the exit, ready to disappear into the night, but your gaze catches on the painting once more, and your feet refuse to move.

You can’t leave it behind. Not after seeing him. It’s too beautiful to sit forgotten in this dusty room, too captivating to let rot in the dark.

With a sharp inhale, you cross the floor, drape in hand. The fabric slips over the frame as you gather it against your chest, its edges biting lightly into your palms.

You glance once more at the door, heart pounding. “Screw it,” you whisper, and take off down the corridor.

You don’t get back to your apartment until after 3 a.m. Yoongi gave you hell about the painting, nagging that it wasn’t on the list. That you’d gone rogue again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You had to have it.

Shedding your jacket and kicking off your shoes, you pad deeper into your apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows spill the city’s glow across the hardwood, neon lights flickering against glass and paint.

Curator by day, art thief by night—one of the best in both fields. Yoongi hated how risky it was, but Yoongi hated most things. And you? You were never much of a people pleaser.

Most of your living room walls are already lined with pieces you’ve “liberated” over the years. Paintings, sculptures, artifacts from half a dozen museums, but this one feels different. Too intimate to leave in the open.

So you take it to your bedroom, rearrange a few things, and settle for hanging it above your bed.

“I wonder how many men this’ll scare off,” you mutter, dusting your hands as you step down from the mattress.

The man in the painting stares down at you, that same half-smirk playing on his lips. His eyes catch the faint reflection of city lights, making them glint, alive almost.

You shake your head. “I need a shower and sleep,” you mutter, unclasping your hair-tie as you head into the bathroom. Your curls spill free, cascading over your shoulders like a dark halo.

The shower runs hot, steam curling around your body as you scrub away the night’s grime with your net sponge. It’s one of the few luxuries of living alone, you can take your time. No one to rush you.

Afterward, you lather yourself in shea butter, slip into your robe, and return to the mirror. You’ve already done your skincare; all that’s left is brushing your teeth.

As the bristles move over your teeth, you meet your own gaze in the mirror. The faint shadows beneath your eyes are getting worse. Proof of too many late nights, too many close calls.

Sometimes you wonder how much longer you’ll keep this up. If “night job” is even the right word for what you do.

But then again, the rush, the risk, it’s the only thing that makes you feel alive.

You sigh, rinsing off your toothbrush. Something will have to change. Eventually.

Back in your room, you start the nightly ritual of searching for your bonnet. During your morning rush, you always toss it somewhere impossible to find by night, forcing you to tear your room apart all over again.

“What the fuck,” you groan, exasperated, standing in the middle of the mess.

Your gaze sweeps over the room, catching on the painting, just for a second. You almost miss it.

Then you freeze.

The man.

Is gone.

You blink hard, rubbing your eyes. That can’t be right. You climb onto the bed, leaning closer. The frame is still there, the beige drapery in place, but the space where his body once was… is empty.

The air shifts. Warmer. Closer.

“Such language,” a voice murmurs behind you, smooth and lilting, the syllables curved with an old, noble cadence. “Tell me, is that how maidens speak in this century?”

Your blood runs cold.

You whip around and almost lose your balance on the bed as you face a nude man who looks identical to the one in the painting.

“What the fuck!” You parrot, whipping your head back and forth. Are you sleep walking right now? Are you that deprived?

“Again, such a dirty mouth,” he chides softly, voice dripping with old-world grace, like honey poured over stone. His accent is strange, elegant, threaded with something regal.

He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by his nakedness, standing there with one hand loosely at his side, the other resting over his chest as if to steady his breath.

You can’t even find yours.

“Who—who the hell are you?” you stammer, eyes darting from his face to the rest of him. Broad shoulders tapering into a lean, sculpted torso, muscle shifting smoothly beneath golden skin. Every line, every curve of him feels too perfect. Down to the curve of his shaft.

He tilts his head, eyes soft and knowing. “You freed me, little thief,” he says, stepping closer, shadows clinging to the lines of his body. “And for that…” his lips curl into the faintest smirk, “I owe you my gratitude.”

You blink hard, taking a step back,“Freed you? From what, the painting? That’s not—”

“Do you think I jest?” His tone deepens, rich with command. “You call upon things you do not understand.”

You shake your head. “You’re right. I don’t understand. And you have about three seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment before I call the cops to arrest your ass.”

He considers your threat with an almost fond tilt of the head, as if you’d offered him a particularly amusing trinket. “Arrest me?” His laugh is soft, not cruel but edged with an immemorial patience. “Child, do you think the laws of your century hold any weight over one who has outlived them?”

He straightens, robe of shadow and moonlight falling from his shoulders as he moves closer, and the room seems to lean with him. “I was crowned long before your city had a name. Kings are not taken by constables knocking on doors.”

Your jaw works. “You expect me to believe that? A king? In my bedroom?”

“You freed a king from a frame,” he replies, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind his ear with a lazy, languid politeness. “That carries its own…complications.” His gaze drops, sweeping the room with a cool, appraising calm, and at the sight he arches a brow. “And what a splendid mess you keep.”

He nods toward the walls, toward the stacked canvases, bronze figures, and the little shards of provenance tags you’d tucked away like secrets.

“Portraits, a pair of Grecian reliefs, a crate marked for private auction. Very messy work for a maiden. You hide your sins well, thief, but you do not hide them from me.” His finger traces an invisible line through the air, as if cataloguing each piece by touch alone. “You take what you admire, then call it yours. I guess you have good taste.”

Heat flares in your throat, angry and stunned. “So what, you’re above the law because your crown is older than my city? You come into my home and mock me?” Why were you even entertaining this madness.

He studies you for a long beat, like one tasting the character of wine. “Mock? No. Observe.” His voice softens. “I could drag the constables to your door with a word and watch them fumble. But that would be beneath me.” A small, almost private smile tugs at his mouth. “You should be more afraid of what you have released than of the police. There are debts owed for such awakenings.”

He steps closer. “So tell me then, what will you do, thief? Hide behind the blue light of your phone and call men who will not comprehend what stands in their doorway… or will you offer me something better in exchange for my discretion?”

You narrow your eyes, refusing to back down even as his presence seems to fill every inch of the room. “Your discretion?” you echo, crossing your arms over your chest, though the defiance feels paper-thin beneath his stare. “You break out of a painting and start talking in riddles about crowns and debts, and now you want me to bribe you? With what, exactly?”

His lips curve, not into a smile, but something sharper. “Bribe?” he muses. “No, little thief. Tribute.”

He begins to walk towards you, so you leap off the bed and snatch the gun you keep tucked beside your mattress.

“Get the hell out!” You shout, gun pointed in his direction. You try to steady your shaking hands but you’re freaking the fuck out right now.

You feel like you’re on a bad trip and you haven’t smoked weed in months.

He doesn’t flinch. Not even when you click the safety off.

Instead, his gaze flicks lazily to the gun in your hands, and something like amusement curls at his lips. “You think that little thing could harm me?” he says, voice low and steady, like smoke.

“Don’t test me,” you warn, backing up a step. “I don’t care who you think you are—”

“Who I think I am?” His tone darkens, almost pitying. “No, sweetheart. I know exactly who I am.”

He steps forward and you begin to realize you’re cornered, clad in nothing but a robe, cradling a gun you’ve never used before.

You were a thief not a murderer.

“I am Kim Taehyung,” he announces, each word curved and deliberate, like a declaration. “King of Hwanju. Betrayed by my own blood, painted and bound by my enemies to a frame meant to hold my soul.”

You blink hard, trying to keep your grip on the gun steady. “King,” you echo, incredulous. “Yeah, right. Look, I’m not going to tell you again to get out of my apartment. Unless you want your guts splattered all over my floor.”

The image feels grotesque in your head and you can’t help the shiver that runs through you. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, Taehyung watches you with a soft, amused tilt to his mouth.

He lifts his hand, letting a handful of bullets slip through his fingers. Each one scattering across the hardwood like coins dropped in offering. Your stomach hollows.

“How—” you start, voice thin as you check your gun, the magazine empty.

“Well, my dear,” he murmurs, eyes glinting, “what’s a gesture to a king?”

You fly to the ground, in attempt to quickly collect the bullets, but he’s quicker. Before your fingers close around a single shell, his hand is on your wrist, warm, impossibly strong, and suddenly the metal is gone from your palm, sailing in a lazy arc across the room and clattering against the dresser.

“Get off of me!” you spit, kicking, lungs burning as you wrench free. You stumble back into the corner, robe wrapped tight around you like a shield. Your heart is hammering so loud you can feel it in your throat.

Taehyung watches you, unbothered as he rises to his feet. “Such violence,” he says softly, amused rather than hurt. “You are spirited.”

You swallow, forcing your voice to steady. “What the hell do you want?”

He folds his arms, the bare planes of his chest and shoulders relaxed. “I told you,” he replies, slow and sure. “A bargain. I owe you nothing, and yet, customs die slow. You freed me. That obliges you.”

He shifts, and the position puts his private in clear view, forcing you to look away.

“Stop talking in riddles!” you snap, voice pitching higher. “And for the love of God, cover yourself! This is insanity.”

He sighs, the sound low and resigned, as if humoring a child. “Fine then. May I put it bluntly for you?”

You brace yourself.

“You freed me from my curse,” Taehyung begins, gaze unwavering, “a prison woven from betrayal and desire. For centuries I have been bound to that canvas, neither living nor dead, until one foolish enough to take it broke the seal.” He walks towards the window, gazing at the city

“But the curse is not so easily severed. It is… transferred.”

Your heart kicks painfully in your ribs. “Transferred?”

He nods once. “To you.”

You stare at him, disbelief breaking through your fear. “You’re saying what? Because I stole a painting, I’m cursed now?”

His lips twitch, the faintest echo of a smile. “Not yet. But unless the ritual bound in that image is completed, the act I was… engaged in when it was painted, the curse will seek a new host.”

Your mind blanks. “You’re joking.”

His face hardens. “I shall not tell you again that I do not jest. Especially not about my fate.”

You gain the courage to stand on your own two feet, ready to argue, to throw something, anything, back at him. But then it hits you.

A sharp, white-hot pain lances through your skull, paralyzing you. The world around you flickers. The edges of your apartment dissolve, replaced by blinding light. Then color, sound, life.

You blink, and suddenly you’re elsewhere.

A grand hall stretches before you, polished wood gleaming beneath rows of lanterns. Servants and ministers bow low as King Taehyung strides past, his robe a brilliant crimson gonryongpo embroidered with five golden dragons trailing across the polished floor. His gat crown glints faintly beneath the lantern light, his expression calm but commanding. Every step radiates quiet power. The King of Hwanju.

Before you can breathe, the scene shifts.

Now he stands in a serene courtyard garden, moonlight filtering through paper screens. His gaze is fixed on a painting of a woman. Soft, luminous, engaged in a moment of ecstasy. The way his eyes trace her form is riveting, besotted. His hand lifts, fingers brushing the canvas as though it might slip between his fingers.

Another flash, your stomach lurches.

The woman kneels before him now, desperate, her voice trembling. “Please, your majesty. If you share your body with me, I’ll be free. And so will you.”

Taehyung’s jaw hardens. “You are temptation wrapped in deceit.” His words cut through the air, final and cold. He turns away, silken robes whispering against the floor.

The next image hits like a whip.

A grand chamber. A painting, his painting, hung high upon the wall. Taehyung’s smirk frozen in place, the same one that had drawn you in, daring you to reach for it.

Then everything shatters.

You gasp, clutching your head as the world slams back into focus. Your bedroom. The city lights bleeding through the curtains. And Taehyung. Standing exactly where he was, calm, knowing.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” His voice is low. “The curse.”

You nod weakly, still reeling, your pulse pounding in your ears. Words refuse to form.

He exhales slowly, gaze flicking toward your bed, then back to you. “Then you understand,” he says. “You know what must be done.”

Your throat tightens. “You can’t be serious,” you manage, voice trembling somewhere between a scoff and a plea.

“I am always serious,” Taehyung replies, taking a measured step toward you. The air seems to shift with him. Heavier, charged, your body betraying you with the way it reacts. “You freed me, Y/N. Now the curse searches for another vessel.”

You take a step back, pressing into the wall. “And you think that vessel is me?”

His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate. “It will be… unless we finish what was never completed.”

Your breath catches, heart hammering so violently it hurts. Every instinct screams at you to run, yet you’re rooted. Caught between logic and something that feels older, deeper, like an echo that doesn’t belong to this lifetime.

He stops just out of reach. “You are afraid,” he murmurs, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Good. Fear means you understand the weight of what you’ve done.”

“Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice lacks conviction.

Taehyung tilts his head, studying you as though committing your every breath to memory. “I will not touch you,” he says finally, “unless you give me permission to. But if you do…” His gaze flicks briefly to the painting above your bed. “There will be no undoing it.”

Your mind swarms with thoughts. You weren’t a stranger to a one-night stand, in all honesty, you preferred them. No messy feelings, no strings, no lingering promises. But this?

This was insanity.

You shake your head, a sharp laugh escaping you. “You actually expect me to believe that sleeping with you is going to what? Lift some ancient curse?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. He simply watches you, quiet and steady. His gaze unsettlingly calm in contrast to your rising panic.

“I expect nothing,” he finally says, voice low. “You may choose disbelief. But time will not wait for your certainty.”

You gulp. Why are you conflicted?

The only logical option is to kick this lunatic out, call the cops, and burn that stupid painting.

Yet you stand rooted to the spot, the visions replaying behind your eyes. A man neither dead nor truly alive. Could you really let that go? You’re no saint, but you have autonomy. You like it that way.

You can’t believe you’re actually considering this.

“Just one night?” you ask, keeping your eyes away from his.

He exhales, a soft puff of amused air. “That will suffice, yes. Though most women I take to bed beg for more.”

You shoot him a glare and he raises his hands in an almost theatrical surrender.

This isn’t about desire. It’s survival.

That’s what you tell yourself as you stare at the floor, mind spinning through every possible alternative. None exist.

You swallow hard, your voice barely steady. “Okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. Then, stronger, “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Taehyung’s lips curl, something dangerous glinting in his eyes as he closes the distance, the air around you tightening like a snare. His hand finds your chin, cool fingers tilting your face upward until your breath tangles with his.

“As you wish,” he murmurs.

Before you can even think to change your mind, his mouth meets yours in a slow languid kiss. One that burns away every rational thought.

Your hands rest awkwardly at your sides as his right grabs your waist, massaging your hip.

Despite being centuries old, Taehyung was a skillful kisser, leaving you quickly gasping for air.

You part your lips, desperate for a breather, but he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue roaming your mouth.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you become aroused, nipples pressing painfully against your robe.

Sensing your arousal, Taehyung’s hands begin to roam your body, finding the knot keeping your robe in place. He pulls the string, exposing your front, completely.

Cool night air greets your tits and you shiver down to your core.

Pulling back from your lips with a wet smack, Taehyung takes a moment to admire your body. “My lord. Aren’t you a beaut.”

He takes your right boob in his palm, plush flesh filling up his hand as he squeezes. A breathy moan escapes you and he grins.

Lowering until he’s eye level with you chest, Taehyung licks teasing at your brown areola. The skin pebblinng solid immediately and you can’t help the quiet moan that escapes you.

“Don’t be shy, darling. Let me hear you. You had no trouble yelling at me before. I want to know how good I make you feel,” Taehyung speaks agains your chest. Every puff of his breath sending jolts to your core.

He licks around your nipple before finally latching on and you can’t fight the strangled noise that escapes you.

Grabbing onto his locks of hair, you sigh out. Head smacking against the wall hard enough to make the room spin.

After giving each breast the same amount of attention, Taehyung continues his trail down your stomach, leaving soft kisses in his wake.

He kneels before you, becoming eye level with your core. “You don’t have to-“ you start, but the words break off into a moan as he hitches your leg over his shoulder, diving into your pussy.

“Wait!” You gasp, pulling at his hair roughly, but he doesn’t budge. Tongue licking between your folds as he gazes up at you, eyes clouded with desire.

His lips suction on your clit and the heel of your foot digs into his back as you shudder. The obscene sounds of his wet slurping makes you wetter, if that’s even possible, and your leg begins to tremble.

“Taehyung. Please-“ you beg for mercy, but he doesn’t let up. You tug tightly at his hair, attempting to get him off, but he hoists you up in one quick motion. Mouth never leaving your core as he eats you out from above.

Your arms raise instantly to grasp the ceiling in attempt to balance yourself, adrenaline pumping through you.

From this position, you can no longer fight your orgasm, falling mercy to his tongue. “Taehyung please. Don’t stop!,” you shout, bucking into his face.

You’re almost afraid you’ll tip him over, but his hold is strong, feet planted firmly on the floor.

Your orgasm crashes down on you in waves, dotting your vision as you struggle to free yourself from the stimulation.

Fuck, you had no idea a man trapped in a painting for centuries could eat pussy like that. When did he practice?

He lowers you slowly in his hold, his chin covered with slick and your cum as he claims your lips in a deep kiss, forcing you taste yourself.

Dropping you onto the bed, you bounce with a loud huff, staring at the ceiling. “Where did you learn to eat pussy like that, your majesty?” You tease rising on your elbows to stare at him.

He stands at the edge of the bed, stroking his now, heavy shaft as he stares at you. Hungrily.

“A king never reveals his secrets,” he muses.” You watch as he strokes his cock from base to tip, collecting pre-cum along the way.

Your mouth waters. “Need some help with that?” You ask, suddenly more than ready to return the favor.

He shakes his head, joining you on the bed. Your legs part easily, body feeling pliant after your first orgasm. “No,” he says, low and deliberate. “Tonight’s all about you. And I plan to pleasure you like it’s your last.”

The words raise goosebumps on your skin, your chills amplified as his fingers rub your swollen clit down to your fluttering hole.

His middle finger sinks in easy, followed by his index and ring, the stretch inviting. You are going to need all the prep you can get.

You don’t fight the moans that escape you now as he works you open, gripping the sheets as his fingers curl just right.

After a few more thrust, you can’t take it anymore. “Taehyung, I-I’m ready.”

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he pull his fingers out, your hole clinching around nothing. “Music to my ears.”

Flipping you over, Taehyung yanks you to the edge of the bed, running his length through your folds. “Where do you keep your condoms, little thief?” He asks, palming your ass.

“Top drawer of my nightstand.”

There’s quiet shuffling and then you hear the tale-tale sound of plastic ripping. Before you know it, Taehyung’s back behind you, lining himself up with your entrance.

He sinks in slow, all the way to the hilt and your jaw slacks. “You feel heavenly,” he grits, voice strained as he fucks you slow.

You moan at the stretch. It’s been awhile since you’ve been with someone this thick.

Taehyung doesn’t give you much time to adjust before he’s ramming into you, harsh deep strokes that are impossible to escape.

Your grip on your sheets tighten as you take it, curses spewing from your mouth.

Propping his foot up on the bed, Taehyung unlocks a new angle that makes you shout, orgasm hitting you violently.

“That’s it, little thief. Let me hear how good it feels to come undone on my cock,” He encourages from behind, never letting up.

He fucks you into overstimulation, pleasure dissolving into pain that has you inching away.

“Wait, I need a second,” you gasp out, hand reaching back against his chest.

He pulls out and your head falls against the mattress, eager for a moment of peace.

But even that’s short lived as he’s flipping you over, pressing your legs into your chest as he sinks back in. You whine out as he fucks into you, pace unforgiving.

“Don’t tap out now, Dear. You’ve been doing so good,” Taehyung reassures. He looks ethereal, sweat glistening in the moonlight as he unravels you.

By the pleasure on his face, he isn’t far from an orgasm himself, which is good because you don’t know how much more you can take.

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing steadily. “I can’t,” you whine. You just came minutes ago, you weren’t a machine.

“Yes. You. Can.” He grits out, thrusting hard with each word. “Just one more little thief, don’t leave me hanging.”

His breath is labored, pace growing sloppy as he pounds into you, rubbing steadily at your clit.

Surprisingly another orgasm builds within you, this one more intense than your first two combined.

You clench around Taehyung’s length and he groans, releasing into the condom.

You breathe heavily as he pulls out, legs trembling, every nerve still humming. Your eyes flutter shut, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.

You can’t believe you’re admitting this, but that was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. And it was with a man who literally stepped out of a painting.

Your body feels weightless, the exhaustion almost drugging. You try to sit up, but your limbs don’t obey, leaving you sprawled across the sheets, pulse slowing.

“Just sleep, little thief,” Taehyung murmurs, brushing a damp curl from your cheek. His gaze lingers on you, soft, but distant, almost mournful. “You did well.”

His words echo as your consciousness slips, the last thing you see is the faint shimmer of gold dust trailing along his skin.

You wake the next morning to your alarm clock, like you always do.

Eyes still shut, burning from the lack of sleep, you reach out to hit snooze—

—but your arm doesn’t move.

Your whole body feels… tight. Compressed, like the air’s been sucked out of the room. You blink your eyes open, scanning your surroundings.

Everything looks normal. The city hums quietly beyond the glass, your clothes are still scattered across the chair, your sheets a tangled mess.

All evidence of last night, except for him, still here.

But why can’t you move?

And why are you looking down at your bed… instead of lying in it?

Your breath catches, or tries to. Panic floods through you, but it’s trapped somewhere deep, where your lungs used to respond.

You think back to Taehyung’s words, the solemn look on his face as you drifted off to sleep.

Hesitantly, your gaze shifts toward the full-length mirror in the corner of your room, a prayer forming in the back of your throat. This can’t be what you think.

But as your eyes trace the reflection, past your empty bed, to the painting hanging above it, you freeze.

Because staring back at you, from inside the frame, are your own eyes.