#heh..............one step ahead...........................................

The little brunette is curled up on his lap with her wondrous doe eyes, tracking the rollercoaster his hand has become as he keeps the spoonful of ice cream just out of her reach, before bringing it to her waiting mouth with a theatrical woosh! noise. And every time, her cheeks flush like peaches under the sun, followed by endearing giggles. 

Jungkook exists the way gravity does — effortless, inevitable, the kind of pull that makes everything orient towards him.  And the moment settles in your heart like an old love letter — tucked way, but never truly forgotten.

However, your body seems to tug you towards the familiar laughter of your lover — bright, unguarded — anchoring you back to the familiar warmth of the living room. Your heart flips at the vision of his head thrown back in delight, eyes turned into tiny crescents that you long to feel under your fingertips. 

Instead, your words come out a little breathless. Fond. “Penny for your laughter, darling?”

Jungkook barely manages to speak up between those melodic giggles, but his head is tilted slightly towards Hae-in, who is now giving him a traitorous glare for painting her button nose with chocolate ice cream, her cheeks puffed up like she’s beyond all this. 

“Oh Christ—” He can’t even finish. Just dissolves back into laughter. 

For the sake of her tiny pride, you stifle your giggle and press your lips together. Instead, your feet take you toward the adorable crime scene. Crouching down to be on eye-level with her, you flash her an understanding smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, your fingers gentle as they swipe away any traces of the sticky sweetness from her offended nose. “We must find a way to get back at your Uncle, hmm?” you cheekily suggest, earning an affirmative nod from her. 

“Yes! Uncle Koo-Koo must be punished!” 

The enthusiasm in her voice coaxes a warm laugh out of you. Though you seem oblivious to the heart-stopping gaze your husband directs at you. It is only when he lets out a soft gasp — realizing the mischief you directed through your niece’s ice cream laden fingers, now painting his nose in chocolate brown  — that pulls your gaze to his reaction with a victorious smirk. 

Yet again, any retort he might have ready on the tip of his tongue is swallowed by Hae-in’s chirp voice echoing in the space between you. “Silly Uncle!”

“Silly?! You wound me, princess.” 

His lower lip juts out in a childish pout for emphasis. 

Hae-in giggles, not fazed in the slightest by his theatrics. If anything, her arms reach up to you in solidarity to which you celebrate your successful revenge by scooping her up and your beloved husband receives the playful image of you sticking your tongue out at him. 

“Oh no, my own wife is teaming up against me!”

“Heh. Gotta back up my princess, after all.”

“Woah—”

Hae-in, always one step ahead, declares smugly: “Aunt Y/N loves Hae-in more than Uncle Koo-Koo!”

“Oh, you brat—”

You laugh, warm and unguarded. Not even realizing the way your lover’s breath stills with something like realization and longing as you cradle Hae-in snugly to your chest and kiss her temple. Old letters are impossible not to revisit. 

.☘︎ ݁˖

All good things must come to an end — however temporarily — because when Jungsu knocks on your door with a grateful smile and warm hugs, there’s a bittersweet reluctance that makes home in the space between your ribs. More so when Jungkook bribes Hae-in with more ice cream for next time to which the little sunshine responds by sloppily kissing his cheek.

“Uncle Koo-Koo is the best!”

“Oh, is he now?” He chuckles knowingly. 

You, for your part, take it all in with a pensive smile on your lips. The ache in your chest threatens to consume you, but you lock that door and hope, quietly, that Jungkook will find the key. You’ve never been good at saying the thing out loud, but you’re getting better at hoping someone will ask. 

The journey is always unpredictable, but in this moment — observing the same reluctance in your husband’s posture, the way his eyes follow Hae-in until the elevator closes behind them — shows you that maybe, just maybe… you’re not as alone as you think. 

.☘︎ ݁˖

With night comes the blooming scent of jasmine, encompassing the air with floral, creamy notes. It mingles with your own scent of sweet coconut and citrus — washing away everything but the stubborn ache in your chest. 

Occasionally, the ache is stifled when you focus on the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heartbeat beneath your ear, your head tucked under his chin. But it returns with an persistence that’s hard to lock away as meaningless. The golden lamplight holds steady. You do not. You ignore it — choosing, instead, to focus on his fingers threading through your hair with tender reverence, his inked arm wrapped around your waist protectively. 

A moment of silence passes. Then another. You sigh. Lifting your head just enough to glance at him, you note his closed eyelids and the tiny, peaceful smile on his plush lips. 

"Koo…?" you call out, soft and hesitant. 

"Mm?" 

He lazily peeks an eye open. "What is it, jagiya?" 

Despite your scattered thoughts, your lips twitch up in fond amusement at his endearing habit. He’s all sharp, beautiful curves framed by the amber glow.

As if sensing your conversational demeanor, his eyes flutter open to meet yours with renewed interest and curiosity. 

“I’ve been thinking…” you start, albeit too careful. “The day passed beautifully because of Hae-in. Don’t you think so?”  

Waiting for his reply, your thumb caresses over his cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his own thumb stroking small circles on your hip. “She’s a delight, really. Got me wrapped around her little finger with a look.” 

He chuckles, then adds: “Even if she loved the ice cream more than me.” 

A warm huff of agreement escapes your lips. But then you go quiet again. Your thoughts drift before you can stop them. “The house seemed to bloom with her giggles,” you muse. 

Jungkook hums low in his throat. His fingers curl around your own as he brings them to his lips for a kiss to each one of your fingers. In-between kisses, he speaks— “Felt like some kind of untainted melody. I was in awe every time she smiled.”

I was in awe of you, you almost say. 

Instead, you let the silence speak for itself. The warmth blooms into something sweeter as you reflect on the afternoon spent with your niece. 

Jungkook props himself up on an elbow this time, his gaze roaming over your face. 

It’s as if he’s trying to peek into your soul. “What?” you mumble.

He smiles knowingly. “You looked really happy with her. And she seemed smitten with you.”

“Eh, don’t flatter me like that.”

“I call it as I see it, jagiya.” A pause, then warmer: “She adores you.”

Your cheeks flush a charming pink. "She does?" 

Jungkook hums, but it comes out more like a disbelieving huff. Almost like he can't comprehend how someone could be so unaware of the way she moves through the world — all quiet care and instinctive warmth, like she doesn't even notice herself doing it. 

“Hyung told me she’s usually very reserved around people, but she immediately teamed up with you—”

That earns him a small laugh from you. He grins, continuing. "So yes, jagiya. She adores you.”

Deep down, maybe the thought had already taken root, but his assurance has made it bloom and settle in your chest like flowers on an endless pathway — briefly lessening the ache. The unknown ache. Where does it lead you?  

You try to make sense of it, but it tangles like a knot the more you do. But as you think back to the time you spent with Hae-in, you’re reminded of the trust and affection she so sweetly directed at you, and it cracks something open in your chest. 

A deep, suppressed melancholy. 

Before your mind even catches up to the frown on your lips, or the single tear slipping down your cheek, you’re being cradled against a broad chest. Jungkook’s warmth envelopes you like a shield against your own thoughts — the familiar woody scent of his skin pulling you back from the longing quietly unraveling at the edges of your heart.   

He doesn’t demand, doesn’t offer empty words — just holds you like a delicate, contradictory poem. “I’ve got you, jagiya.” 

“Koo…” you breathe out, your voice shaky at the edges. “I— I don’t understand what I’m feeling. Everything feels tangled up with no loose ends.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. There’s no rush.” 

His lips brush against your temple in reassurance. “Breathe with me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

Following the instructions, you repeat it until your heartbeat is far less erratic. 

Even so, your thoughts flow like an endless stream, all pointing to directions you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself. 

But when his arms tighten around you to hold you more snugly, you reach for the bravery you’ve not yet developed. “I…” you start, but trail off soon after. 

“You what, jagiya?” he prompts gently, pulling back slightly to look at your face. He brushes a strand of your hair, tucks it behind your ear, and smiles patiently. 

A soft pause and then: 

"Whatever it is—you're not alone, sweet girl," he promises, well aware of how words tend to fail you when it matters most. “Never.”

You search his eyes for something — sincerity? acknowledgement? — and when you find it, the last of your frustration melts away into something like longing. 

“I want to be a mother,” you confess. Your voice comes out too soft, almost like you’re afraid to let the words exist out in the world. 

Jungkook goes still as a statue, his mind working hard to process your current words with the reality of your past ones. A flicker of doubt passes over his features. “Baby—”

“No,” you interrupt gently. “I know what you’re going to say. But, it’s not a temporary ‘baby fever’ because of Hae-in. It’s—” You pause, gauging his reaction. “It’s because of you, Kook. I saw how happy you were with her. And I remember how happy we both were. It made me realize that even when the world is cruel, the softness, the love — it starts with us.”

Jungkook is silent yet again. It lingers in the air like hope and anticipation. You almost take everything back until you notice the tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Hey, hey—” You palms cradle his face with reverence preserved for prayers. “What’s wrong, honey? Did I say something wrong?” 

He shakes his head. “No, no. It’s just…” Sighing softly, he leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. “I’m so overwhelmed with emotions, jagiya. That’s all.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you offer warmly. 

There’s a moment of silence as he gathers his thoughts. When he speaks up, his warm breath ghosts over your lips. 

“I didn’t expect this. I never thought you’d change your mind,” he admits. “And it’s not that I wasn’t happy earlier — it was a mutual agreement, after all — but… if this is what you truly want, there’s no one else I'd rather start a family with, jagiya." 

“I want this, Koo,” you affirm, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “I think I’ve been haunted by the narrative of my own childhood for the longest time. But after seeing how naturally we fit in with Hae-in — it gave me something like courage.”

“You’re not your parents, jagiya. Their patterns are not yours to carry anymore."

“I know that now.” 

You glanced over at him with nonchalance he wished he could gather. Seeing you tilt your head curiously, he pursed his lips, smile faltering and making him swallow. "I guess so, but it's not that strong of a glue, so we should be pretty fine," you nodded to him and looked back over at your phone. both your hands occupied playing a gacha game.

He glanced away from you, staring off into some corner and scrunched up in face from cringing, biting into his fist, before smiling again and whipping his head back to you. How dare you be THIS cool? Yeah sure, he's popular and rich, but you? You've hung around castorice a few times but you have your own little group of friends, he's seen you on instagram before in group photos, always looking so cool and chic.

He sighed, before widening his eyes when he saw the game you were playing on your phone. Taking a double look at your face before leaning over and smiling at you again, resembling a puppy.

"Zenless? You play ZZZ?" He beamed.

Your eyes finally met him, pupils slightly widening, your hand even raising to take out your earbuds. "Oh, yeah. I play it in my free time, do you?" You pressed a small polite smile, while he was ecstatic from the small connection. 

"Of course I dooooo," he hummed, before pointing to the screen and staring ahead at your pretty hands. "You know, you should probably use Jane with Seth, they're basically built to be on the same team," he smiled, before growing flustered at his own words and swallowing shyly. "Like you and I are meant to be together," he finished inside his head.

He watched you nod, before actually editing your team comp to switch out miyabi (why did you even have miyabi there?) with seth. 

His joy didn't last for long though, as the professor had soon returned with the alcohol wiped and carefully freed Phainon's hand from your jacket, making sure to not ruin the fabric or hurt his hand. He was trying not to pout when you quickly packed up your bag, waved him goodbye and ran off to your next lecture.

Mydei was sipping on the pearl milk tea that Castorice was letting him try, her hands holding it while he took a quick few sips and nodded with a shrug. "It's alright, I don't really like the balls though, they're chewy—" he was mumbling, before raising his brows and looking towards the entrance of the lecture hall. Phainon whined before running up the steps and hugging Mydei, making the make lash out and try to shove him off. "Kremnoan's don't hug! We don't!" he was grumbling.

Phainon was too busy, whining and rambling on to his friends. "It's Y/NNNNNN… I talked to her today and I wanted to confess but I messed it all up and she probably hates me!" he pouted, before getting off of Mydei and stepping over to hug Castorice. She squeaked surprised, before just sitting there awkwardly. "See! No one wants your hugs, man!" Mydei was grumbling.

"I messed up.. she probably hates me and thinks that Miyabi works better with Jane than Seth and—"

"hi," your voice felt like the final nail in his coffin. He didn't even turn to face you, his face turning a deep red, making his blue hair seem suddenly so light. Castorice looked back up over at him and his shoulder, before gently taking his hands off of her shoulders, her cold touch making him shiver. "Aeons, you have such cold hands.." he muttered before turning quickly and freezing when meeting your calm gaze.

"You dropped your ring in my bag," you smiled politely, offering your hand out.

Phainon hesitated, before nodding and smiling, laughing nervously and loudly in the suddenly quiet lecture hall. "O-oh.. yeah, thanks," he swallowed before pursing his lips and hesitating, waving his hands around frantically. "S-so about what I was saying, j-just ignore—"

"I think you're really cute," you cut in, showing a genuine smile, before taking out your phone and opening to his Instagram page. 

He felt like his heart exploded, before he buried his face into his hands, screaming hoarsely before crouching to his knees and looking at you with love hearts in his eyes. "Ohmygodohmygod—" 

You let out the sweetest laugh, crouching down to his level and grinning now. He was whining dremily, before reaching out his arm for Mydei, begging him to pinch him so that he could wake up if this was a dream. "I've literally had the fattest crush on you for months, you're so cool and pretty and sweet," he rambled on before reaching over and cupping your face, hesitating and whispering. "Sorry, can I kiss you?"

You actually broke your expression, smile faltering and nose tingling. He could see your pupils dialte, as you grew flustered for the first time. "R-right now?"

"sorry, you're right, not now," he quickly shook his head before nodding to you and stepping back.

"I'm sorry, I love you. Is that too soon? Do you wanna marry—" Mydei punched him. 

a/n: happy late birthday to wonnie!! this idea has been plaguing my mind for months and i’ve finally brought it to life heh. be warned, idk jack shit about karate so i googled majority of this stuff and did i use it correctly? who tf knows yall here for the porn not for the accuracy of filler foreplay 😶also TYSM FOR 4k followers like wtf acc. as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. enjoy!!

࿊

you've been at this dojo longer than most people remember.

the floorboards know your steps. the mirrors have seen you grow from sloppy punches to clean, confident strikes. you move like you belong here —loud laugh, loose shoulders, mouth running even while you stretch.

you're a senior member, which means two things: 1. people listen when you talk 2. you never stop talking

you correct stances without asking. tap a hip with your foot. shove a shoulder back into place. "you're leaning," you tell people, casual, like it's a favor. "don't do that." no one has ever taken it to heart, they take it as constructive criticism, because they know you care.

sparring is a game to you, one you're used to winning.

so when jungwon joins, you clock him immediately and then dismiss him just as fast.

he's quiet. too quiet.

he bows properly, thanks the instructor and never rushes into drills. the kind of guy people assume is harmless because he doesn't take up space. but he does, his lean figure and fluffy black hair immediately took up space in the place you called home.

you watch him during warm-ups, arms crossed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. "he's holding back," you mutter to no one in particular. you could see it, the way the muscles in his jaw tensed and how his stance faltered right after he did a move perfectly.

no trash talk. no ego. no fire on the surface. the boy seemed to clean, it annoys you.

you end up paired with him by accident the first time, or maybe by instinct.

his footwork is careful but stiff, like he's thinking through every step instead of letting it happen. you circle him once, then reach out and nudge his ankle with your toes.

"nope," you say. "wider. you're gonna fall over like that."

he startles slightly, then adjusts immediately. "like this?" he asks, voice quiet, earnest.

you grin, watching his doe eyes focus on you. "better. still bad, but better."

you tease him relentlessly after that. call him out when he pulls punches, flick his forehead when he hesitates and laugh when he apologizes for hitting too hard (he never does).

"you learn faster with me," you tell him one day, already dragging him to your side before he can answer. "trust me."

he does and that's the thing—jungwon listens.

not just politely, not just to be nice, he absorbs everything you say. which by default, made him the perfect pupil.

you tell him to shift his weight? he does. you joke that he's too gentle? next drill, he hits harder. you offhandedly mention staying late to practice? suddenly he's always lingering.

people still underestimate him. you don't, not really.

but you still think you're ahead.

he starts liking you somewhere along the way. the confidence you carried, the way your eyes lit up when you practiced and how you treated others at the dojo as your own—including him.

he watches you more than the instructor—tracks the way you move, the way you talk with your hands, the way you never seem afraid to get hit. he notices your habits: how you always retie your wraps twice, how you bounce on your heels when you're bored, how you smile like you're daring the world to try you.

you grew up rough and it shows. two brothers will do that—jay and sunghoon's voices live in the back of your head every time you square your shoulders, every time you refuse to back down.

jungwon sees it and he admires it.

he trains harder than anyone else—but only when you're there. when you're not, he's steady. controlled. restrained. when you are, something sharpens.

he never challenges you. never talks back. never tries to prove anything.

he just gets better.

you don't notice at first, because to you, he's still the quiet one. the one you're teaching. the one standing just half a step behind you—close enough to learn, never close enough to threaten.

for now.

you get paired together on purpose, it was now known that you two worked together. the two of you were a duo that no one had expected, quiet and shy jungwon paired with confident and outgoing you. it clashed, but worked well together on the mats. you directed and corrected, and he followed.

the instructor doesn't even look up from the clipboard when they say it, like it's obvious. "you and jungwon. partner drills."

you glance sideways, already smirking.  "told you," you say under your breath. "best seat in the house." snickering softly before locking eyes with the boy who you had grown so accustomed to over the last few months.

jungwon ducks his head, the faintest smile pulling at his mouth. "i'll try not to slow you down," he murmurs, half joking half serious. jungwon was good, you could admit that. after all, you had take him under your wing and taught him—but he wasn't as good as you. at least that's what you believed.

"good," you shoot back easily, a large grin on your face. "because i don't wait."

you never do and you never will.

the drill is controlled grappling—transitions, balance, learning how to feel where the other person's center is. it's close-range work. unavoidable contact.

you demonstrate first, stepping into his space without hesitation. "okay," you say, hands already on him, adjusting his stance like you've done a hundred times. "feet here. don't lock your knees. relax."

your fingers press into his sides as you guide him. he stiffens—not pulling away, just... registering it. he mentally scolds himself for letting your innocent touches get him so riled up.

"breathe," you tell him, tapping his ribs when you notice his breathe going rigid. "you're thinking too hard."

he exhales slowly and nods, his voice coming out slightly croaked. "right."

you move again, showing him how to shift weight, how to turn with an opponent instead of against them. you grab his wrist, spin under his arm, come up close enough that your shoulder brushes his chest.

normal like a routine. except this time, when it's his turn.

"okay," he says quietly, stepping closer. he feels his body begin to lock up at the mere thought of touching you so freely even though he's had his hands on you hundreds of times at this point. "can i—"

"yeah," you say, already waving him on. "go."

his hands hover for a split second, then they land on your waist, not rough, not hesitant—just firm enough to be sure.

your breath catches—just once. it's stupid, it's nothing. you've been grabbed harder, faster, worse. you grew up wrestling with jay and sunghoon, for god's sake. the crazy fucks barely let you breathe and here you are losing your breathe over some middle school touches.

still, your confidence stutters. jungwon's hands fit like they're supposed to be there, molding themselves perfectly against the curve of your waist.

his thumbs press instinctively into the curve of your hips as he adjusts you, eyes focused, expression calm—but you see his throat bob as he swallows.

"is this okay?" he asks, voice low.

"yeah," you say quickly, too quickly. "it's fine. you're doing it right." you force a grin, roll your shoulders like you're shaking it off. "don't go soft on me now."

his grip tightens just a fraction. he wasn't soft at all, and it was getting harder for him to ignore it. "i wasn't planning to."

you reset again and again.

every time, his hands find you faster. like his body's learned the shape of yours before his mind has time to overthink it.

you tease him to hide the way your skin feels too warm and how your cheeks are beginning to redden. "you're improving," you say. "almost scary."

he huffs a quiet laugh. "you say that like it's a bad thing."

"it is," you reply simply, confidence oozing out of you. "for everyone else." your eyes meet for half a second longer than necessary.

neither of you looks away first.

by the end of the drill, you're both flushed— sweat-darkened hair, steady breathing, something unspoken sitting heavy between you.

the instructor calls for water break.

you step back, stretching your arms overhead, deliberately casual. "see?" you say lightly. "told you you'd learn faster with me."

jungwon watches you do it—the stretch, the confidence sliding back into place, the way you pretend nothing rattled you. he watched the sliver of exposed skin that the white robe failed to hide intently, the muscles on your waist stretching as you bring your arms back down.

he nods. "yeah," he says, quiet and unfocused. "i know." and for the first time, the way he looks at you isn't just admiration, it's awareness. like he's realized something, like he's holding it carefully.

you don't notice the way his hands curl slowly into fists at his sides or how he takes one extra breath before stepping away from you, almost as if it pained him to do so.

but you feel it anyway because every time he let go of you, the absence was loud.

the drills get upgraded the next week. the instructor claps their hands together, sharp. "we're moving into control transitions. full contact. partners stay the same."

you don't miss the way jungwon straightens immediately.

you roll your shoulders, confident like always. "guess you're stuck with me," you say, flashing him a grin as you repeat the same dialogue that you've been saying since the very first time the two of you got partnered together months ago. "try to keep up."

he meets your eyes. "i will." something about the way he says it makes your smile hesitate—just for a beat—before you turn away.

this drill is closer. heavier.

it's about leverage, about learning how to move someone without brute force. about knowing exactly where to place your hands to shift balance, steal momentum.

you demonstrate first, of course.

"watch," you tell him, grabbing his sleeve, stepping in hard. "you don't fight the force. you redirect it."

you hook his arm, twist, shove his shoulder— clean, practiced. he stumbles but catches himself with ease.

"again," you say. this time, he doesn't stumble. this time, when you grab him, he moves with you.

his counter is smooth and instinctive. his hand slides to your side, fingers spreading with more confidence than before. he turns you just enough that your back brushes his chest. you could feel how his hands swallowed your frame whole, your heart stuttering in your chest.

your breath goes shallow. "jungwon," you warn lightly, feeling his chest rise and fall heavily against your back. "focus."

"i am," he replies. his voice is calm but his grip isn't.

when it's his turn to lead, the difference is obvious. his hands don't hover anymore.

they land—firm, sure, like he's memorized exactly where they need to go. one at your waist, the other steadying your shoulder. he adjusts your stance without asking, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

you feel it. how well you fit, how easily he controls the distance.

your confidence flickers. "since when are you this bold?" you joke, trying to sound unbothered. key word, trying.

his thumbs press in slightly, grounding. "since you told me to stop holding back."

your eyes lock and for a moment, neither of you moves. then he guides you through the transition, clean and controlled, and you hate how right it feels.

the room fades. it's just you and him now—breath, heat, hands.

each repetition, his touch gets surer. less instructional and more instinctive.

you mess up a step, just once. he catches you immediately, arms tightening to keep you from losing balance. your hands brace against his chest without thinking.

too close, way too close.

"you okay?" he asks quietly, his dark doe eyes peering down at you with concern and a hint of something you couldn't recognize.

you nod, pulling back too fast. "yeah. yeah. just— slipped." you laugh it off, loud, exaggerated. "guess you're rubbing off on me."

but your heart's beating too fast and you’re afraid he's watching you like he knows exactly why.

near the end of class, the instructor pairs everyone off for light resistance drills.

"controlled," they warn. "this is not sparring."

you and jungwon face each other. you bounce on your toes, confidence back in place—or at least pretending. "don't get any ideas," you say. "this isn't a real match."

"i know," he replies, a small smile on his dimpled face but the look in his eyes says he's thinking about it anyway.

you move first. fast. sharp.

and for the first time—he anticipates you. his hands catch your wrists mid-motion, grip firm but careful. he steps in, body close, using your own momentum to shift you off-center.

you recover quickly but not fast enough to hide the surprise, his jaw tightens like he noticed too.

"again," he says softly.

you go again and again. each time, it's harder. each time, he meets you with more confidence. like something's clicked into place—not aggression, not ego, just certainty.

by the time the instructor calls it, your arms ache and your mind feels... off.

you hate it.

you also can't stop thinking about the way his hands felt—steady, grounding, right. you mentally scold yourself for letting some innocent touching rile you up so much.

as you grab your water bottle, you catch him looking at you, not shy, not apologetic but focused. like he's still feeling the shape of you under his palms.

you tilt your head, forcing a smirk. "what?" you say. "never seen someone almost lose before?"

his lips twitch up, "i didn't think this would be this hard to forget."

your breath stutters. you look up at him, confused. before you can respond, the instructor's voice cuts through the room. "sparring brackets next week. be ready."

your stomach flips when you hear the parings. you and jungwon had been paired together.

jungwon looks at you then—really looks at you. and this time, you don't feel like you're ahead anymore.

you feel like you're being caught up to.

࿊

the locker room smells like disinfectant and sweat and something metallic you can never quite place.

you're halfway through wrapping your hands when mina drops onto the bench beside you, ponytail damp, eyes bright with something that immediately puts you on edge.

"so," she says, dragging the word out. "are you ready?"

you don't look up, all of a sudden hyper fixated on the tiled floor beneath you. "for what?"

she snorts. "don't play dumb. you're sparring jungwon today." your fingers pause for half a second before you tug the wrap tighter. "yeah. and?"

mina tilts her head, studying you. "nothing. just—" she hesitates, then leans closer. "i watched him spar yesterday."

you keep your tone light. "oh my god, don't tell me he finally learned how to hit." you try to humour yourself, you really do.

"i'm serious," she says, voice pitched higher. "it wasn't like before."

you finally glance at her, eyebrows raised with a mocking look planted on your face. "define 'before.'"

"before, he was controlled," mina explains. "quiet. precise. yesterday? he was still calm, but—" she makes a vague motion with her hands. "he demolished jake. like, clean. didn't rush. didn't hesitate. just... ended it."

your stomach does a weird little flip and you scoff immediately. "okay, first of all, that guy sucks. second of all, jungwon's always been technical. that's literally his thing."

"yeah," mina says slowly. "but this was different. it was like he knew exactly what was going to happen before it did."

you tie off your wrap harder than necessary. "he's still newer than me." you had been here for years, joining when your brothers had first started which had given you a few years of experience. surely someone who's only been training for a few months couldn't beat you. right?

"sure," she agrees. then, casually, "but he doesn't fight like it."

that gets under your skin. you stand, roll your shoulders, force a grin. "relax. i've been doing this for years. he's not suddenly going to—what? magically surpass me?"

mina raises an eyebrow, already knowing how her best friend was feeling. "i didn't say that."

you grab your bottle with a little more force that necessary. "no, but you were thinking it."

࿊

out on the floor, the energy feels different and you feel nauseous. you've never felt so nervous before a spar, but this time around you feel as if you were going to throw your guts up onto the mats.

people glance at you as you pass—some curious, some expectant. you tell yourself it's nothing. you're used to attention, you're used to being the benchmark.

still, your chest feels tight.

you stretch longer than usual. shake out your hands. bounce on your toes.

you're fine, you tell yourself. you always are.

then you see him. jungwon's already there, adjusting his wraps, posture relaxed. he looks... settled. not nervous. not eager.

when his eyes meet yours, something unreadable passes through them—recognition, maybe. anticipation.

he nods once. quiet. respectful. it shouldn't make your pulse spike but it does.

as you circle the mat, memories keep intruding uninvited.

his hands on your waist during drills. the way he'd steady you without asking. how close he'd stand, like distance was optional.

you'd laughed it off, teased him. told yourself it was nothing. it's still nothing, you insist now. but then mina's words echo back.

he demolished that guy.

you swallow.

jungwon steps closer before the match is called. not invading your space—just close enough that you can hear him over the room.

"are you okay?" he asks quietly, his large eyes looking down at you with concern.

you blink up at him. "why wouldn't i be?" he studies you for a second too long. "you seem... tense."

you scoff, forcing a grin. "wow. thanks, coach." his lips twitch. "i didn't mean it like that."

"sure," you say, rolling your neck. "don't overthink it. this is just sparring."

he nods."i know." but his gaze doesn't leave you. and that's when it hits you—not fear, not exactly.

awareness.

jungwon isn't wondering if this will be different, he already knows it will be.

the instructor calls your names and your stomach drops. as you step onto the mat, you tell yourself the same thing over and over:

you've been doing this longer. you're stronger. you're not losing to the quiet one you taught how to stand.

jungwon faces you, calm, hands loose at his sides. ready. for the first time since he walked into this dojo—your confidence doesn't feel unshakable.

it feels like it's being tested. and somewhere deep down, beneath the nerves and denial, there's a thought you don't want to examine too closely: what if he's been preparing for this longer than you think?

the mat feels different under your feet. it's the same surface you've stood on a thousand times, the same faint give beneath your soles, but your body is hyperaware of it now—every shift of weight, every breath.

"ready?" the instructor asks.

you nod immediately. "yeah." across from you, jungwon inclines his head. "ready."

no bravado, no nerves, just calm. that should've been your first warning.

the signal is given and you move first, fast, sharp, familiar. a testing strike, meant to feel him out, remind him who's in control.

jungwon doesn't flinch. he steps back just enough to let it pass, eyes locked on you, tracking instead of reacting.

you circle, bounce lightly on your toes, confidence snapping back into place. "come on," you say lightly. "don't freeze up now."

he doesn't answer, instead, he moves and it's clean. precise. closer than you expect.

his timing is different—not rushed, not hesitant. he meets you in the space between movements, where you're used to being safe.

you adjust, counter and push harder. he adapts faster. the first real crack comes when he anticipates you.

you go for a familiar sequence—one you've used a hundred times, one that's won you matches before.

jungwon reads it like a sentence he's memorized, because he has. you two have been partners for months now, jungwon recognizes your pattern easily. he's watched your matches, studied you harder than any textbook—he knows you and your moves like second nature.

his hand catches your wrist mid-motion, grip firm. he pivots, pulls you off-center just enough that you have to scramble to recover.

your heart stutters. okay, you think. fine. lucky read. you wrench free, reset, grin sharp. "nice."

his eyes don't leave you. "thank you." polite, composed and it unsettles you more than trash talk ever could.

you push harder. speed. pressure. aggression. this is your comfort zone—loud, relentless, unapologetic. you crowd his space, force him to respond, try to overwhelm him the way you always have.

jungwon absorbs it. not by overpowering you but by redirecting. every time you press, he turns it aside. every time you rush, he waits you out.

your breathing gets louder, his stays steady. then it happens, a misstep, tiny. barely there.

he takes it. his hands close around you—one at your wrist, the other at your side and suddenly you're moving where he wants you to go.

the mat rushes up and you hit it hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

the room goes quiet. jungwon releases you immediately, stepping back, offering a hand like instinct.

you stare at the ceiling for a second too long.

what the hell just happened?

you get up fast, too fast. ignoring jungwon's outstretched hand.

embarrassment flares hot, sharp. "again," you say, voice tight. "that was—again."

the instructor hesitates but nods. "keep it controlled."

jungwon watches you carefully, nothing but concern in his tone and for some reason this sets you off more than any smugness he could've thrown at you. "are you sure?"

that does it. "yes," you snap. "i'm sure."

so this time, you play dirtier.

you crowd him, grab harder, use your weight, your strength, everything you grew up learning from jay and sunghoon—elbows, pressure, refusal to give ground.

for a moment, it works. you force him back. drive him down and end up above him, knee braced, hands pinning his wrists.

triumph surges through you—sharp, desperate. there it is. there you are.

your breath is uneven, his isn't.

you realize it too late, jungwon could get out. you feel it—the way his body is coiled, ready, restrained by choice rather than circumstance. your stomach drops and he shifts.

not violently. not roughly. but just enough.

the world tilts and suddenly you're the one pinned, his weight settled, controlled, undeniable. his grip is firm but careful, eyes steady, focused on your face.

close, way too close.

your mind blanks. oh.

the instructor calls it, it takes you a second to register the words. "point to jungwon. match over."

over.

you blink. once. twice. jungwon releases you immediately, stepping back like the contact burned him.

"are you okay?" he asks, genuine concern threading his voice. you nod automatically. "yeah. i'm—yeah."

but you're not because it's not just that you lost. it's how you lost. clean, controlled and inevitable. you sit up slowly, the noise of the room rushing back in—murmurs, movement, the scrape of feet —but it all feels distant.

jungwon stands there, breathing steady, gaze flickering with something you can't quite name. regret? guilt?

it twists something in your chest. you laugh weakly, shaking your head. "wow," you mutter. "guess i really taught you too well."

he frowns at your words. "it wasn't like that." but it feels like that. it feels like you handed him the pieces and never noticed him putting them together into something sharper than you expected.

something stronger. betrayal isn't the right word —he didn't cheat, didn't lie—but it sits in your chest anyway, heavy and confusing.

like realizing the ground you trusted shifted without telling you. as you step off the mat, you don't look at him again.

because if you do, you're not sure whether you'll feel anger—or something dangerously close to awe.

jungwon catches up to you before you even make it to the lockers.

"hey," he says softly, like he's worried loudness might make things worse. "wait."

you slow just enough to turn, forcing a smile onto your face like it belongs there. "what's up, champ?"

the word tastes wrong. he flinches—not visibly, but you see it in the way his shoulders tense. "i just wanted to—talk. about the match."

you laugh but it comes out too bright, too easy, like you're trying to convince the room instead of him. "talk about what? you won. congrats."

you clap his shoulder as you pass him, casual, friendly, rehearsed. "guess taking you under my wing actually worked, huh?"

it's meant to sound generous but it sounds like a dismissal. jungwon turns to face you again, brow knitting. "it wasn't like that," he says quickly. "i didn't—i wasn't trying to—"

he wasn't quite sure why he felt so guilty about beating you, after all, it was a match that was won fairly. but seeing you lose even if it was him beating you, didn't sit well with him. the victory feeling more burdening than proof that he was good at the sport.

you're already walking away. "relax," you toss over your shoulder. "this was kind of the point. teacher gets surpassed. classic."

inside, something twists painfully. because yes—it makes sense, you trained him, you corrected him, you stayed late with him.

of course he learned. of course he got better. but knowing that doesn't make the loss hurt any less. it doesn't stop the ache sitting heavy in your chest —sharp with pride, dull with something closer to grief.

you don't look back and jungwon watches you go.

from where he stands, it feels like the room just... emptied. he knows your laugh. knows when it's real and that one wasn't.

he opens his mouth like he might call after you, explain himself somehow—that he never meant to make you feel small, that he only ever wanted to be good because of you.

but you're already gone and for the first time since he joined the dojo, jungwon feels like he's misstepped without knowing how.

the days after are worse. you stop pairing with him entirely.

when the instructor assigns partners, you switch. when you end up too close, you step away. when he looks at you, you don't look back.

you laugh with everyone else. you joke, you correct stances, you're still loud, still confident.

just... not with him and jungwon notices everything. the way you angle your body away. the way your eyes slide past him like he's not there. the absence where something warm and familiar used to sit.

it gnaws at him so he tries again.

"hey," he says one evening as you're packing up. "did i do something wrong?"

you don't even pause. "nope."

he follows, careful not to crowd you. "then why won't you talk to me?" you sigh like he's inconveniencing you. "jungwon, you're reading into it. we're fine."

but you don't sound fine and you don't look at him when you say it. "we don't joke anymore," he says quietly. "you don't correct me. you don't—"

"because you don't need it," you snap before you can stop yourself.

silence drops between you. you inhale sharply, scrub a hand through your hair. "look," you say, forcing calm back into your voice. "you're good. clearly. you don't need me hovering anymore."

hovering. the word lands wrong. jungwon's chest tightens. "i never thought you were hovering."

you finally meet his eyes—just for a second—and something raw flashes there before you shut it down.

"well," you say lightly, "that's how it was." you shoulder your bag and walk out. again.

by the end of the week, everyone feels it. mina watches you from across the mat, frowning. "did you two get into a fight or something?"

you scoff. "no."

"because you used to be attached at the hip," she says. "now it's like—"

"like what?"

"like you broke up," she finishes hesitantly.

you laugh in disbelief, sharp. "we were never anything." across the room, jungwon pretends not to hear—but the words stick anyway.

never anything.

he still looks for you, out of habit. still tracks your movements. still adjusts his stance the way you taught him.

but now it feels wrong like training with a missing limb. you notice it too, even if you pretend you don't.

how the space beside you stays empty. how your jokes land quieter. how winning drills feels less satisfying without someone watching the way he used to.

you tell yourself it's better this way, that distance hurts less than admitting how much it bothered you to lose. how much it bothered you that it was him who had beat you.

but late at night, when the dojo's quiet and your body aches from overtraining, the thought creeps in anyway: you didn't just lose a match. you lost the version of the two of you that existed before he realized his own strength.

and somewhere else, jungwon lies awake replaying the match over and over—not the victory, not the pin—but the moment you laughed and walked away.

࿊

you try to keep it light. that's the plan, at least.

you keep showing up early, keep correcting people's stances, keep laughing too loud at jokes that aren't that funny. on the surface, nothing about you has changed.

except jungwon is suddenly everywhere. not loud about it, never demanding, just... there.

he lines up next to you during warm-ups like it's habit. offers to hold pads when you don't ask. walks beside you when drills rotate.

the first time, you pretend not to notice. the second time, you flash him a smile. "wow," you say cheerfully. "you're really attached lately, huh?"

he blinks, almost hurt. "i just thought—we usually—"

"relax," you cut in lightly. "i'm joking." you always are. except the joke lands a little too close to the bone.

jungwon nods, lips parting like he might say something else—then he stops himself. he steps half a pace back, giving you space you didn't ask for but somehow resent anyway.

okay, you think. good. but it doesn't last.

during partner rotations, the instructor pairs you with someone else. jungwon still drifts over.

"your guard's dropping," he murmurs, instinctive. you smile brightly without looking at him. "oh? thanks. guess i forgot how to fight after one loss."

the words are playful and your tone is sweet but the jab is sharp enough that only he feels it.

he stills. "that's not what i meant," he says carefully.

"i know," you reply, grin unwavering. "you never mean anything bad."

jungwon swallows. you're mad, he realizes and you don't want to admit it. that scares him more than if you'd yelled.

he keeps trying anyway, because that's who he is. because losing you quietly feels worse than risking you loudly.

he brings you water after drills. waits for you at the lockers. asks questions he already knows the answers to, just to hear you talk.

and every time, you let him and that's the cruelest part. you never shut him out completely. you just... twist the knife a little deeper each time.

"you're doing great lately," he says one afternoon, genuine. "everyone's noticing."

you laugh bitterly. "yeah? guess all those hours of me correcting you paid off."

he hesitates. "...they did."

you tilt your head, eyes bright but unwelcoming. "you're welcome."

࿊

your mood shifts slowly, like a storm rolling in unnoticed. the unbothered act starts to crack.

your smiles stay in place. your tone stays upbeat. but the words underneath get meaner. slicker. tailored just for him.

"careful," you say once, still grinning, when he mirrors your footwork perfectly. "don't wanna make it too obvious who you copied."

another time: "wow, you're really confident lately. winning one match really went to your head, huh?"

he flinches—barely. "i don't think that," he says softly.

"mm," you hum. "sure."

jungwon hears what no one else does, the accusation. the bitterness. the hurt disguised as humor. and every time, he chooses silence. because pushing back feels like it might shatter what little you're still giving him.

inside, he's unraveling.

you're till smiling at me, he thinks. you're still talking to me. so why does it feel like i'm hurting you every time i breathe?

he replays everything—the match, the pin, the way your laugh sounded wrong afterward.

if i apologize again, will you pull away more? if i stop trying, will you disappear completely?

so he stays and takes the jabs, lets you bruise him in ways no one else can see.

you notice it, of course.

the way his shoulders slump just a little. how he answers shorter now. how his eyes search your face like he's bracing for impact every time you open your mouth.

it makes something ugly twist in your chest. good, you think bitterly. now you know how it feels.

except you don't feel better. you feel worse because under the bratty comments and the pretty smiles, there's a truth you won't let yourself say out loud: you're angry because he matters. you're cruel because you don't know how to be honest without breaking.

and jungwon—jungwon keeps letting you hurt him because losing you would hurt more.

everyone else sees two people drifting apart. only the two of you know how loud the tension really is and it's building toward something neither of you can keep dodging forever.

࿊

the dojo is supposed to be empty.

the lights are dimmed to their nighttime setting, half the room swallowed in shadow. the only sounds are your breath and the dull thud of your strikes hitting the bag.

over and over. harder than necessary.

your knuckles sting and you welcome it with open arms.

you don't hear the door at first.

jungwon does. he freezes just inside the entrance, gym bag still slung over his shoulder, eyes immediately finding you in the mirror. your reflection is sharp, furious—jaw clenched, movements aggressive, nothing like the playful version you wear during class.

so this is where you go, he thinks. he watches for a moment too long. the way you reset your stance angrily. the way you mutter under your breath. the way you hit like you're punishing something.

or someone.

finally, you notice the reflection behind you. you turn and your smile is gone. "...you stalking me now?" you ask flatly.

jungwon stiffens. "i— no. i stayed back. i noticed you don't leave with the others anymore."

"congrats," you say, grabbing your towel, wiping sweat from your neck. "very observant."

he steps further in, careful, like one wrong move might send you bolting. "i wanted to talk. properly. without—everything else."

you laugh, short and humorless. "wow. brave. cornering me alone at night."

his ears redden. "that's not—"

"relax," you interrupt, a lazy grin on your face now. "you're not scary."

the words are casual but the insult underneath isn't. jungwon swallows, choosing to ignore that last statement. "you've been avoiding me."

"have i?" you tilt your head, eyes sharp. "or did you just stop being my responsibility?"

that lands. he exhales slowly, steadying himself. "i never wanted you to feel like that."

"oh?" you step closer, just a little. "because it really felt like you were waiting for your chance to prove you didn't need me."

that's when something flickers across his face— hurt, maybe, mixed with something firmer. "i needed you," he says quietly. "i still do."

you scoff before rolling your eyes, clearly not believing what he had to say. "sure you do. you just don't show it on the mat anymore."

his gaze drops briefly—to your hands, your stance —then lifts again, intent. "because you won't look at me."

"because you beat me," you snap. the words hang there, raw and exposed. you don't bother softening them this time.

jungwon takes a step closer. "that was never—"

"don't," you cut in. "don't explain it away. don't apologize. you won. clean. congrats."

you clap slowly, exaggerated. "guess i'm a great teacher."

his jaw tightens. "that's not fair."

you grin—sharp, bratty, unapologetic. "nothing about this has been fair since you decided to stop holding back."

silence stretches. the air feels thick now—charged, heavy with things you haven't said. you're standing too close, close enough that you can see the way his chest rises a little faster than before.

he notices too and his voice drops. "you told me to stop."

"yeah," you say. "i didn't mean on me."

his eyes darken at that. "you think i wanted to hurt you?" he asks.

you step even closer, invading his space deliberately now. "i think you liked it."

that does it. jungwon's breath stutters—just once —before he schools his expression back into calm. his hands curl slowly at his sides like he's physically stopping himself from reacting.

you smirked, you knew what he was. the quiet and controlled ones were always the nastiest.

"you don't mean that," he says carefully. you tilt your head, eyes flicking briefly to his hands. "don't i?"

for a split second, neither of you moves. you can feel the heat of him. the tension coiled tight between you, pulling instead of pushing.

you're the one who breaks it—shoving past him to grab your bottle.

"you done with your little heart-to-heart?" you ask lightly. "or you gonna critique my form too?"

he turns, following you. "you're overtraining."

you laugh. "wow. now you're coaching me?"

"i'm worried about you."

"that's rich," you snap, spinning back around. "you didn't seem too worried when you pinned me."

the room goes dead quiet. jungwon's voice is low. "you know i didn't enjoy that."

your smile is slow. dangerous. "your body language said otherwise." his eyes flick to your mouth, then away. he looks... shaken.

"you're being cruel," he says, not accusing. just stating.

"yeah?" you step into him again, chin tipped up. "then stop standing so close."

he doesn't move. doesn't touch you. doesn't step back. just stays.

"i won't," he says quietly. "not if it means losing you."

something twists hard in your chest. for a second —just a second—your bravado wavers. then you scoff, rolling your eyes. "don't be dramatic."

but your voice isn't as steady as you want it to be. jungwon watches you like he's memorizing the moment—the anger, the closeness, the truth bleeding through the cracks.

whatever this is between you, it's not done. it's just finally alone and you don't back down.

that's the thing about you—when you feel cornered, you bare your teeth.

jungwon is standing too close, presence heavy, blocking the only clear path out. his voice is low, controlled, but you can feel it trembling right under the surface.

and instead of easing up—you smile. slow. sweet. poisonous.

"god," you say lightly, tilting your head like you're genuinely curious, "is this where you get it out? on the mat?"

his brows knit in confusion. "get what out."

you shrug. "whatever it is you're compensating for."

the silence that follows is brutal.

"don't," jungwon says. one word. tight. dangerously calm.

you laugh under your breath. "what? i'm just saying—maybe throwing people around is easier than disappointing them somewhere it actually matters."

that one lands, hard. his jaw locks. his breathing changes—deeper now, sharper, like he's reining something in with both hands.

"you don't get to talk about me like that," he says quietly. you step into it instead of away, chin lifting in challenge. "why? scared i'm right?"

his eyes darken but he doesn't walk away, doesn't touch you.

he looms.

you feel him everywhere—heat, shadow, gravity. your back hits the mirror with a soft sound you hate how loud it feels.

"you're being deliberately cruel," he says, voice low enough that it vibrates in your chest. "and you know exactly why."

you scoff. "oh please. suddenly you're fragile?"

"no," he snaps. "i'm angry."

good. that's what you wanted.

"wow," you say, clapping mockingly. "took you long enough. i was starting to think you only knew how to be quiet and obedient."

his hand twitches at his side. you notice, you file it away and you poke again.

"what?" you press. "does it bother you that i don't look at you like some prodigy anymore? that you're just—" you gesture vaguely, cruelly, "another guy who needed one win to feel big?"

his restraint finally cracks—not loud, not explosive, but sharp. "you're acting like a child," he bites out. "a sore, bitter child who can't stand not being the best for once."

your smile widens when you realize you had finally gotten under his skin. "and you're acting like one win suddenly rewrote the hierarchy."

"there is no hierarchy," he snaps. "this isn't about dominance or ego or—"

"don't lie to me," you interrupt, eyes blazing. "you felt it. you liked having me under you. liked knowing you could."

that one shakes him. you see it—the flicker of something feral he immediately clamps down on.

"that's not what that was," he says, dangerously quiet.

"then why are you still standing here like you're trying to prove something?" you shoot back. "why do you look like you're two seconds from snapping?"

his voice drops even further. "because you keep pushing me and i don't want to hurt you."

you laugh, breathless and sharp. "oh please. you already did." that lands deeper than you expect— even you feel it.

but you don't stop. "you won," you continue, venomous. "congrats. gold star. doesn't change the fact that you only had the nerve to stop holding back once you knew you could beat me."

"that's not true," he growls.

"isn't it?" you shoot back. "or were you always just waiting for the right moment to show me up?"

his eyes bore into yours. "i admired you."

the word hits hard. you sneer to cover the way it rattles you. "admiration looks a lot like obsession from where i'm standing."

his chest rises sharply. "you're twisting everything," he says. "because you don't want to admit this mattered to you."

"of course it mattered," you snap. "i took you under my wing. i trusted you."

"and i didn't betray you," he fires back. "i did exactly what you taught me to do."

"then why does it feel like you took something from me?" you demand.

the room is electric now—anger crackling, tension thick enough to choke on. you're both breathing hard. neither of you backing down.

jungwon leans in just enough that his voice is only for you. "because you don't know how to exist when you're not in control," he says. "and instead of admitting that, you're trying to tear me down."

you glare up at him, heart pounding. "maybe if you stopped hovering around me like a kicked puppy—"

"i stayed," he cuts in. "because i care."

"then stop acting like i owe you softness," you spit. "you didn't earn it."

his restraint is hanging by a thread now—you can feel it vibrating in the air between you.

"keep talking," he says quietly. "see where that gets you."

your pulse spikes and neither of you moves and for a split second, it's impossible to tell whether this is about anger—or something much more dangerous simmering just underneath it.

you've had enough. the air in the dojo feels too tight, too hot, like it's pressing in on your lungs. your pride is frayed, nerves buzzing, anger sitting ugly in your chest.

"i'm done," you say flatly, turning away. "move."

you step toward the exit. jungwon shifts, not fully in front of you—just enough.

you stop. slowly, you look up at him, disbelief curling into irritation. "seriously?"

he doesn't answer. just watches you, jaw tight, eyes dark and unreadable. you try again, sidestepping. again, he blocks you. that's when something in you snaps.

"what the fuck is your problem?" you bark. "get out of my way."

"not like this," he says calmly. you laugh, sharp and humorless. "oh my god, you really don't know when to stop, do you?"

you shove at his chest—not hard, but defiant, insulting in its confidence. muscle meets muscle and for half a second, you expect him to give.

he doesn't. instead, you sneer, words spilling before you can stop them. "what, is this how you make yourself feel capable? since you probably can't manage it anywhere else?"

his eyes flash. "don't," he warns.

you lean in, voice dripping poison. "or what? you'll pin me again and pretend that makes you impressive? real substitute for being disappointing in bed, jung—"

you push him again, harder and then—everything flips.

one second you're standing. the next, the world tilts violently and your back slams into the mat, breath ripping out of you in a sharp gasp.

jungwon moves fast—terrifyingly so.

your wrists are trapped above your head, his grip iron-strong, knees planted on either side of your thighs, weight settled in like he belongs there.

you freeze. your chest heaves. the mat is cold beneath you and  he's warm above you.

for the first time tonight—you're silent.

jungwon's breathing is heavy now, controlled but strained, shoulders tense like he's holding himself back with sheer will. his face is inches from yours, eyes burning with something far more dangerous than anger.

"say it again," he says quietly, his breath fanning against your cheek.

your pulse is roaring in your ears. you swallow, defiance flickering even as your body betrays you, heart pounding against your ribs. "get off me."

his grip tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you how pointless resistance would be.

"you don't get to talk about me like that," he growls. "not after everything you've been doing."

"what," you snap breathlessly, "hovering? watching me? acting like i owe you something?"

his jaw clenches. "you keep provoking me," he says. "you keep trying to hurt me because you can't stand that i beat you."

you scoff, even pinned, even shaking. "congrats. you won. does this help? does it finally make you feel competent?"

his eyes flick down to your mouth—just for a split second—then back to your eyes.

and that's when you know, you've crossed a line.

"you have no idea," he says lowly, "how hard i've been holding back."

the air between you feels charged, electric. your breath stutters, chest brushing his with every inhale. you can feel how solid he is, how immovable, how completely at his mercy you are right now.

yet he still hasn't touched you beyond what's necessary. still restrained. still choosing control.

"get off," you whisper, but it lacks bite now.

he doesn't move. "this," he says, voice steady but dangerous, "is exactly why i didn't want to fight you again."

your heart is racing—anger tangled with something else you don't want to name.

"because you're afraid you'll lose?" you taunt weakly.

his gaze hardens and he lets out a small laugh. "because i knew i'd get a taste of having you under me." your gaze hardens. "because i knew if you pushed me like this," he murmurs, "you wouldn't be able to handle what happens next."

silence. thick. heavy.

he finally releases one of your wrists—not to let you go, but to brace himself on the mat beside your head, boxing you in completely.

"say it again," he breathes, voice rough, eyes burning down into yours.

"what, that you're just trying to prove something because you're probably shit in—"

his hand clamps over your mouth. not hard, but final. the sound you make is muffled, swallowed by his palm. his other hand still pins your wrist, his body a solid, unyielding weight keeping you trapped against the cold mat.

"you don't get to talk," he says, low and deliberate. "not anymore. you had your chance. you used it to be cruel. now you get to learn." he was nice, patient, understanding and polite. you didn't want him that way, so he'll change his approach.

you thrash, hips bucking, legs kicking uselessly. your free hand claws at his arm, but it's like trying to move stone. he doesn't even flinch. just watches you struggle, his breath coming in controlled bursts, a dark, possessive satisfaction settling into his features.

"struggle all you want," he murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. "i like it. i've liked it for a long time."

you freeze, eyes widening. you fucking knew it.

he smiles then—a small, dangerous thing. "all those times i corrected your stance. my hands on your hips. you thought i was just being a good student?" he nuzzles your jaw, his nose tracing the line to your throat. "i was memorizing you. every flinch. every breath. how you felt under my hands."

his mouth finds your neck and he bites.

not a love bite. a sharp, claiming clamp of teeth that makes you gasp against his palm, back arching off the mat. pain sparks, hot and immediate, followed by a treacherous bloom of heat low in your belly. he holds it for a long second, then soothes the mark with his tongue, a low hum vibrating against your skin.

"you have no idea," he whispers, pulling back just enough to look at you. "how often i thought about this. about having you under me. really under me."

he shifts, his weight settling more deliberately between your thighs. the friction is minimal, but it's enough. you feel him—hard, undeniable, pressing against the seam of your gi pants. a shocked, wet pulse answers from between your legs, and you hate yourself for it.

he sees it. of course he does. his eyes darken further. "you feel that?" he grinds down, once, slowly, making you feel every inch. "your body knows what your mouth won't admit."

he releases your wrist. before you can even think to strike, he's grabbing the loose end of your own white karate belt, yanking it free from its knot with a sharp pull. you scramble, trying to twist away, to get a knee up, to do anything—but he's faster. always faster now. he captures both your wrists in one large hand, pins them above your head against the mat, and wraps the belt around them in a few efficient, brutal loops. the fabric is stiff, unyielding. he ties it tight, a secure knot that leaves your arms stretched, vulnerable.

"there," he says, sitting back on his heels to admire his work. you're laid out before him, bound, chest heaving. "better."

"jungwon, you fucking—"

"ah," he tsks, placing a finger over your lips. "language. you've said enough."

his hands go to the ties of your gi jacket. he opens it slowly, almost ceremoniously, pushing the fabric apart to reveal your sports bra beneath. his gaze is heavy, appreciative. "all that fire," he murmurs, palming one breast through the material, his thumb rubbing over your nipple until it pebbles painfully. "hiding all this softness."

he leans down and bites you again—this time over the fabric, right on the peak of your breast. you cry out, the sound a mix of pain and shock. he sucks hard, leaving a wet, aching spot, then moves to the other, giving it the same treatment. your hips jerk helplessly. you're wet. so wet you can feel it soaking through your pants.

he pulls your sports bra as far down as he could, watching your tits squeeze almost uncomfortably against the right fabric. he greedily takes in your exposed nipple into his mouth, sucking softly as he looks at your face.

you attempt to snarl at him, your hips rocking in attempts of shifting away but all you ended up doing was grinding against jungwon's dick harder.  he lets out soft moans as he switches from one tit to the other, tongue tracing what it could.

"disgusting," you pant, trying to sound contemptuous. "you're a fucking animal."

he chuckles, a low, dark sound. "you made me this way. you kept pushing. you wanted to see the monster? here it is."

he grudgingly parts way with your chest, leaving soft kisses down the middle before landing a sharp bite between the junction of your neck and shoulder. a mark that would be impossible to hide. you cry out in pain, your thighs attempting to clench together to alleviate the pressure that was beginning to pulse between your legs.

his hand slides down your stomach, over the waistband of your pants. he dips his fingers inside, not touching you where you ache, just tracing the line of your hip bone. "let's see if your mouth is as filthy everywhere else."

he shifts, moving between your legs to make sure that you were unable to shut him out. he undoes your pants, pulling them and your underwear down your thighs in one rough motion. the cool air hits your damp skin, and you squeeze your eyes shut, humiliation burning your cheeks.

"look at me," he commands.

you don't.

a sharp, stinging slap lands on your inner thigh. you gasp, eyes flying open.

"i said look at me." you glare up at him, tears of frustration pricking your eyes.

he smiles, satisfied. his fingers finally touch you, sliding through your slickness with an appreciative hum. "so wet for me. for the man you think is disappointing." he pushes one finger inside you, slowly, his eyes locked on yours. "does this feel disappointing?"

you bite your lip, refusing to answer, refusing to give him the moan that wants to crawl up your throat. he curls his finger, finding a spot that makes your toes curl. you jerk against your bindings.

"no?" he adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb circling your clit with precise, maddening pressure. "you're clenching so tight. like you're trying to keep me in." you twitch in his hold, still attempting to wriggle out of his hold only for him to place his palm on your lower stomach—holding you in place.

he watches you, a lazy smirk present on his face as your face morphs into one of pure pleasure. you attempt to shoot him a nasty look only for him to hook his fingers deeper into you, low whines escaping your parted lips.

he sets a rhythm, deep and relentless, his thumb working you over. pleasure builds, coiling tight and desperate low in your gut. you can't help the ragged breaths, the tiny shifts of your hips trying to meet his hand. you're close. so close. the tension is winding to a breaking point.

he leans over you, his fingers still moving before he tilts his head down to press his lips against yours. you moan in surprise, giving him an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. the kiss is messy, almost as if he was trying to push as much of his spit into your mouth as he could. you feel your stomach clench and your eyes roll back, you were so close.

then he stops.

his fingers go still, buried inside you. his thumb lifts away and he pulls back from your mouth.

you make a broken, needy sound.

"no," he says softly, withdrawing his fingers completely. he brings them to his mouth, sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "not yet. you don't get to come until you understand."

he moves up your body, straddling your chest. his own pants are open now, his cock freed—thick, flushed, and dripping. he grips your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks, and angles your face up. "open."

you press your lips together, turning your head in disobedience and disbelief. although you always had a lingering feeling that jungwon was more than what meets the eye, his dick wasn't something you thought would meet your eye.

he yanks your hair, hard, forcing you to look forward. "open, or i'll make it worse."

defeated, trembling, you let your mouth fall open.

he doesn't hesitate. he feeds his cock past your lips, not slowly, but not brutally either. it's a controlled, relentless invasion. he bottoms out in your throat, and you gag, tears springing to your eyes. he holds there for a moment, letting you struggle, letting you feel the stretch.

"that's it," he groans, his head falling back. "fuck, your mouth. always running. now it's finally good for something."

he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest, his grip on your hair keeping you in place, his other hand still holding your jaw. you can't move, can only take it, the sounds wet and obscene in the quiet dojo. he sets a punishing pace, his hips driving forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat over and over. saliva drips down your chin. your eyes water and your legs shake against the matt.

"you feel so good," he rasps, looking down at you. "swallowing me like you were made for it. is this what you wanted? to be used?" he could feel himself grow harder as he watches your messy face, absolutely fucked out.

he reads the shame in your eyes, and it spurs him on. his movements become more erratic, his breath catching. "gonna cum all over that pretty, arrogant face," he grunts. "mark you with it."

with a low, guttural groan, he pulls out. hot stripes of cum paint your cheeks, your closed eyelids, your lips. it's warm, sticky, reeking of salt and him. he strokes himself through the last pulses, some of it landing on your chin.

he sits back, breathing heavily, looking at his work. you're a mess—bound, marked, covered in him. "so fucking pretty."

you lay in utter shock, unable to open your eyes in fear of his cum getting into them. you hear him chuckle before he's almost lovingly helping you clean the mess up off your face.

when you're finally able to open your eyes your greeted with the sight of a flushed jungwon staring down at you in pure awe. he swipe against your face before pushing his cum soaked fingers into your mouth, making you gag.

he snickers before he wipes the head of his cock on your cheek, then shuffles back down your body. he pushes your legs apart, his hands rough on your thighs. he bites the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, hard enough to leave a bruise, sucking another dark mark into your flesh. you whimper out in what you could only say was a combination of pleasure and humiliation.

then he's positioning himself at your entrance. you feel him against you, hot and heavy. "w-wait jun—" he pushes the head in, stretching you, and you're so wet he slides in with one smooth, deep thrust.

you both cry out, your legs flailing before jungwon grabs them and pushes them so they meet your chest.

he stills, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to yours. "fuck," he breathes, the word shuddering out of him. "you're so tight. so perfect."

he starts to move, and it's nothing like the frantic pace from before. this is controlled, precise, every thrust measured and deep, aimed to drag over that spot inside you that makes you see stars. one hand braces beside your head; the other wraps around your throat.

not squeezing. just holding. a promise.

"you like this," he whispers, his thrusts steady, devastating. "you like being pinned down and fucked by the quiet one you underestimated. admit it."

you shake your head, even as your hips lift to meet him.

his hand tightens slightly on your throat, cutting off just a little air. your eyes widen. pleasure spikes, sharper, more dangerous. "admit it," he repeats, his voice a dark caress.

"i..." you choke out.

"say you're sorry," he demands, his pace never faltering. "for the way you've been. for the things you said. say it, and i'll let you cum."

the orgasm is right there, hovering, denied. you're strung so tight you feel like you'll shatter. you need it. you hate how much you need it.

"i'm..." you try again, pride warring with desperation. he leans down, bites your shoulder, thrusts harder, deeper. "say it."

the dam breaks. "i'm sorry!" you sob, the words ripped from you. "i'm sorry, jungwon, please—"

"good girl," he purrs, and his hand leaves your throat to circle your clit, his thrusts turning punishingly fast. you could feel his cock stretch out your walls with each thrust, the sting satisfying. you could feel your stomach tighten and your body twitch with each movement.

that's all it takes. your orgasm crashes through you, violent and all-consuming. you scream, your body convulsing around him, milking his cock as he fucks you through it. he follows moments later, his own release hitting with a choked groan, his hips stuttering as he pumps his cum deep inside you.

he collapses on top of you for a moment, both of you breathing raggedly. then he pushes himself up, looking down at the mess he's made of you.

slowly, almost thoughtfully, he unties your wrists. your arms fall, aching, to your sides. he doesn't move off you. instead, he slides down your body, pushes your thighs apart again, and lowers his head between your legs.

you flinch at his sudden movements. "what are you—"

his tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, cleaning his own cum from inside of you. the act is so intimate, so filthy, it steals your breath. he eats you out with slow, thorough strokes, his tongue pushing inside you to gather every drop. you shudder, overstimulated, a weak moan escaping you.

when he's done, he kisses your inner thigh, then moves back up to loom over you.

"lesson's over," he says quietly, his eyes dark and unreadable.

the dojo is quiet. not the comfortable kind of quiet you're used to after everyone leaves—not the soft hum of lights and distant traffic.

this is different. thick. heavy. almost aware.

you're still on the mat. your gi is half-tied, hair a mess, skin marked in places you'll have to hide tomorrow. your wrists ache faintly where the belt had been. your body feels loose in that dangerous way after adrenaline—warm and boneless and too aware all at once.

jungwon is still hovering above you, but not the same way he was seconds ago.

his breathing is slower now, controlled.

he's looking at you like he doesn't quite recognize what he just did or maybe what you both just did.

for a moment, neither of you speak.

you stare up at the ceiling, fluorescent lights blurring slightly. your chest rises and falls, but your mind is louder than your heartbeat.

what the hell just happened? you pushed him. you wanted him to snap. you practically dared him to.

but this? this wasn't just anger. it wasn't just a fight.

it had been building for months—in every correction of your stance, every lingering hand at your waist, every look he thought you didn't notice.

you swallow. do you regret it? you try to search yourself for the answer.

you regret the loss. you regret the pride you had to swallow. you regret the things you said. but what just happened? your thighs tense involuntarily at the memory. no.

that's what scares you.

jungwon shifts slightly, finally rolling off you so he's lying beside you instead of over you. he doesn't touch you now. there's space between your bodies—inches that feel like miles in comparison to how close you two were just minutes before.

his voice, when it comes, is quiet. "are you okay?" it's so absurdly gentle it almost makes you laugh.

you turn your head to look at him. his hair is damp at the temples, lips swollen, jaw tight, but his eyes—his eyes are different.

not triumphant. not smug. but searching. you let out a slow breath. "you're asking me that now?"

he flinches, barely, but you see it.

"i needed you to stop," he says. not defensive. not angry. just honest. "you weren't going to."

you look away again. he's right, you weren't. you would've kept going, kept poking, kept cutting at him until one of you bled in a way that wasn't fixable.

"was that about the match?" you ask finally, voice softer than you intend.

he doesn't answer right away, you can feel him thinking. "no," he says after a beat. "not just that."

silence stretches. you hate how exposed you feel —not physically, emotionally. like something between you has been ripped open and there's no stuffing it back inside.

"you've been acting like i betrayed you," he continues quietly. "like i did something wrong by getting better."

you swallow again because that's exactly how it felt. like you'd handed him pieces of yourself— your training, your tips, your time—and he'd used them to knock you down.

irrational but real.

"you were supposed to be mine," you admit before you can stop yourself. his head turns sharply toward you. "what?"

"my project. my student." you let out a shaky exhale. "not... this." not the one looming over you. not the one making you unravel.

jungwon is silent for a long moment. then, softer, "i was never just your student." your chest tightens and you glance at him again, and this time his gaze doesn't waver.

"every time you corrected me," he says, voice low but steady, "every time you grabbed my hands and moved them where you wanted them... you think i didn't feel that?"

heat crawls up your neck. "i thought you were being confident," he continues. "i liked it. i like it. but you don't get to act like i crossed a line alone."

that lands because he didn't force this into existence. you built it too, every smirk, every challenge. every time you leaned in too close just to see if he'd react.

"do you regret it?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

this one matters, he doesn't answer immediately. you watch his throat bob as he swallows. "...no," he says finally.

honest and unflinching. your stomach flips.

"do you?" he asks. you stare back up at the ceiling. the dojo feels different now, like it knows, like the mats remember. this place used to be yours—your territory, your stage, where you were loud and untouchable and always winning.

now? now it feels shared. balanced. dangerous.

"...i don't know," you admit. it's the most truthful thing you've said all night.

jungwon shifts closer—not touching, but close enough that you feel his warmth again.

"i don't want to fight you," he says quietly. "not like that."

you huff softly. "you were the one who—"

"because you kept trying to hurt me," he cuts in, still calm. "with words. like you wanted me to hate you."

you don't have a comeback for that because maybe you did. maybe it was easier to make him the villain than admit you were shaken by how much you wanted him.

the silence stretches again, but it's different now. less sharp and more fragile.

"this changes things," you say finally.

"yeah."

"people are going to notice."

"they already have."

you glance at him in confusion. "you stopped looking at me. stopped paring up with. pretended i wasn’t there," he says simply. "that was worse."

your chest tightens unexpectedly. you hadn't realized that part, you'd thought distancing yourself would protect you.

instead, it hurt him and maybe you too. he finally sits up slowly, offering you a hand—not to dominate, not to pin, just to help you up.

the same gesture he offered after the first match. this time, you hesitate. then you take it, his grip is warm, steady, familiar.

when you stand, there's a new awareness between you. not just attraction, not just rivalry. but understanding. dangerous, mutual understanding.

"we can't pretend this didn't happen," you say as you fix your robes and slip your pants back on.

"i'm not going to," he replies. his gaze drops briefly to the marks on your skin—not possessive now. thoughtful.

almost reverent. "but we decide what it means," he adds.

that's the part that lingers because this wasn't just anger. it wasn't just sex, it was months of tension snapping all at once.

and now? now you have to walk back into this dojo tomorrow and act like you didn't both cross a line that can't be uncrossed.

you meet his eyes one last time before turning toward the locker room. for the first time since he beat you, you don't feel betrayed.

you feel challenged. equal.

and that might be even more dangerous.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He shot you a brief glance before nodding ahead. “Seen something like this before. In Raccoon City. Genetically modified plants.” 

As he spoke, he stepped forward toward one of the terminals – and finally gave in to the heat, shrugging off his leather jacket.

It revealed the tactical shirt beneath, long-sleeved like yours, tight-fitting like yours. The outlines of his broad upper arms were unmistakable, stretching the fabric like it was barely holding on, ready to give if he so much as flexed. His shoulders tapered down into a narrow waist, his hips shifting with surprising fluidity.

And his ass –

God.

Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. Your heart picked up speed, matching the growing throb and pull between your legs.

“Get yourself together,” you whispered under your breath as Leon started typing.

He let out a quiet grunt.

“Found something?”

You stepped closer carefully. Leon noticed in time to take a deliberate step aside – giving both of you space.

You shot him a small sideways glance and a faint smile before leaning over the glowing screen to read:

SPECIES FILE – DESIGNATION: EUPHORIA VARIANT

Genetically modified plant organism.

Primary function: Release of airborne spores targeting the limbic system.

Intended effects:

Stimulation of desire

Increased suggestibility

Emotional dependency

Addendum: 

The compound does not differentiate between forms of drive.

Desire and hunger are processed through overlapping neural pathways.

Mutation observed in latest subjects.

Need amplified. Desire uncontrollable.

You frowned, your vision blurring slightly. The words made sense – but your brain struggled to process them properly. You had to reread the text multiple times before it fully sank in.

There was more:

INCIDENT REPORT – RESTRICTED

Containment failure in lower level greenhouse.

Spore density exceeded projected limits.

Plant growth exponentially increasing.

Subjects lost all higher cognitive function within hours.

Subjects developed floral growth as part of mutation.

Remaining behavior:

Compulsive feeding

Aggression

Loss of identity

Facility compromised.

If exposure has occurred:

Leave immediately.

Do not remain in the greenhouse.

Leon watched you as you read through what he already knew.

He shouldn’t. Shouldn’t let himself be influenced like this by what had been created here. A twisted way to control human desire. To commercialize something as intimate as this connection, even further than it already was. It disgusted him.

And yet – there you were, bent forward, every curve of your agile body visible beneath the tight tactical clothing. What had once been a sweet distraction on the occasional mission now hit him like a truck.

The hard ache in his pants – the one he had been stubbornly ignoring ever since you’d shed those two layers – throbbed insistently at the sight of you.

The way you arched your perfect ass – he wanted nothing more than to grab you. Tear every piece of clothing from your sweat-slick skin. Twist your ponytail around his wrist and…

He dragged a hand over his face, just as damp, struggling for control of his thoughts. You were more than just a hot body. He knew that. Years of crossing paths had made that clear.

Understanding. Driven. Hardcore. In his darkest times, you had been that small light. That quiet motivation. Whenever he saw you and things were good, you noticed – and smiled. Whenever they weren’t, you tried to lift him up, steady and unwavering, guiding the mission to its end alongside him.

You had never truly gotten to know each other – why hadn’t you?

Because neither of you had ever made the first move?

He could fix that. Here. Now. But not like this. Not under the influence of something like this. You deserved more than that. So Leon clenched his teeth, jaw tight, forcing himself to look anywhere but at you.

“Holy shit,” you murmured once you had finally processed everything. You turned, your tingling body leaning back against the console for support. “So it is sex trafficking – but bio-style.”

Leon crossed his arms. A quiet laugh slipped past his lips, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor rather than you – because he knew exactly his eyes would land on your chest otherwise.

Now it was clear what was happening between you.

For you, it was attraction amplified.

For him… was it artificial?

You couldn’t quite tell, not with the way he avoided looking at you, his attention everywhere but where you stood. If anything, he seemed uncomfortable, not tempted.

It stung – your ego, your feelings – but you couldn’t blame him.

“We need to kill this plant and secure a sample,” you said instead, redirecting the focus back to the mission. “From what the report says, the effect isn’t permanent. If we get out of here quickly, fresh air and some time might be enough.”

“And if not,” Leon added professionally, “the sample will be used for an antidote.”

You nodded, pushing yourself off the console. Weapon raised, you moved toward the greenhouse entrance, Leon right behind you.

Had it not been built for such a vile purpose, the greenhouse would have been beautiful.

The air carried a distinct blend of roses and tropical notes – warm, fresh, and alluring. The colors were vibrant, the vegetation alive. If only it hadn’t grown out of control, and if the spores weren’t so dense, so clearly visible, drifting through the air. The concentration was too high. You’d inhale too much in no time.

You tried to keep your breathing shallow, but your focus slipped with every breath. Especially when Leon kept slipping into your peripheral vision. His arms – his damn arms again. His ash-blond hair framing that intensely focused expression. He stirred something primal in you, such overwhelming need, that before you could stop yourself, you took a deeper breath just to ease the heavy throbbing between your legs... 

...which didn’t help.

Instead, you cursed yourself for breathing in even more of the stuff. Your vision blurred. Every inch of your skin burned. Panting followed soon after. 

You felt as if even the slightest touch would push you over the edge of an orgasm. 

You had never experienced anything this intense before – no matter how young or experienced you had been. It consumed you more with every passing second, and you didn’t know what to do with it. For a moment, you almost understood the desperate moans of the Flombies.

Your thoughts drifted – unhelpfully – to your vibrator back home. A dearly missed little companion right now.

How Leon stayed so composed was beyond you.

Then again, you could hear his breathing too – heavy, controlled – while both of you stubbornly kept your eyes forward.

“Focus. Don’t breathe it in too deep,” he instructed, his dark voice like a glass of water after two days in the desert.

“I’m trying,” you panted quietly.

“We’re gonna be okay.”

“Your word in God’s ear.”

You moved forward, searching for the plant shown in the report, hoping you’d also find a way to destroy it along the way.

Gunshots echoed through the massive greenhouse whenever you took down a Flombie. There still weren’t many, and you wondered if most of the staff and captives had managed to escape.

You raised your weapon toward the next mutation, but Leon stopped you, arm outstretched.

“Wait.”

You lowered your gun immediately.

“What is it?” you asked, but the figure ahead had already turned to face you.

Flowers had begun to sprout from him too, but something was different.

He was looking at you.

Aware.

“Who are you?” he asked calmly, completely unbothered by his mutation.

“We are CIA and DSO, sir,” you replied – maybe you could still help him. “We heard about the incident here and came to evacuate you.”

“Ah,” the man in front of you said. Like so many before him, he wore a lab coat – though his wasn’t yet torn apart by rampant flora bursting from his body. He was clearly in an earlier stage of mutation. An unsettling grin spread across his half-mutated face as he adjusted the glasses on his long, hooked nose. “I’m afraid you are too late, Agents.”

Leon and you exchanged a brief look – skeptical, blood rushing, pulling yourselves together even as your control hung by a thread.

“How do we stop this?” you asked the scientist in front of you. “Who are you?”

To your surprise, he introduced himself immediately. Sometimes it really could be that simple.

“My name is Richard Greene.”

You recognized the name instantly – from the initials on the reports.

“You’re the lead researcher on the project,” you realized out loud.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” He sighed quietly. “You shouldn’t be here, agents.” His gaze flickered upward with a slight jerk of his head – his body no longer fully under his control – toward the plants. “Then again… neither should I.”

With a crooked smile, he turned back to you.

“As for ‘stopping’ it –” he reached into his lab coat and produced a vial filled with a green liquid, “ – this is the only way to destroy Plant E.”

You inhaled another batch of spores drifting through the air.

“Give it to us. You can still stop this. The facility is doomed. Give us the compound and no one else has to get hurt.”

With an unsettling chuckle, the scientist slipped the vial back into his coat.

“I never really meant to hurt people, you know.” He tucked his other hand into his pockets. “All I wanted was to create something… elegant. And I needed the funding.”

“Hence you partnered with the right shareholders,” Leon said.

He nodded. “Unfortunate that my plant proved so interesting to the sex industry –,” confirming your suspicion that this was about sex trafficking, “ – when all I wanted was to build a bridge… between instinct and influence.” His gaze settled on you, intense and obsessive. “Desire.”

You swallowed. The man unsettled you deeply – and yet your body felt drawn to him. To his words.

To that disturbing smile.

Leon stepped forward, placing himself between you and him.

That only made the smile widen.

“You see, agents –” Greene said, taking a step forward, “ – people think desire is complicated. Personal. Emotional.” He paused at Leon’s imposing stance. “It isn’t. It’s chemical. The same pathways. The same signals. I could have used the removal of that distinction in any kind of medicine. Instead… it became this.”

He gestured around him, into the air thick with particles drifting like heavy rain.

“It became more,” he said, almost reverent. “It consumes you… before you consume.”

His gaze locked onto you.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

You flinched back – but forced yourself to hold your ground.

“Yes… you feel it.” His grin never faltered as he paced slowly. “It starts subtle. Heat. Breathing gets heavier. Restlessness. Noticing things more. Noticing him.”

He pointed at Leon.

“That’s enough,” Leon said, but Greene only laughed softly.

“Don’t pretend you’re above it. You feel it, too.” His voice dropped lower. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The desire.” His body twitched, new flowers bursting from him. “I only wanted people to be able to revel in it. You could, too. Revel in it. I can see you want to.”

He gestured shamelessly toward Leon’s crotch. Leon stood in front of you, but you could imagine exactly what was happening.

“Both your bodies have already decided.”

Leon tensed noticeably. Why he wasn’t shooting yet, you couldn’t quite tell. Then again – you weren’t either. It was as if Greene had you both under some kind of spell. You wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Understand this,” he continued, his gaze greedy as it lingered on you. “It’s not gentle. It doesn’t ask.” A hoarse, quiet laugh. “It insists.” One of his hands clutched the fabric over his chest. “It builds, layer by layer… until everything – thought, rationality, restraint…” His voice faltered. “…feels far away.” He inhaled the spores – his creation. “And then… you don’t want to stop.”

A sudden coughing fit shook the scientist, and he dropped to his knees. Your body jerked forward, insisting on helping him – but Leon still had enough control to hold you back.

You watched as the mutation overtook him, flowers bursting from his body, consuming him, until nothing remained of the man who had caused all of this.

The creature before you was larger than the others – massive, covered in vivid, dangerous colors.

“Now would be a great time for that flamethrower!” you shouted, as Leon and you opened fire into the mass of flowers, petals bursting into the air – but the mutant kept advancing, moaning obscenely, searching for flesh, no longer able to distinguish between hunger and desire.

“Get the vial!” Leon ordered, sharper than before. He pointed toward the steel walkway beside the creature – the pesticide had fallen from Greene’s coat during the mutation.

“Yes, sir!”

And for a moment, you were locked in as a team.

“Hey, Flowerboy!” Leon called out, drawing the mutant’s attention. “I might have the biggest hard-on of my life, but I can still take you down.”

“TMI, Agent Kennedy!” you shot back, ignoring your overheated body as you sprinted forward, slipping past the distracted creature, dodging a sweeping strike, sliding across the slick steel until you grabbed the vial.

“Now what?!” you called to Leon, who emptied his magazine into the flowers.

“Run to the control room! Sprinkler system – go!”

“Got it!”

You raced along the walkway, cutting down or dodging smaller plant-zombies along the way, until you made the loop and reached the control room entrance again – praying Leon would hold out long enough for you to find and activate the system.

You rushed inside, catching a glimpse through the glass of Leon dodging the mutant’s attacks – and hurried even faster.

“ShitShitShit,” you panted, fumbling with the very prominent input module until you finally got it open. A sudden realization hit you – something you had completely forgotten down here.

“Dave!” You switched on your intercom.

“Holy shit, girlie, there you are! Hunnigan and I already sent a unit your way since we hadn’t heard from you in so long. What’s your sitrep?”

“Can’t chat – giant bioweapon is chasing Leon! Help me with these controls. We need to activate the sprinkler system.”

Dave locked in immediately, his bright voice dropping into something lower, more serious. “Got it. Let me handle it. I’ll hack into this.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

With that, you hurried back toward the greenhouse to help Leon. The metal rang beneath your quick steps as you ran up behind the floral monstrosity.

“Hey!” You fired into the back of its blooming head. “Come and get me, horny.”

It turned toward you, a sound somewhere between a roar and a drawn-out moan echoing through the space. From behind the creature, you saw Leon moving along the side path – clearly heading your way.

Tense, you kept your pistol trained on where the researcher’s face had once been, now only recognizable by the gaping maw.

“Any second now, Dave…” you muttered.

You planted your feet, ready to fire again.

The monster lashed out.

Leon came to a stop beside you, his pistol raised right next to yours. Your eyes met –  determined, trusting.

Then the sprinklers activated across the massive greenhouse.

Thick, green droplets poured down from above, drenching everything beneath the dome. Almost instantly, the vibrant blossoms around you began to wither – and with them, the ones covering the mutant. Greene – or what remained of him – howled and groaned as he shrank, his once-colorful body turning gray, decaying.

He collapsed onto the slick metal floor and dissolved, just like the growth surrounding you. Not just that – the air cleared, the spores vanished. What had once been a vibrant greenhouse slowly died away – and with it, the twisted ambition of its creator.

Silence settled over you. Only the faint hum of the lights above remained.

For a moment, with adrenaline still rushing through your veins, you wondered whether the pesticide had flushed the spores out of your system as well.

One glance at the man beside you proved otherwise.

Leon was soaked. From head to toe. And damn – it only made him more attractive. Wet strands of hair clung to his face, green droplets trailing down his jaw, along his neck. The damp fabric of his dark shirt stuck to him – the outline of his abs so clearly visible it should’ve required a permit.

You looked away as your gaze caught the unmistakable bulge in his pants, heat rushing back into your body – fast, demanding – adding a new, burning slickness between your thighs to the dampness already clinging to your skin.

“Fucking hell. I want out of here,” you said.

Leon let out a low sound of agreement. “Got a sample.”

He held up a piece of vine that had somehow survived the downpour.

“Color me impressed.” He was such a trained agent, it was almost unreal. “They’ll be able to make an antidote out of that, right? Before we start growing flowers?”

“Yeah.” Leon put conviction into his voice, and for now, you chose to believe him. The alternative was too much. Maybe it hadn’t progressed that far yet – maybe time would clear the spores from your system.

Leon lifted his hand to his ear, calling in to whoever he was connected to at the DSO.

As you made your way toward the exit, you did the same with Dave.

“Are you okay?” Dave asked, concern threading his voice.

“I –” your gaze lingered on Leon for a moment, “ – I’m not sure. This was… too much. I wasn’t exactly looking for a bio-organic case.”

In short bursts, you filled Dave in on the most important details of the past hours.

“We need to make sure they didn’t ship either the compound or any infected overseas,” you concluded, trying with everything you had not to think about Leon – just the fresh air above. 

But your body still throbbed, every inch of it, your heart hammering in your throat, your core screaming that it had been far too long since you’d been properly fucked stupid.

“First we need to make sure you two don’t turn into flombies. Great wordplay, by the way – so funny. Maybe you and Agent Kennedy should try working some of that out with a little fun.”

“Dave!” you protested, scandalized – but your fried brain thought it was a fantastic idea.

Everything in you was screaming to pull Leon close and devour him...figuratively.

“I’m actually not kidding,” your handler’s voice came through again, more serious now. “You two obviously like each other. It’s not just the spores. And from the documents I pulled from their servers, it looks like the effects actually wear off over time.” He snorted. “Would be pretty stupid if they made a sex drug that keeps people permanently horny. No recurring revenue.”

“Wow, okay, Mister Capitalism.”

You rolled your eyes as Dave let out a dumb laugh. He didn’t seem worried about you. That was… something.

But he wasn’t in your skin.

Not in the fire that had been burning the entire time, that you’d been fighting from the very beginning. The thing distracting you, pushing you to the edge of losing your mind. How you’d managed to stay focused enough to take that monster down was beyond you.

You looked down at your hands, blood rushing hot through them, and you could’ve sworn you could actually see colors running through your veins.

By the time you finally made it up the long staircase and stepped out of the decoy container where it had all begun, you couldn’t take the tingling in your skin or the closeness to Leon anymore – you bolted forward.

Out of the hall. Into the open air of the harbor.

Right outside, you spotted Leon’s Porsche – the absurdly expensive model you’d heard about back at the office. The DSO veteran’s reputation obviously reached even the CIA floors.

It felt strangely familiar, despite never having seen it before, as you leaned against the cool chassis, focusing on your breathing.

Eight seconds in. Deep into your lungs. Ten seconds out.

Hoping it might flush at least some of the spores out.

The cool sea air hit your damp skin, but it didn’t cool you down. Of course, why would fresh air alone fix this? Instead, you found yourself thinking about how good it felt to be pressed up against the Porsche… and immediately your thoughts spiraled into how good it would be to use it.

The last bit of reason in you tried to summon shame, but only barely.

It didn’t help. You were still hopelessly hot for Kennedy.

Said Kennedy stepped out behind you, his stride steady, purposeful, directed right at you. He masked it so damn well.

Still panting, you watched him approach – the sway of his hips, the bulge in his pants, the way his large, strong hands checked the magazine of his gun before his gaze lifted to meet yours.

Those pale blue eyes drilling into yours, something burning behind them.

“Deep breaths,” he murmured, coming to stand beside you, leaning against the car as well, his body angled toward yours. One hand hovered slightly, like he wanted to touch you.

God. He couldn’t touch you.

“Is this how I go out?” you asked, breath uneven from his presence alone. “Horny?”

Leon’s eyes widened for the briefest moment before a low, hoarse laugh rumbled from his chest. “You’ll be fine.”

Everything had been said. Everything had been done.

The air here at the harbor should’ve been fresh – but it wasn’t. It was thick. Heavy. Charged. Silence settled between you, and this time, neither of you tried to break it. You just looked at each other.

His eyes lowered to yours – so soft, so sensual, so irresistible. 

Everything that had happened down there – those moments, heightened and distorted – stormed through your mind. The looks. His hand. His voice. That delicious pull in your stomach. The throbbing between your legs.

Instinct.

Desire.

Urgency.

No rationality.

You don’t want to stop.

“You wanna have dinner sometime?” “Wanna give me your number?”

Your voices overlapped, the words slipping out impulsively.

You both froze.

Leon laughed again – freer this time, brighter, like something chained-up inside him had finally snapped loose. There was unmistakable affection in his eyes as he lifted a hand and brushed a drying strand of hair from your face.

The touch sent a shock through your body. You barely held back a whimper, forced into a sharp inhale instead as heat swept through you violently .

“Or maybe –” you swallowed, “ – maybe we just skip the first few dates?”

You looked up at him, fully aware of how needy you sounded. Because you were.

For a moment that stretched endlessly, his gaze sank deeper into yours, like he was searching for the answer there instead of within himself.

Then, finally, a quiet, open grin.

“Yeah… yeah, let’s skip ’em.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding in a relieved laugh, only for your body to move on its own, pressing into his broad frame, into his smile.

Your lips collided.

Your body ignited – wild, consuming fire. No putting it out without him.

He felt exactly as good as you’d imagined. Solid. Strong. The perfect anchor to lose yourself against. The scent of his sweat – clean, sharp – clouded your senses, somehow making everything even hotter.

His arms wrapped around you, massive and firm – one around your waist, pulling you tight against him, the other along your back, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you deeply.

You had expected urgency – wild, frantic desire.

But Leon had other plans.

Having you wasn’t meant to be rushed. It was meant to be savored. To feel your lips. Taste the salt on your skin. Discover every inch of you.

Leon’s version of urgency had never been about speed – it was about stretching the moment for as long as possible. 

And he would stretch this one into infinity if he could.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind – he should’ve asked you sooner. Could’ve had this sooner. Your lips, your body. That it had taken a genetically altered plant to break through your professional restraints might be the greatest irony of his life.

But now that he had you – he wasn’t letting go. And he’d prove to you that whatever was happening between you… it wasn’t because of the spores. They had only helped along what had been there all along.

His weight pressed you back against the Porsche, larger body enclosing yours, every bit of friction almost too much. His damp hair felt incredible between your fingers as you threaded your hand through it, gripping, tugging slightly – partly for balance, partly to tease him.

The low growl you got in return vibrated against your lips, never giving you space to breathe. Hot breaths tangled together. Open, wet kisses. Tongues brushing. Lips everywhere.

You couldn’t hold back the whimper when Leon slid a solid-trained thigh between your legs, pressing oh-so-gently against your core.

“Careful –” you gasped against his lips, “– I’m so sensitive you can’t even imagine.”

Leon’s breath came heavy, his face so close you could barely make out more than the lines around his eyes.

“Oh, I can,” he murmured. “Believe me. And I can imagine how badly you need to get off.”

The words shot straight through you, settling deep in your stomach. Your fingers tightened in his hair before you pulled him back into another kiss.

One arm still wrapped around you, Leon reached back with practiced ease, grabbing the rear door handle of his Porsche.He guided you away from the car’s exterior, opening the door, keeping your buckling body upright as he positioned you in front of the back seat.

“Get in,” he instructed – soft, but firm.

His hands came up to cup your face, thumbs brushing slow, soothing paths along your jaw, blue eyes locked onto yours – demanding, expectant, devoted.

You let yourself sink down onto the soft leather seat, his hands lingering on your face until he had to let go to climb in after you, closing the door behind him.

Suddenly, in the confined space, you were too close. He towered over you, just on the edge of pressing you fully beneath him. Anywhere – here, especially here – you needed him. His touch. 

If he didn’t touch you, you might actually lose it.

Luckily, Leon seemed to be thinking the same thing. He wasted no time, fingers finding the zipper of your tactical shirt, pulling it down – but slowly. So slowly. Indulgently. How was he still holding it together?

“Please, please – ” you breathed. “I need you to touch me.”

“I know, beautiful,” he husked. “I’ll take care of you. Promise.”

The slow rasp of the zipper mingled with your heavy breathing as more of your skin was revealed, your anticipation building with every inch, while he took his time taking you in.

That body of yours – fit, strong, always hidden beneath tactical gear, blazers, shirts. All those unnecessary barriers between him and you. 

Something dark flickered in his gaze as he finally exposed your skin. The same desire that burned in yours.

“You are exactly as beautiful as I always imagined,” he murmured, low and heated.

You were a vision. Lean, defined, perfect curves, and so soft beneath his fingers when he finally touched you, his cock throbbing urgently in his pants.

A shiver rolled through your body as his fingers traced upward from your stomach – the wrong direction. Your hips lifted instinctively toward him, betraying exactly what you needed.

“Impatient…” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Touch me where it matters, Leon…” Your half-lidded eyes met his, pleading.

He answered with a tired, almost dazed smile, too captivated by the feel of your skin. If only you knew how much time he wanted to take with you.

His long fingers traced along the outline of your lace-trimmed bra, slipping just barely beneath the fabric, grazing your nipple.

Your body arched, a soft, broken sigh spilling from your kiss-swollen lips.

“So worked up from this alone?” he asked, something like reverence in his eyes.

He could hardly believe what the plant had done to you – because he was just as affected. Your body, your sounds, he could come from that alone, without you even touching him.

“T-Told you –” your voice shook, “– I’m sensitive as hell. Please… take the edge off.”

For a second, you almost offered to do it yourself, but you liked his teasing too much.

His touch.

You needed more.

More of him.

Leon seemed to be enjoying your reactions far too much. A self-satisfied grin crept onto his features as his finger kept brushing over your hardened nipple – far too soft, far too little – pulling an equally unsatisfied huff from you.

“Let me just… for a second,” he rasped low, dipping down toward you, his steely body pressing closer against yours.

A peck to your lips – so brief you almost pulled him back in – your chin, then lower, to your neck.

Your soft skin melted perfectly beneath his lips, tasted sinful as he dared a small nip – quickly followed by a soothing lick when you responded with an enticing sigh to his machinations.

An even louder sigh escaped you when large hands grasped your breasts, kneading them, stroking the skin your bra didn’t cover – this irritating piece of clothing.

Leon had let himself be carried away by your body, the way it arched toward him, searching for his touch, for his lips – just as he had been searching for you for so long.

He scattered heated kisses across your equally heated skin, lower and lower, over your collarbone – your breasts a perfect handful, at least until his hands were replaced by his mouth.

He hooked his fingers beneath the fabric of your bra, pushed it aside, exposing your flushed skin to the open air. The way your chest pressed toward him with every heavy breath nearly put Leon into a trance – but the pull in his body was stronger, the tension greater, the need to taste you, to hear you, overwhelming.

“Oh my god…,” you sighed as the tip of his tongue flicked playfully over your nipple.

You could only let him – far too desperate to form any kind of demand, your body a throbbing mess, the pull between your legs so intense it felt unreal. 

Your lower lip caught between your teeth as Leon worked on you – one, two, three more kitten licks against your nipple, savoring the way your back arched into him.

“More –,” was all you managed, earning a low, wanting grunt from him before his lips closed around your nipple, sucking gently. The other side was freed as well, your second nipple teased by deft fingers.

It was easily too much.

If he kept going, you would come.

Not like this.

“Leon…,” you breathed, fingers gliding through his hair, nudging him down – unable to help yourself.

He stilled, looking up at you through hazy eyes, licking over his lips before nodding.

“I know. I know. You just taste so damn good,” he rasped, but he didn’t make you ask again. Not when you looked at him like that – completely desperate.

His attention shifted to your pants. Quick fingers undid your belt and button. You helped him push the tight fabric down over your hips and legs. Your panties went with them. Shoes, stockings, pants, panties – all pooled into the footwell – and finally, your lower half was free.

A small blessing, really, that you’d been soaked by the sprinkler system earlier. It made it impossible to tell how much of the warmth between your legs was your own and how much belonged to the pesticide.

But one thing was certain – you had never been this wet in your life.

Leon straightened.

The sight of you – spread across the backseat, eyelids heavy, breath uneven, clothes barely clinging to your body, exposed – stirred something wild in him. Something between possession, reverence, and the faintest edge of something softer.

“You are perfect.”

The words slipped from his lips, smooth and low, while his cock throbbed for you – and he followed its demand.

Calloused fingers traced over your bare skin, down into the bend of your knee, lifting your leg with gentle pressure. You followed instantly, the sight of Leon above you – hungry, reverent – more intoxicating than anything you’d ever known.

Your ankle came to rest on his shoulder, kissed by his soft lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

He moved lower, leaving no inch of your skin untouched. The closer he got to where your core called for him, the more he wedged his broad shoulders between your legs, adjusting your position until you were half suspended across the seats – just to give himself enough room to lift your other leg onto his shoulder and grip your thighs.

Searching for something to hold onto, your fingers dug into the seat beneath you, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his hot breath exactly where you needed him. 

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as Leon simply took you in – memorizing every inch of skin, committing it to memory for darker days.

He licked his lips, knowing he wanted to devour you. Here, he would give you exactly what you needed.

A surprised squeak slipped from you when he pressed a kiss directly to your clit without warning – only to part his lips over your cunt a second later and send you straight to heaven.

Everything that had been indulgent before became consuming now – as if he took the phrase eating out very literally. His tongue spread wide over your most sensitive spots, dragging slow, deliberate strokes, dipping into you, drinking in your juices. 

It was like he was in a wild make-out session with your pussy.

“Fuck–fuck–fuck,” you gasped, high-pitched, your body trying to arch – but he had you in an iron hold.

You pushed yourself up as far as you could, finding leverage against the headrest, driven by the overwhelming need to see him.

Your eyes met.

He looked up at you, studying your pleasure-dazed gaze, your parted lips, the way your face twisted under the weight of sensation – enough to drive him further.

A whimper tore from you as he shifted his focus to your clit, his tongue first teasing with its tip before pressing flat against it, dragging the throbbing bud back and forth like he’d done this a thousand times – like he knew exactly how to make you see stars.

“When we do this again, you have to sit on my face,” Leon rasped breathlessly during a brief pause for air, before diving right back in.

The image – him beneath you, face buried between your thighs, completely at your mercy – sent a jolt through your entire body.

So much so that your hand returned to his hair, gripping, your hips grinding against him, spreading your wetness further over his chin, his lips, his nose.

He groaned appreciatively against you, the vibration traveling straight into your clit.

The friction lined up perfectly, and something unfamiliar began to build inside you. Between the slick sounds of his tongue against your soaked core and your broken, breathy moans, a sensation surged through you, more than just an orgasm.

You exhaled sharply. “Fuck–oh my god I’m gonna come–”

You barely registered the low groan against you before your body was overtaken by a wave – higher, deeper, more consuming than anything you had ever felt before. It crashed through you, the delicious pull from your stomach down between your legs stretching on and on, a loud moan spilling from your lips as your orgasm hit with such force it made you dizzy. 

Leon’s grip on your thighs tightened, almost bruising, holding you in place as your body threatened to jerk out of his reach. 

Wet sounds filled the interior of the Porsche, mingling with your high, continuous cries as you squirted over his entire face. Never before had your body done that – and it felt so good you never wanted it to end.

Your fingers tangled in his hair weren’t necessary – Leon stayed right where he was, more than willing, drinking you in, pushing you further, chasing more from you.

It was heaven.

Normally, he wasn’t the type to think about dying – but if he did now, he’d be content with it, right here, between your thighs.

“Stop–stop,” you panted, the pleasure too much, overwhelming – yet your hips still ground against his mouth, searching for the friction of his stubble, for more of him, more of that feeling. “Oh my god–more–,” you whimpered right after.

And Leon chose to listen to that second plea.

His tongue swept over your clit again, gentler this time, easing you down from the edge. Your breathing softened slightly as he continued to kiss and soothe you, his hands no longer gripping tight but resting against your flesh, stroking in slow, reassuring motions.

He suckled and teased, eyes flicking between watching you and closing in quiet indulgence – until, almost unnaturally fast, the pleasure built again. 

You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your body sinking back into the seat, fingers slipping from his hair, eyes falling shut as your hips began to move against him once more. He read you effortlessly, picking up the pace again – his tongue firmer now, flicking over your clit, feeling it throb beneath him. 

All the while, his mind had already moved ahead, imagining how he’d fuck you senseless once you’d had your fill. God, he’d take you apart so thoroughly you wouldn’t be able to walk for a while.

His cock twitched in his pants, painfully hard…but just once more.

Just one more time having your pleasure soaking his face.

That wish was granted quickly.

You squirmed against him, your sounds growing louder. Your body tensed again, urging you to hold onto anything you could, driving you higher and higher.

“’m coming–holy shit, yesyesyes–” the words tumbled from your lips before you were overtaken once more, wild electricity surging through you, making you shudder as you came over Leon’s face again – this time pushing him away, overstimulated.

He resisted playfully, pressing the gentlest of kisses to your clit before finally pulling back and sitting up.

You almost didn’t dare look – but curiosity got the better of you.

Even after coming twice in such a short span, your stomach tightened pleasantly at the sight of him, desire flaring right back to life.

One hand braced against the seat beside him, the other wiped at the mess you’d left clinging to his stubble. Even then, the dampness still shimmered – and somehow, it only made you more feral.

Your breath hitched as his fingers found your skin again – and you realized everything beneath you was soaked. Not just damp from arousal, but completely, undeniably wet.

“Jesus,” you murmured, your senses slowly returning after the intensity of your orgasms. “I’m sorry about the upholstery. This never happened to me before.”

As you spoke, you let Leon guide you – he motioned for you to sit up, dropping back against the seat with a strained grunt before pulling you onto his lap. Now straddling him, your legs wide, your gazes met again – faces close, his carrying a soft, affectionate smile that nudged you to mirror it as your hands rose to his damp stubble.

“I’ll pay for the cleaning,” you whispered against his inviting lips.

He exhaled, taking your hand, looking deep into your eyes – wild, burning desire blazing in his own.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, voice rough with need. “You’re so hot I almost want to keep it that way.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “Just to remind me how you came undone like that. You really never did that before?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you shook your head.

“Gotta be the plant…” you muttered, prompting Leon to waste no time, pulling you into a kiss, your tongues meeting instantly, letting you taste yourself on him.

“Well,” he murmured back, “I intend to get you off like that without the plant. Now we know you can.”

The thought sent warmth spreading through your entire body.

Time to return the favor.

“Let’s take care of you first,” you whispered seductively, already working at his belt.

“Oh, yes please,” he purred, letting you take over as his cock finally got the attention it had been demanding for far too long.

He held you steady as he nibbled at the soft skin of your neck while you opened his pants, pulling his boxers down along with them. Leon lifted his hips to help, and a satisfied groan vibrated against your neck as his length sprang free, finally able to fully harden.

Distracted by his mouth on your skin – by the way he brushed your hair aside, tilting your head for better access, his hot breath against you – you only managed to push his pants down far enough before your hips instinctively rolled forward, pressing against the hardness of his erection.

A hot exhale spilled into your ear at the contact, matched by your own soft sigh.

He was so hard. So big. So wet – slick with precum in a way you’d rarely, if ever, experienced before.

You had to see him.

And you weren’t disappointed.

His cock was beautiful – perfectly straight, flushed at the tip, a thick, full head glistening, precum gathering and spilling freely.

“Mhm, you’re a big guy,” you teased, grinding against him with your own slickness – only to be quickly humbled by a love bite at your earlobe and his hands gripping your ass, lifting you slightly.

“That big guy needs you biblically,” he growled hotly into your ear. “Need to fill that pretty pussy up. That alright with you?”

Guided by him, you aligned yourself with him – his tip catching at your entrance, your slickness letting him slide into you with ease.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, your nerves lit up by his words, your desire surging again – that instinctive pull to be taken, to belong to him in this moment. “Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.”

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so your eyes met.

And now – there was more than lust in his expression.

Need. Raw, endless need. And something almost desperate beneath it.

His brows knit together in concentration, his gaze searching for you – only you.

“Fuck –”

Leon’s jaw tightened as realization hit him.

He was already too far gone.

There would be no slow, drawn-out session like he had imagined.

You were too sensual. Too beautiful. Too you.

Just as you lowered yourself another inch onto his cock, his nerve endings detonated into something uncontrollable. He felt it surge through his body, there was no stopping it.

“Fuck!”

His hands clamped around your hips as he slammed you down, his own jerking upward, both of you so slick that you slid together without the slightest resistance.

You gasped sharply at the sudden fullness, the stretch – small, but enough for your cunt to adjust to his size. The sound you made was the cherry on top, sending a powerful pull through his balls and his cock, wrapped so perfectly by you that Leon’s vision blurred. He came – hard and mercilessly – with a force he hadn’t known he still possessed. He could feel it, wave after wave, hot ropes spilling into you, so much that his entire body trembled. His mouth fell open in search of air, a deep groan rolling through his chest like distant thunder. His eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back against the seat as he pressed shallow thrusts into your warmth – nothing like he had planned, but desperately needed.

He breathed heavily once it was over, his gaze briefly fixed on the ceiling of the Porsche, your hot, sweat-slick skin still beneath his fingers. His lips pressed together before he lifted his head again.

You blinked at him, surprised – no wonder. Leon could see the flicker of disappointment in your eyes before you masked it behind a practiced composure.

“Well, that was –” he swallowed, fingers brushing over your skin, “ – embarrassing.”

“Ah, well,” you said, making an effort to sound understanding. “We both were pent up. It’s okay.”

Leon grunted in response. That wouldn’t be the last time – he had to prove to you he could do a hell of a lot more than that.

“Is it… over?” you asked carefully, studying your own body’s reactions – his, too.

He let out a half-thoughtful, half-amused sound as he realized, “Still hard.” And as much as he hated to admit it, that was exactly the boost he needed. 

This was far from over.

To test his claim, you rolled your hips against him – and sure enough, he was still rock hard, brushing against your walls. It made you realize the effects were still raging inside you too, every movement, every glide hit something perfect. Everything in you was completely receptive to stimulation.

An excited tingle shot through your body at the realization. Restraint was gone. Reason, thrown overboard.

“We should call the others and talk about an antidote,” you said anyway – already lazily bouncing on that perfect length inside you. “Or –” you sighed softly, and the fire flared back in his eyes, “ – we wait at my place for them. You know… with the effect wearing off over time.”

You both knew exactly what the responsible choice would be.

But maybe – for once – it wasn’t the time for responsibility.

“That’s one dangerous proposition,” Leon murmured with a low grin. “I think we should…”

Your naked bodies collapsed onto the soft, springy mattress of your bed, clothes discarded along the way from your apartment door to the bedroom in a trail of frantic kisses and uncoordinated make-out sessions against every available surface.

A startled hiss, a thud, and the frantic patter of paws broke through the moment.

“Sorry, Luna,” Leon joked. “I think she doesn’t actually love me like you said.”

You let out a hoarse giggle that melted into a content sigh as Leon was already back to exploring your skin, scattering kisses across it.

“You can give her treats later. No problem.”

God, he felt perfect. His skin so firm, his body so big above yours – comforting in a way, but also so, so enticing to hold onto. Beneath your fingers, you traced the subtle ridges of scars, ones not unlike your own. It only made him more attractive, knowing he understood what they meant.

“Gonna give you your treat first, gorgeous,” he rasped into your ear.

He settled over you, your soft body fitting against his so well it almost surprised him. Almost as much as the fact that you’d made it here without a speeding ticket.

Your breath hitched as he wasted no time, reaching between you to guide himself into place – your shared arousal still pulsing, between you, within you, around you, unyielding and insistent.

“Ye –”

The word broke into a satisfied, instinctive sound as Leon pushed forward, burying himself inside you. He let out a low grunt, taking a moment to savor your silky walls, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Then he reached back, gripping the flesh of your thigh and thrust.

“Ohmygod,” the words rushed out of you as each of his movements electrified your body, every stroke pulling you closer to your next orgasm. Everything felt so sensitive – any thought beyond how good he was fucking you vanished completely from your mind.

The air in your bedroom turned thick, heavy with sex, the slick sounds of hard, deep, perfectly angled thrusts and the sharp snap of Leon’s hips against yours filling it, paired with your breathless sighs and moans of bliss and his low growls as he finally took you the way you deserved.

“You have no idea how often I thought of this.” Leon was dragged into a maelstrom of sensation, everything heightened – his cock felt so good inside you he could see stars, maybe even the stairway to heaven.

“Is this the spores talking?” you asked, vulnerable and curious all at once.

He answered with a hoarse laugh, meeting your eyes, slowing into shallower movements for just a moment.

“No. No, you’re too beautiful to ignore.” His lips claimed yours, demanding, showing you just how much he wanted you. “Mhm,” he murmured against you. “So fuckable.”

Okay – maybe that part was the spores talking. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be this blunt on a first date, or this possessive in the way he took you. He’d imagined something very different for your first times all these years… but he wasn’t complaining now.

The next hours – days? – blurred together into tangled, sweaty bodies, lips exploring, fingers teasing, hands grasping, deep looks, voices growing hoarse, minds clouded, and perfect orgasms – again and again, in every position you could think of.

Missionary. He kept up slow, exploratory thrusts, learning your body while holding your gaze, reverence written in his, receptiveness in yours. He felt bold enough to let one big hand rest against your throat – not to hurt, just to hold you there, to make it more intense, so much more intense.

To his relief – and delight – you answered with an eager little mewl, prompting him to tighten his grip just slightly, his cock twitching at your responsiveness, your blind trust.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, thrusting a little harder, watching your reaction. “You’re amazing.”

His lips claimed yours possessively, stealing even more of your breath – and with it, more of your mind.

Cowgirl. It didn’t take long before he pulled you down from your bouncing rhythm just to drive up into you himself, your pelvis pressed flush against his with one strong arm at your back – angling you just right so your clit dragged against the fine hairs of his happy trail, building you toward another deep, perfect orgasm.

Against your ear, his voice dropped, dark and sultry: “Taking me so good. What a good fucking girl.”

You moaned in response. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, beautiful.”

Doggystyle. Where Leon could finally give in to that daydream from the lab – gathering your hair, twisting it around his wrist, using it for leverage as he drove into you relentlessly. With every passing minute, he got more lost in you, his mind clouded with lust, barely holding onto control – as you took control over him in the best possible way.

Your slick walls fluttered around him as you came again, your body trembling, the faint sting at your scalp only making it better.

Leon never truly hurt you – only amplified what you responded to, what you welcomed. A perfect gentleman, in every way that mattered.

You wished you could see him like this – you could only hear his strained groans, imagine the way his strong arms flexed as he let your hair slip from his grip to take hold of your hips instead, pulling you back against each punishing thrust. The way his face must tighten with each series of grunts, in sync with the sharp snap of his hips – until it all broke with a groan and another orgasm.

“Wanna sit on my face?” he asked, his eyes hopeful, the question more of a command than anything else.

He sank back against your soft pillows, the scent of your home wrapping around him, more comforting than his own. For a fleeting second, the thought of simply staying here crossed his worn mind, before his focus snapped back to you as you positioned yourself over him.

He almost panted as your cunt – coated with both your arousal – lowered toward him, and then he dove in.

It was everything he’d imagined – and more.

You took the moment to rest your damp forehead against your arm braced against the headrest, looking down at him through heavy breaths.

The way his nose pressed against your mound, just above your clit, while his lips closed around you, sucking softly, his tongue circling – his eyes never leaving yours, burning into them.

It was so hot, you were already spiraling toward yet another orgasm.

Slowly, you rocked against his face, spreading slick warmth across his mouth and chin, soft moans slipping from your lips.

Leon steadied you, bringing you to a halt, just to breathe, just to worship you.

“You’re perfect,” he panted, and you weren’t sure if he meant you or your cunt. “Perfect pussy as well. Wanna come from my tongue again?”

“Mhm,” was all you managed, an eager sigh slipping from you, barely capable of forming words anymore.

Leon licked lazily over your clit, looking up at you with lidded, yet playfully sparkling eyes.

“What was that?” he teased, letting his tongue flick over you again, making your thighs tremble with need.

“Please, Leon, pleasepleaseplease,” you managed, the words blending together, language itself slipping from your grasp.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he went on, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this game up much longer himself. His cock was already demanding you again, hard and upright like he was a teenager all over.

You huffed in mild frustration, gathering what little strength you had left. “Make me come…”

And come he made you.

Spooning. By the time you ended up like this, your body had gone limp, taking whatever Leon gave you – a babbling mess of moans, orgasms, more moans, overstimulated but utterly unwilling to stop.

He held your leg up, giving himself the access he needed to bury himself inside you, his body moving on pure instinct now, driven by something so primal he couldn’t think – couldn’t do anything but take you. Completely pussy-drunk, he groaned against your shoulder uninhibited – deep, loud rumbles – each thrust just a little too much, his cock raw, oversensitive, yet it felt so damn good.

And you took it. Took everything he gave.

The bed was soaked – sweat, cum, more cum – your bodies tangled together in a mess of heat and devotion. With every thrust of his aching hardness into you, he pushed his spill in and out, a white ring around his base bearing witness to how completely you’d given yourselves to each other.

“Fuck.” Leon licked over his dry lips, looking down at you as your body trembled and whimpered beneath him.

“Baby, we need to stop and ping the agencies about that antidote,” one single, clear thought broke through – only to be swallowed again as your velvety walls pulled him back in, replacing words with another downright desperate, needy groan.

You didn’t have nearly as much control as he did. Your hand clamped down on the arm beneath your head, pulling yourself closer against him. 

“Pleaseplease, just one more, just one more,” you babbled, chasing that next climax, that perfect feeling only he could give you.

Leon’s synapses fired wildly at your need, driving him to act. To give you exactly what you wanted.

“Can’t resist you.” He let your leg fall, his hand slipping between you. “Never can again.”

Rough fingertips found your clit, rubbing in perfectly timed circles with his thrusts. You whimpered, moaned, squirmed. Almost… almost…

Somewhere deep inside you, something shifted – your tightly shut eyes snapped open.

“Leon…”

For a few seconds, your voice was calm, clear despite his movements. Your hand left its grip and reached back instead, finding his stubbled jaw, gentle, searching.

“I know, beautiful. I know,” he answered just as softly. “Kiss me.”

Your lips met in a devoted kiss that broke the final dam. Your moan into his mouth no longer carried the same overwhelming edge of climax – instead, Leon grounded you, guiding you through it, holding you close, moving carefully, keeping you afloat on the wave for as long as you needed before easing you back down when you were ready.

And suddenly – the tension broke.

The heat ebbed.

Everything… softened.

Silence settled between you, broken only by your breathless panting after the marathon you’d just run.

Blue eyes found yours – relief in them, and something softer, something tender. His arms wrapped around you, pulling your sweat-slick body against his, his heart pounding so hard you could feel it against your back.

You both needed a moment to realize it – just lying there, trying to steady your breathing, clinging to each other for grounding, for understanding.

“Is it… over?” you asked hoarsely.

Your throat was dry. You were so thirsty.

“Seems so…” Leon replied, thoughtful.

You both waited, half-expecting another wave of desire to crash over you.

But it didn’t.

At the same time, you both let out a heavy breath.

“You okay?” he asked after another quiet moment – the kind of quiet that suddenly felt… good.

You turned toward him on the soaked bed, his cock slipping from you, finally softening.

The longer the effects stayed gone, the more you became aware of what your bodies had actually been through – thirst, hunger, aches, exhaustion creeping in all at once.

“I’m okay,” you said quietly. “You?”

A satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he answered:

“Feel like a million bucks.” His arm reached out for you, tracing your contours – and thankfully, it didn’t spark those overwhelming, all-consuming sensations anymore. Just a quiet sense of contentment. “Come here, you.”

The tender words nudged you into his arms, and you settled against his damp but slowly drying skin. His heartbeat, too, was finding its way back to a steady, calm rhythm.

A soft kiss landed on your head as you both took in the closeness, the quiet.

“We should take a shower,” he murmured tiredly, fingers brushing gently over your shoulder.

“I need to feed the cat,” you replied, amused.

He smirked. “Maybe call our colleagues.”

“And replace my mattress.”

You both laughed, light and easy.

“If people ask how we got together, we’ll just tell them we like the same mattress firmness,” Leon joked. “Yours is really comfortable. We’ll get a new one – I could sleep here just fine.”

Your body tensed slightly at his words. A glance into his eyes revealed nothing but pure sincerity.

“What?” he asked with a smile. “Did you really think that was just the spores?”

Before you could answer, he kissed you – deep and deliberate, showing you that what had happened between you wasn’t just a side effect.

“I mean…” you started, but he cut you off.

“Had a thing for you forever,” he admitted.

“Oh really?” you asked, delighted, hiding it behind a playful tone.

Leon chuckled softly. “Yeah. Didn’t think it would turn out like this, but… if you’re up for it, I can take you on a proper first date.”

You didn’t need a second to think about it. “I’d love to.” A little shy – completely unnecessary after everything you’d just shared – you added, “Had a thing for you forever too.”

A satisfied rumble vibrated through his chest. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he kissed you again – familiar, like you’d been this way for years, like you always would be.

A loud pounding at the door tore through the serene atmosphere like a thunderclap.

“Open up! It’s Dave!” his voice carried all the way from the front door into your bedroom. A second later, the doorbell rang insistently. “We tracked your location. Got the antidote. Hey! Are you two flombies already?!”

There was rattling from down the hall.

“Guess honeymoon’s over,” Leon noted, as you both scrambled out of bed, throwing open a window for fresh air and pulling your disgusting tactical clothes back over your equally disgusting, but very satisfied bodies.