#k-vanity

Two weeks.

It’s been exactly two weeks since the incident took place at Rose Village, and Yeosang has yet to see you at all. No one has kept him away from you, for this is all his own doing. After what happened… what he said… He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to face you again, even if he longs to go to you. To hold you in his arms and fully succumb to the pull of his imprint is all that he desires. He desperately wants to be by your side, but knowing everything he does about how you receive dragons imprinting on you, he’s barely been able to face himself.

Yeosang is not worthy of you, and he knows it. Without a doubt, you deserve better than him, especially at this moment in time.

To say that he was surprised by his own outburst would be an understatement. Of course he was upset at watching that pathetic excuse of a man take a swing at you from behind. He had been feeling off all day, especially with how casual you and Yunho seemed to be with each other. However, he never expected for the slip of his tongue.

Yeosang has always prided himself on his reasoning skills. Observation and deduction have always been his specialties. He can always tell what’s upsetting his brothers before they can even admit it to themselves, and he’s always been able to sense things that others may not yet have come to realize. He may be cool, calm, and collected, but Yeosang has never not been able to figure out what has been bothering himself.

If only he had been more honest with himself. Maybe then he would have finally admitted what had always been creeping beneath the surface. The foreign feelings that weren’t actually all that foreign after all. Ones which he had shoved down deep, refusing to admit how quickly they had built within, until that dam had finally burst.

Instinct had drowned out logic, until the only thought on his mind became protecting you.

You. Someone who had been so guarded when he first met you face to face. Someone who would have let his brother die without a second thought, were it not for how Hongjoong made that stupid deal to leave you alone. A deal which lasted all of a few weeks, in totality.

Looking back on it now, Yeosang doesn’t think any of them could have truly stayed away. Not even if they had actually wanted to.

Yeosang knows you would have killed them all that first night if provoked again. Looking back on it now, he would not have held you to it. You had every right to smite them where they stood. Even more so when San, Wooyoung, and Jongho all broke the  original deal. Yet, you spared them. You showed them a kindness Yeosang knows they never have deserved. Least of all from you.

That’s you, though, isn’t it? Your exterior may be as solid as stone, but beneath it all lies a heart that shines likes the most intricate of gems found beneath the earth’s crust. You are as stable as a mountain. Imposing, strong, and unmoving. Dig a little deeper, and one can uncover how fiercely you care. You are not afraid to protect your own, let alone stand your ground. Your love runs deep, and those lucky enough to experience such a delicacy get to see that softer side of you much more often than naught.

A love Yeosang yearns for, even if it’s still difficult for him to admit it to himself.

Jongho had given him an earful the moment they had gotten home. A fact of which irritated the elder dragon, considering how quiet Yunho had been through it all. Yeosang knows that without a doubt, the taller male was in the exact same position as him. He saw the way Yunho’s own eyes flashed a deep gold the moment that disgusting man went to strike you. He was just lucky Yeosang decided to act first.

“You cannot dictate whether or not we imprint on her, Jongho.” It was Hongjoong that had said those words, having been privy to the loud shouting the youngest had been doing. “Sometimes we cannot control our own emotions, let alone our own basic instincts.”

Jongho had stormed out after that, flying off to who knows where. He needed time to sort out his own head and calm down. He knows it’s irrational to take things out on his brothers. Hell, he’s known San and Wooyoung have already imprinted on you, too. They both have been, for quite some time now. Logically, he knows the more of them that imprint on you, the better chance you have of opening yourself up to them. However, there’s a part of him that’s scared.

What if you realize that one or more of his brothers are a better fit for you than he is? What if you realize that he’s never truly been worthy of you?

That night you shared together in your special clearing on top of that cliff flashes through his mind.

Instantly, Jongho knows that he has nothing to worry about. He’s always known his brothers imprinting on you has been a very real possibility, and at first, he had always been open and excited about the idea. Only, after everything you’ve all been through, he’s a little more cautious about the fact. The way some of them had treated you at the start… if they were anyone else, he would have gutted them where they stood. Though, he knows that only you have the final say as to who’s truly worthy of yourself in the end.

You’re starting to care for all of them. That much is true.

Jongho can only hope that out of all of them, he’s the one you accept first. Based on everything that’s already happened, he has a feeling he will be. That is, if you haven’t already begun.

You, on the other hand, have been taking the past two weeks to teach both Mingi and Seonghwa everything that they have missed since Wooyoung and San have begun training under you. The crash course is intense in its own right, the two of them getting frustrated easily when they do not understand something. They both have a lot of catching up to do, but despite a few setbacks - Mingi accidentally almost burning a part of the forest down in his infinite wisdom, and Seonghwa nearly tearing up the Neo’s garden in his rage - the two of them have come a long way.

There is still much to learn, which is exactly why you currently find yourself personally testing them on every different herbal and medicinal mixture that you can. Every now and then, Yunho or Hongjoong will chime in, seeing as they also aren’t as firm in their understandings of tonics and such as Jongho, San, and Wooyoung are. Three dragons of whom sit off to the side at your picnic table, watching on as their brothers wrack their brains to come up with a solution to your hypothetical problem.

“No, no, no,” Yunho frowns, shaking his head. “Mugwort is good for counteracting drowsiness, not inducing it.”

“We’re not trying to induce drowsiness,” Hongjoong frowns. “We’re attempting to expel a foreign body.”

“Why not just used diluted frost berry leaves?”

Mingi turns to face Seonghwa with a frown, “Because we were told this is a scenario where none are available to use.”

Off to the side, both San and Wooyoung shift restlessly over the wooden table they sit upon. San has his legs propped up on the bench, his one knee bouncing continuously. Wooyoung, on the other hand, keeps kicking his foot lightly in the air, seeing as his legs dangle freely off of the side.

“Well, then, why don’t we just make a scenario where we go find some?”

“It doesn’t work that way.” You shake your head, arms crossed over your chest. Observing the four dragons across from you, you meet Seonghwa’s gaze. “There will be times when you will not have easy access to certain plants or remedies. You need to be able to think on your feet, and compensate for that which you lack. You also cannot always rely on your powers. They should always be a last resort in these types of scenarios.”

An exasperated exhale leaves the eldest’s nose, turning back to face the other three males standing beside him. His own arms rest crossed over his chest, foot tapping the earth repeatedly as he wracks his brain for a solution.

“Can we give them a hint?” San practically begs. “Please?”

“No.” A pointed look is sent his way from you. “They need to figure this out on their own. If this scenario were to ever become real, you won’t always be around to help them. They need to learn to be able to take care of themselves without relying on others to do such things for them, or providing them with the immediate answers that they seek.”

Before another word can be said, three presences are making themselves known. All seven of their heads whip in the same direction, watching the tree line until Renjun, Sicheng, and Jungwoo all appear.

“Good.” You hum, nodding once firmly. “You’re all getting better at sensing things.”

In the back of your mind, you wonder if they can sense the other presence creeping closer and closer to your clearing with each passing moment.

“They could sense us coming?” Jungwoo’s eyebrows raise, nearly into his hairline. A playful slap is given onto the back of the male on his right. “Damn, Renjun. Looks like your cloak is slipping if the Halas can sense you.”

“With an ego the size of yours, it’s no surprise that we were sensed.” Renjun deadpans. In a few steps, he crosses the short distance to stand beside you. “How’s the training going?”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice how both Sicheng and Jungwoo join San and Wooyoung at the picnic table. Jongho, on the other hand, pushes himself onto his feet from his spot on the bench, walking over to join both you and Renjun.

“Quite well,” You hum, turning your attention back onto the four dragons once more putting their heads together to solve your hypothetical. “If they can answer this correctly, I only have one final question to ask them. The rest, they will have to strengthen on their own.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“They’ve all come a long way.”

Renjun takes a moment to observe you, noticing how you stand completely relaxed. Your arms have long since fallen to your sides, shifting to clasp your hands gently behind your back as you watch the males before you. He knows you’re well aware of your surroundings despite your lax composure, a small, fond smile tugging onto your features. One which he hasn’t seen in over fifty years.

“So have you.”

“Well, your cubs are patiently waiting for your signal.” Sicheng turns his attention from San towards that small group of dragons currently arguing whether bloodroot, or a combination of mint and honey, would be better suited for the scenario you’ve posed. “Don’t be surprised you have a gallery the moment you do.”

“Oh, I fully expect it.” You chuckle, a lightheartedness to your words. “I know you Neos will never pass up an opportunity to watch someone get their ass kicked. Need I remind you of how you all acted during Sungchan’s and Shotaro’s training.”

“How did they act during their training?” Jongho leans in, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice. If you’re implying what he thinks you are… Well, Jongho certainly knows he’s not the only one beginning to tremble in excitement.

“Don’t worry about it-“

“Oh, my boys all made bets.” You grin, cutting Renjun off easily. “They had a scoreboard and everything. Was quite amusing to hear Ten and Haechan whining about being bested by the young ones so quickly. They both thought they would last longer.”

“Last longer than who?” San walks over, Wooyoung, Jungwoo, and Sicheng all in tow.

A brief glance is spared at the male standing directly beside you.

“Everyone always underestimates our little Junnie,” Jungwoo playfully tugs the younger male into a headlock, ruffling his hair affectionately.

In one swift movement, Renjun pushes himself free of Jungwoo’s arms. A glare that would normally send your cubs running for one of the other Neos in defence paints his features, only causing Jungwoo to let out a boisterous laugh.

“No one expects him to be our third strongest fighter.” Sicheng hums, watching as clear surprise paints the three Hala dragon’s faces around you. He turns to glance at you. “You’ve trained him well.”

“It’s because you underestimate him that he’s so strong.” You reply, amusement dancing in your eyes as you see smoke beginning to rise consistently from Mingi’s nostrils. “Renjun learned a long time ago to use his opponent’s assumptions about him to his advantage. You could learn a thing or two about that.”

“Already starting your teachings, have we?” Jungwoo grins.

“No. I’ve been waiting for him to arrive.” With a nod of your chin, you motion towards the new male who had walked out of the woods, and is currently standing behind the four arguing dragons. Purposefully, you raise your voice the next time you speak. “Glad you finally decided to join us.”

All heads whip in this newcomer’s direction, and you notice quite a few sharp inhales in surprise. Even both Jungwoo and Sicheng seem shocked as the male freezes in his spot, eyes going wide due to suddenly being stared down by everyone present.

“Yeosang?” Jongho frowns. “When did you get here?”

“He’s been standing there for about two minutes already.” You answer for him, a slight upturn to the corners of your lips. “Been lingering around the area for much longer. I’m surprised none of you have noticed.”

You meet his gaze, nothing how he blinks once in shock. Then, a tight smile is pulling onto his lips, nodding once in acknowledgement.

“Where have you been, mister ‘don’t touch My Fated’?” Jungwoo sasses, hands placed purposefully onto his hips with an eyebrow quirked. “Finally decided to come out of hiding?”

“You know, you’re not the first one to get intimidated by an imprint.” Renjun hums, amusement dancing in his eyes as he stares down the dragon across the way. “Least of all an imprint to her.”

“Yeah, you should have seen Sungchan the day he realized he’d imprinted on her.” Sicheng snickers. 

Jungwoo nods, a somewhat playfully solemn expression on his face, “Poor dragon buried himself beneath the ground in embarrassment for almost a month for imprinting on his caretaker.”

“And you didn’t?” You quirk a brow.

Instantly, Jungwoo shrinks in on himself, a vibrant red creeping up his neck and onto his ears. Sicheng only makes it worse, laughing loudly as he wraps his arm around Jungwoo’s shoulders, slapping a hand lightly over his brother’s chest in tandem.

A small wind picks up around the clearing, and you take a moment to observe the dragon standing just in front of the tree line. A neutral expression resides on his face, save for the subtle ticking of his jaw. Both of his hands rest at his sides, his stance lax as stares back at you. Nothing is said between you, the others remaining quiet save for the constant teasing of Jungwoo by Sicheng.

Understanding passes over your features, tilting your head back slightly in acknowledgement.

“No, he hasn’t been hiding,” There’s a clear tone of approval in your voice. One which each male easily picks up on, and that causes the one standing on the opposite end of your clearing to stand a little straighter in his spot. “He’s been honing.”

Very slightly, Yeosang tips his head in acknowledgement to your words. From the way both San and Wooyoung stiffen off to your right, you know that you’re not the only one who’s heard his soft sigh of relief. Even Jongho seems to shuffle lightly on his feet, eyeing his brother carefully from across the way.

“If those other four can finally figure out the solution to my problem, I would be more than interested to see what you’ve taught yourself.”

Again, Yeosang tilts his head, this time in agreement, to your words. There’s the slightest of upturns to his lips in the corners, blinking once. Without wasting another moment, he begins walking over to the four males huddled together.

“What problem are you attempting to solve?”

“Back off, Yeosang.” Mingi frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is our test.”

“Mingi, maybe we should-“

“No.” Mingi cuts Yunho off instantly. “He wasn’t here. He doesn’t just get to waltz in-“

“You’d deny yourself an ally because of your stubbornness?” Your voice, pointed and full of disbelief, kills the words building in Mingi’s throat. “An unexpected resource has become available to you. Use it. It never hurts to accept help. Collaboration efforts, and being able to adapt to new information, are aspects any good leader should have. If you still want to pursue that stupid crown, and be able to rule, you need to learn that. You need to live it.”

Mingi takes a moment to mull over your words, lips pursed the whole time. Then, with a firm nod, he turns his attention back to Yeosang. The taller male wastes no time in explaining the hypothetical situation, the elder dragon nodding along the whole time.

From the stunned looks on Hongjoong’s and Yunho’s faces, they clearly weren’t expecting Mingi to actually listen for once. After another few seconds, they’re able to compose themselves, adding in details to Mingi’s explanation the younger male might have missed or accidentally left out.

“You certainly know how to work miracles,” San breathes, nothing but awe on his features.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Jongho puff out his chest. He even goes so far as to stand a little taller in his spot, a certain type of pride shining within his gaze as he watches Yeosang listening intently to everything his brothers have to say.

“I offered my advice,” You brush off his praise. “Whether he chose to follow it or not is completely up to him.”

“San’s right.” Wooyoung is the next to speak. "Mingi hardly listens to any of us.”

“You know I can hear you guys, right?”

At the irritated look the flaming headed male shoots towards both San and Wooyoung, you hear them both laugh.

“Really? We weren’t aware.” Wooyoung jokes, arms crossed lightly over his chest. “Since he’s listening in, I’ll add that he snores really loudly, too.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t forget the time he sneezed so hard, flames shot out of his nostrils.”

“Choi Jongho, you shut your mouth right now!”

You cannot help it. A soft chuckle escapes your lips, bringing a hand up to cover the lower half of your face in an instant. Getting to see how they all interact with one another reminds you of your Neos. There’s an air of ease that’s settled over you all, and getting glimpses of how they tease one another only further proves that you’re all not so different after all.

Soft looks end up getting sent in your direction, and the moment you sense them staring, you clear your throat. Blinking a few times, you compose yourself, shifting your sharp gaze back to the now five males standing huddled in a circle.

“Well?” You say, expectantly. “Have you solved it, yet?”

A frown mars Yeosang’s features, bringing a hand up to cradle the bottom of his chin in thought.

“Your problem is that one of us has been rendered unconscious through the use of both sweetgrass and cresta leaves. The combination of which releases a slow poison into the bloodstream as it’s absorbed through the stomach.” Yeosang begins speaking, but the more he says, it’s clear that he’s simply thinking out loud.

The way both Wooyoung and San begin practically vibrating in excitement catches the other’s attention.

Looks of realization cross Yunho’s and Hongjoong’s faces, soft sounds of understanding building within their throat. Even Seonghwa begins nodding his head, brow furrowed in thought as he soon mirrors the exact position Yeosang is in with a hand cradling the bottom of his chin.

“There’s a few remedies we could use,” Yeosang begins listing them off. “You’ve indicated we don’t have access to diluted frost berry leaves, so our next best option would be a combination of arrowroot, mugwort, lila flowers, and sage. Alternatively, if we had access to ginger root, brewing some of that in hot water with a mixture of mint, honey, and thistlewart should do the trick.”

A glance in your direction reveals you standing with an impressed look resting on your features. Softly, your head nods along to Yeosang’s words, humming lightly in agreement to his assessment.

“Good.” You flick your gaze between the five of them. “What else?”

This seems to catch Yeosang by surprise. Even both San and Wooyoung look stunned by your response, glancing between you and their brothers lightly. Not even Jongho has an answer for you, the three soon walking over to join the others to continue discussing what other solution they may have.

After a solid ten minutes of discussing, the eight of them are turning to you.

“We don’t-“ Seonghwa grimaces. “We don’t know.”

“And that’s okay. I wasn’t expecting any of you to.” You smile softly. “In fact, I would have been surprised if you did.”

“How are we supposed to answer a question if you know we don’t know the answer?” A slight scowl pulls at Mingi’s features, a rough edge to his voice.

“You knew three out of four solutions to the problem. I was simply curious to see if any of you could surmise the fourth on your own.” You begin walking over to that picnic table off to the side, a casual gait to your steps. “I also needed to know if you could come up with the other mixtures, without relying on the easiest solutions you could ever have at your disposal. Of course, there are multiple ways in which you can tackle any problem. There always have been, and there always will be. Even when there only seems like there is one way out, sometimes, you just have to make your own.”

Reaching the bench, you perch yourself comfortably on the edge. You sit with your hands resting lightly over your thighs, noticing how Jungwoo, Renjun, and Sicheng all join you without a word. The other eight dragons all step closer, standing across from you with mild furrows to their brows.

“Has your eldest told you what type of dragon he is, yet?”

Quite a few curious glances are sent Seonghwa’s way. The only few who don’t seem confused for the moment are Hongjoong and Jongho.

“But Seonghwa doesn’t have a personalized power.” Yeosang frowns.

“He does.”

“What?” Mingi’s disbelief is clear in his voice. “Since when?”

“Since the day he was born.”

“How is that possible?” Yunho turns to look at the eldest beside him. “What power have you always had?”

At the way Seonghwa fidgets from foot to foot, looking bashfully down at the ground at his feet, you quirk a brow.

“Would you like to tell them, or should I?”

Seonghwa lifts his gaze, briefly glancing at his clan mates on either side of him.

“Poison.” His voice is small, but there’s no denying the soft smile that begins to tug onto his lips. “I’ve always been a dragon with the power of poison.”

“That’s great, Hwa!” San instantly begins beaming, clapping the elder man on his back.

“What a cool power!” Wooyoung nods, mirroring the large smile on San’s face instantly. “That’s incredible!”

Hongjoong and Jongho both seem to stand a little straighter, nothing but affection dripping from their gazes as they admire the male standing beside them. Even Yunho and Yeosang look impressed, smiles stretching onto their faces as they voice their congratulations to the dragon they have known for decades.

Still, that frown never once leaves Mingi’s features. “That’s great and all, but how does knowing Seonghwa’s power is that of poison help us in this situation?”

Amusement dances within your eyes, looking from one male to the next expectantly. Only, after a full minute of them all staring back at you, standing with seemingly bated breath, you chuckle.

“Because of the type of dragon he is, Seonghwa’s blood is a natural antidote to almost any type of toxin you can think of. Well, all except for my own.”

The shock is clear on all of their faces, Mingi, San, and even Yunho gaping at this new information. Yeosang’s eyebrows raise in consideration, both Hongjoong and Jongho soon humming lightly while nodding their heads. Seonghwa, on the other hand, still appears quite bashful. A look you honestly did not think the male was capable of.

“So, we could always use Seonghwa’s blood as a backup if all else fails!” Wooyoung gasps, nodding in understanding.

“Why not just use his blood all the time?” Mingi asks, as if the answer should be obvious. “If his blood is a natural antidote, then shouldn’t we just keep it in reserve for emergencies?”

“No.” The stern tone of your voice catches them all by surprise. “You should never do that.”

This time, it’s Seonghwa’s turn to frown. “Why not?”

“How many poison dragons have you ever met in your lifetime?”

They each take a moment to think.

“Not many.” Jongho is the one to answer for them all, sparing a brief look towards his brothers.

“There’s a reason for that.” Renjun sighs, both Sicheng and Jungwoo suddenly looking quite solemn.

“Tell me, Young Ones, have you ever heard of the Paladin Raids?”

They each shake their heads.

“I’ll admit, we’re unaware of such raids.” Hongjoong is the one to speak, a slight grimace pulling onto his features.

“I’m not surprised. There’s aren’t very many left who remember them. They took place before I was born, over five and a half centuries ago. The only reason I am aware of them is because of my Uncle Ken. As vigorous as my physical training and the like were, he also ensured that I was well versed in our history, and the history of our land. Amongst other subjects, of course.”

“Will we ever get to meet this uncle of yours?” Yunho quirks a brow, a lightheartedness to his tone.

“That has yet to be seen.” The corner of your lips quirk, but none of them fail to miss the way your gaze darts over to linger on Jongho’s figure.

Said male straightens in his spot, a small, bashful smile tugging at his features.

In the next moment, your expression is turning serious once more.

“There used to be many more poisonous dragons in the world than there are now. It used to be a well known fact amongst our kind that their blood could cure almost any toxin that there was. Of course, these specific antidotes were only meant to be used as a last resort. My Uncle can recount many instances where his friends used to be asked for their blood all of the time by desperate, unknown dragons. Many would accept to help their kin, even if they had never met. Not all of us are as adept at healing or fighting ailments as those born with such abilities. Not all of us take the opportunity to learn.”

You can tell you have their rapt attention, your three Neos remaining silent as they let you speak.

“It was only a matter of time before that information fell into the wrong hands.” A slight grimace pulls onto your features, lips tugging downwards significantly in the corners. “The S’ber hunters-“

A deep, guttural snarl tears from Jongho’s throat, his eyes flashing a deep gold. Lips curl over suddenly sharp fangs in a snarl, claws unsheathing as his fingers flex at his sides.

You shoot him a pointed look before continuing. A look which not just Yeosang picks up on.

“The S’ber hunters are some of the most ruthless and vile of them all. Long since have they hated our kind, searching for the ancients nests in hopes to destroy us all.” You take a deep breath in through your nose, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “Once they found out about the antidotal properties of those specific types of dragons’ blood, they realized how useful it could be.”

Sharp inhales are heard from all eight of them. Yet, none are as loud as Seonghwa’s, Yeosang’s, or Hongjoong’s. Yunho’s throat works, swallowing thickly as his entire body goes still. In fact, you can tell just from the way that he freezes that he’s momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

“Many poisonous dragons were captured and bled dry, the S’ber’s hoarding their blood in reserves. Normally, these hunters will not outright kill a dragon should they capture one. They will torture them until they are content with the outcome. Whether that be through the retrieval of information they have long since desired, or death, it does not matter. The only exception being dragons with a poisonous nature. It was far easier for them to bleed them dry than to keep them alive and wait for them to procure more blood.”

Gently, you clasp your hands in front of your face, lacing your fingers together as you peer up at each of them. The horror painted on their features perfectly mimics your own, back when you had first learned of the atrocity of the Paladin Raids.

“Luckily for us, but unfortunately for them, the S’ber hunters were not aware that our blood only has a certain shelf life. It cannot survive for longer than ten days outside of its host. They did not, and still do not, possess the magic needed to store such a delicacy. They can never.” Then, after a moment. “They will never.”

“Those raids started with the systematic hunting and bleeding of poison dragons across the land. Once the S’ber’s learnt of the short shelf life of our blood outside of our bodies, they took their rage out on us without remorse.” Your voice drops, deepening slightly with the weight of your emotions. “The only peace of mind we have from that time is knowing that the dragons that had been suffering in their captivity were finally set free in death. They slaughtered hundreds of us in retaliation, and once they had no more prisoners to torture, they set out to enslave new ones.”

A choked sob reaches your ears, and you turn your head to see Sicheng barely keeping himself together. Tears stream freely from his eyes, a hand slapped over his mouth as his entire body begins shaking.

Instantly, your arm is around him, pulling him into your side. Softly, you begin cooing while running your fingers through his hair, letting Sicheng openly sob into your chest as he hides his face against you.

“May I tell them?” Your voice is much softer than mere moments before as you whisper the question down at Sicheng.

His nod is all the confirmation you need.

Lifting your head, your lips tug downwards solemnly.

“Sicheng lost both of his grandparents, and his eldest aunt during the Paladin Raids. He almost lost his father, too."

Glancing back at the eight Halas before you, you notice that Sicheng is not the only one with tears in his eyes. Both San and Wooyoung cry openly, holding onto each other for support. Yunho, like Sicheng, holds a hand over the lower half of his face, eyes shining as he attempts to steady his breathing.

A silent path of tears cut down the sides of Seonghwa’s cheeks, the eldest pursing his lips tightly to keep his chin from wobbling. Hongjoong rests his hand over Seonghwa’s back, his expression completely stoic as he just manages to keep his composure. Even Mingi’s expression has hardened, his jaw twitching as he stares right past you at the forest behind your back.

The only two without tears in their eyes are Jongho and Yeosang.

Despite his calm exterior, you can see the storm raging inside of Yeosang’s eyes. His throat works as he swallows thickly, hands balling into fists at his sides. Jongho, instead, looks ready to tear something apart. His whole body shakes in rage, the familiar static of electricity buzzing lightly throughout the air. That scowl hasn’t once left his face, fangs still peeking out from behind curled lips.

“So, no,” You reiterate, lifting your gaze to meet Mingi’s own. “You should never keep Seonghwa’s blood in reserve in case of emergencies. Not only because of its short shelf life, but because of all of his kin that have been taken and drained due to what they are. If you want to ensure that his antidotal blood is always there when you absolutely need it, then you need to ensure his survival. He is apart of your clan, and you are his. You survive if he survives, and he survives if you all survive. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Yeosang, Jongho, Yunho, and Mingi all instantly answer at once.

“We understand.” Hongjoong nods once, firmly.

“Good.” You return his nod, noticing how Sicheng begins to slowly calm down. His sobs are quieting, breathing evening out the longer you go threading your fingers gently through his hair.

Taking a moment to look over the eight Hala dragons before you, you ensure to meet each of their gazes. As you do so, they stand a little straighter in their spots, nodding their both confirmation and understanding.

Finally, your gaze lands on the eldest standing before you.

“You need to promise to stop being so reckless. You’re more important than you realize.” You release your hold on Sicheng as he sits upright, refusing to tear your gaze away from Seonghwa’s own. “I say this to my cubs all the time, but it still holds true for you. You are always worth more than you will ever know.”

“I promise.” Seonghwa’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, clearing his throat in the next moment. “I promise you that I’ll never take my life granted again.”

“Don’t promise me,” You shake your head lightly, a soft smile tugging onto your lips. Briefly, your gaze flits around at the seven other men standing beside him. “Promise them.”

Immediately, Seonghwa turns to face the seven other members of his clan. Nothing but sincerity rests on his features as a deep magic begins swirling through the air, emanating from his very being.

“I promise,” Seonghwa begins, keeping his voice steady and strong, “To stop acting like a pompous ass all the time, and to become a person that you can all rely on whenever you may need me. I will not allow my fear of inadequacy control me any longer. I will, however, always strive to be worthy of this clan, and of those that have put their faith in me. My life is as important to me now, as yours have always been. I will never let you down again. This I swear on my very soul.”

A moment of silence passes over the entire clearing as Seonghwa’s promise rings true. All you can do is sit there, observing the scene before you with a semi-amused look on your face. Not only that, but pride.

Hongjoong turns to face the dragon beside him, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of Seonghwa’s neck. A position of which the eldest mirrors in the blink of an eye. Neither say anything as they tilt their heads forwards, foreheads resting against each other as a deep understanding passes through them all.

Still, that deep magic lingers within the air.

“As I promise to do the same,” Hongjoong voices lowly, eyes beginning to glow with that familiar gold as he stares into Seonghwa’s own. “With all that I am, I swear to you that you will never have to suffer alone. I will lead you all to the best of my abilities, but I cannot do this alone. I will be right by your sides, as I hope with everything I am that you will all be right by mine. You are my clan, as I am yours. I will never let any of you traverse this path without me. We are in this together, guiding each other through it all, and I would not have it any other way.”

The other six immediately gather around the two eldest, both Seonghwa and Hongjoong pulling away from each other momentarily. You watch on as they release their holds over the backs of their necks, and instead opt to clasp their opposite hands together. The tips of their fingers curl around each other, locked in a sacred hold as one by one, the others add their touch to their joined hands.

As each male grabs onto either Seonghwa’s or Hongjoong’s hand in the centre of their little circle, they utter but two words.

“I promise.”

Once the last male has connected, that magic swirls around them, converging at the point of contact where their hands meet. It surrounds them on all sides, seemingly getting sucked into a vortex emanating from the centre of their small circle. Then, once it has all been collected, it explodes outwards, washing over all eight of them like stardust falling from the heavens above.

With nothing other than a smile on your face, you watch such a sacred bond form right before your very eyes.

For a moment, nothing is said. Instead, you allow the lingering traces of their newly formed Drygg Promise to dissipate. You can tell that you’re not the only one pleased by this turn of events, smiles being worn by all parties involved as they finally break from their small circle. Happy sniffles greet your ears, many a man clapping each other on the back lightly.

Almost subconsciously, you begin to nod.

Although you spent the last few hours getting ready, you didn’t feel prepared for the moment the door clicked and swung open, Hongjoong’ eyes falling on you and a charming smile stretching across his face.

“I’m glad you made it.”

You did your best to return the smile.

“Come in. I’m finishing a drink but I will be all yours shortly.”

The large apartment was filled with shiny, black surfaces, white marble and golden accents that brought everything together. Not many personal items were on display in the large living room connected to the kitchenette, but it was very much a show-off with how clean, shiny and luxurious it looked. However, after having been here more times than you could count, you knew that other rooms were in no way worse.   

There was a glass of water on the kitchenette counter that Hongjoong reached out to while you took off your coat and hung it by the entry. You watched as his throat bobbed with every sip, and smiled at the memory of teaching him to stay well hydrated before and after your encounters – he wasn’t so eager to listen to you at first, but he eventually gave in, making sure you saw him finish at least a full glass before the two of you would even sit together, just so you wouldn’t have to nag him about it.

You made your way to the black velvet couch that stood in the center of the living room, opposite of the large TV that was turned off for the time being.

Hongjoong soon joined you and sat down, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, right behind you, and stretched his neck with a groan. Your own movements were more timid as you sat closer to the edge, folding your hands in your lap. But you didn’t omit the way he tilted his head while stretching, the scent of his body breaking through the musky aroma of his cologne. Inviting. Tempting.

“How has the life been?” he asked casually, reaching to a remote and turning on the TV for some background noise before turning towards you with a smile.

“Same as ever. Nothing much changes when you’re my age” you laughed awkwardly. Hongjoong’s eyes dropped to your lips and you stuttered at the motion. “W-what about you?”

“Just business all around” he shrugged. “A lot of work, as always.”

“I hope you didn’t have too much coffee today” you grumbled. The man laughed at the memory – last time he was overworked, you consumed his blood with such amount of caffeine that your whole body was trembling for the whole next day.

“I didn’t, don’t worry. I had a full night of sleep today.”

“Good, good boy…” The words slipped before you could stop them, because you were fixated on his lower face so much you forgot yourself for a moment. “A-ah…”

Hongjoong’s chest shook with laughter and the corner of his lips lifted teasingly.

“Good boy, huh?”

From the way he shifted you could tell that the small talk was over. His hand reached to your face and tilted your lip, taking a long, knowing look at one of the sharp fangs in your mouth, retracted but still there, still present. You inhaled sharply. A shiver ran up your spine.

“Are you really old enough to call me that?” he teased. You were growing hyperaware of the warmth of his body where your knees now touched, and where his other arm was so close behind, almost closing around you. Your breath hitched.

“W-well, am I not…?” you tried saving your grace. Truly, your body was set in stone at much younger than he currently was, and even the real age didn’t prevent you from feeling like you’re the young, vulnerable woman caught in an older man’s embrace.

“You don’t look like it.”

“Looks can be deceiving. You know that. Y-you know how old I actually am.”

“So what?”

His hand traveled lower, wrapping around your throat and staying there. Gentle and unassuming, but carrying the weight that made your head spin.

“Are you even as old as you say? With the way I can imagine you blushing right now, I would say you’re barely a teen” he teased. “A virgin, to that.”

You bristled. He, of all people, should know better.

“I-I’m not-”

“I know you aren’t.” He pushed you down on the couch and crawled on top of you. You let out a whimper. It should be so easy to overpower a human, you thought. To push him back and make him submit to you by force – that’s what your nature was all about. You were predatory species, your entire point of being was to take from a prey like him.

Yet, you laid there, frozen, staring at him with your eyes wide. He must have known he was playing with fire; how could he not?

But he seemed to relish in the flames tickling his skin when he shaped them to his liking. And who were you to deny him that?

All those thoughts died in your mind when something glistened and a small pendant of a necklace slipped out of his satin dress shirt, dangling above your throat. Your eyes widened at the realization.

A cross. A silver cross.

Hongjoong caught your glance. And smirked.

“You told me crosses aren’t a problem.”

“B-but it’s made of silver.” You could almost feel the heat it resonated with.

The man leaned down a little and you held your breath.

“What will happen if it touches you?” he asked.

“It will hurt. Burn… like acid” you replied quietly.

“Is it dangerous?”

“N-no, but…”

He leaned down some more and the edge of the cross grazed your neck, making you let out a pained gasp. The sound of sizzling filled the air and you tried to squirm away, but Hongjoong’s hands grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back down.

“Don’t move, or it’ll happen again.”

Your chest heaved with each rapid breath you took.

“Hurts…”

“Just a little. You can take it.”

You squeezed your eyes closed. He was right. The pain wasn’t strong – it was the implication of it that terrified you more.

Something touched the raw wound on your neck, making you flinch. But the warmth was not the one of silver – it was on Hongjoong’s fingers as they brushed along the burn, watching it close slowly in front of his very eyes. Some of your blood caught on his thumb and he brought it to your face. You slowly blinked your eyes open.

Not a thought crossed your mind before you wrapped your lips around his finger. Your own blood wouldn’t suffice, no. But it wasn’t why doing this felt right. Your fangs ached dully, itching to bury in the flesh in their reach. You didn’t let the urge consume you.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked. You nodded with your eyes hazed. “How much?”

“I’m parched” you mumbled against his hand.

“Too bad.”

He pulled his thumb out of your mouth, making you whimper and try to follow, but his other hand pushed you away as he finally climbed off you, sitting back in his spot, hands resting on his thighs as he waited for you to regain your composure and sit back up.

You calmed down your breath, forcing yourself to sit up and pretend that the whole ordeal didn’t impact you like it did. As nonchalantly as you could muster, you smoothened the fabric of your dress and wiped the sealed skin of your neck, now only soiled with remains of blood, but no longer open.

You glared at him while trying to get your hair in order. Hongjoong’s gentle glance never left you, watching you with genuine curiosity.

“Why did you do that?” you grumbled.

“I was curious” he admitted innocently.

“Well, you satisfied your curiosity, so you can put it away now” you glared at the pendant on his chest instead. It rested against his skin so effortlessly you could almost believe it was harmless.

“Ask me nicely.”

Your hands froze mid-air as you just finished smoothening your hair to your best ability, and you slowly put them down in your lap, swallowing down your pride.

“Could you, please, put away all the silver that is currently within your range?” you drawled carefully. “And, while at it, all the garlic, too.”

Hongjoong’s chest shook with laughter at your last words. But he didn’t oppose this time, pulling the silver chain over his head and carelessly throwing it inside the drawer by the couch. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Could we just…?”

“Hm?”

“I told you I’m parched.”

“Hmm.”

He leaned back lazily. Another stretch of his neck – exposing the throat; you had no doubt now that the teasing was all on purpose, riling you up slowly and making your mouth water.

“Earn it.”

He glanced at you. There was no smile on his face now – only business. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You want to suck my blood” he drawled lazily. “Suck something else first.”

Although physically unable to blush, you were certain your expression said it all. Hongjoong didn’t budge.

And you didn’t expect him to.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Not really. Not by a long shot. It started slow – the way he allowed it to, and the way you were able to take. He stretched his presence into your comfort zone at a respectful pace, going further and further until you, yourself, forgot what your limits initially were. You didn’t imagine going back now. But it still astounded you that you made it this far.

You scooted a bit closer to him on the velvet couch, your fingers brushing his thigh, clad in black slacks that laid on his silhouette in this effortlessly perfect way, as though there was no way anything could ever look bad on him, anyway. Hongjoong leaned back, watching you intently, but not making a move to guide you – not for now, clearly curious as to what approach you would take.

And you knew what approach would feel right.

You weren’t about to leave his apartment in as pristine shape as you entered it, anyway. Might as well make the loss worth it – you thought, leaving the soft couch and sinking to your knees, making your way between Hongjoong’s legs, pushing his thighs apart to sit comfortably.

You looked up at him with a small smile in the corner of your lip.

“You’re quite confident about letting me have you in my mouth” you joked lightly. “What if I bite you down here?” You allowed your hand to move to his crotch, grazing his bulge with your nails. It made him return the smile.

“You wouldn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“I trained you well, didn’t I?” He leaned forward, fingers grasping your chin, nails digging into your skin a bit more than necessary. “Or should we get back to basics? Should I fuck your face until you forget how to use those pretty little fangs of yours? Or bend you over so they are simply useless when I take that wet, undead cunt?”

Your breath caught in your throat at the crude words.

But there was no denying that you were growing wet from them, and Hongjoong knew how to push your buttons just about right. How to tease you, how to make you feel inferior in the sweetest way, maybe especially because you didn’t get to feel this way during your immortal life all that much.

As if he could see the cogs turning in your head, he let out a short, breathy laughter, before releasing your chin and leaning back, elbows resting on the backrest behind.

“Get to it.”

Your movements were careful at first, hands shaky as you reached towards the zipper, eyes fixated on the work in front of you because if you only glanced up towards Hongjoong himself, there was no way you would be able to focus on the task. You undid his slacks slowly, trying to steady your breath all the while.

You pulled down his boxers, and your mouth salivated. He was already semi-hard and your insides throbbed at the realization that he was impacted by you just as much as you were by him. It was a praise in itself, a recognition that you so desperately needed. Hongjoong’s attention was everything. If only you could please him in one way or another, gods, what else was there to want?

You felt yourself melt underneath him as you took him in your manicured hand, your lips pressing against his shaft with an expression of cult-like devotion. You dared a single look at his face – relaxed, yet fixated on you with intent. His fingers flexed in the air, a single white gold ring catching the light of the crystal chandelier above your heads.

You licked a long strip up his underside, your nails grazing him ever so slightly before you took the tip in your mouth. Your eyes closed, your thoughts slipping away at the familiarity of his shape and taste.

You took your time, slowly accommodating your throat to his thickness, setting an unhurried pace that you knew he could melt into, and when you glanced up once again, his own eyes were closed, silhouette relaxed, head leaning back in a way that exposed his delicious throat.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of a single vein pulsing right beneath his skin, a drop of sweat, tempting, calling you in… And before you realized, your fangs extended, and you rapidly pulled away, eyes widening at the hiss of pain just above you.

You- You nicked him. Your hands covered your mouth in panic. Your eyes shot up to meet his own, now fixated on you with a scowl on his face.

But then your gaze caught the smallest streak of blood running down the side of his length, and your eyes clouded for a second, your body leaning forward before you could even utter a thought.

Hongjoong’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you away before you reached him again. You whined.

“Really?” he scoffed, pushing you off him and onto the floor. You felt terror run through you at the brief thought of rejection.

But then you looked up and you saw his own eyes, flickering with something dangerous, but hungry, unsatiated.

And he was, undeniably, still hard.

Out of the chest pocket of his dress shirt, he pulled out a handkerchief. You watched intently as he brought the cloth to the wound. His blood, mixed with precum and your own saliva, soaked into the white fabric. Your eyes didn’t leave it for a second.

“Come here.”

You didn’t think before obeying.

Grabbing the back of your neck, Hongjoong shoved the dirty fabric in your mouth, and you moaned when the faintest flavor of his blood hit your tongue, although barely there, dissolved, impossible to satiate yourself with.

Without missing a beat, he pushed you onto the couch next to him, onto your hands and knees. You breathed heavily, still dazed, still fixated on nothing but the taste in your mouth. Hongjoong’s hands closed on your hips, fingers digging in as he leaned forward, hovering right above you. He clicked his tongue and a shiver ran down your spine, your back arching as you twisted your neck, trying to reach to him with your mouth. Hongjoong gripped you tighter.

“You’re a dumb slut, you know that, darling?” he seethed. “You didn’t even apologize. Blood-hungry, cock-hungry, either way you just need something in your mouth.” Whatever you tried to say, came out muffled around the fabric of Hongjoong’s handkerchief and turned into a whimper when his hand suddenly came down hard against your ass. “What was that? You can’t speak, you can’t do anything right, what are you, a mutt?”

His fingers moved, feeling you up through the wrinkled fabric of your dress, before closing around the back of your neck and pushing it down. Your elbows bent under the pressure, your cheek pressing into the black velvet of the couch.

“Stay.” The single word, spoken with almost-indifference, made your mind fog, and the position of pure submission, with your face down and arse up, only amplified that sensation. You felt the bottom of your dress being lifted until it no longer kept your lower half hidden, and Hongjoong hesitated only for a moment before pressing his hand against the last barrier – your lacy underwear. Your breath came out uneven when you unwittingly pressed back against him, and this one time he didn’t take it away, his own breaths heavy when you ground yourself against his palm. Your panties were already been soaked through, and he was touching the cold wetness now, so unnatural to what a human body should feel like.

It was less than a minute before he decided you’d had enough and grabbed the lace, pulling it down and off hastily. Not waiting any longer – you didn’t think either of you had any patience left – he lined up at your entrance, and you pushed back against him again. Your loud moan mixed with his barely-contained one.

“Fuck…”

“Joong…” You barely recognized your own voice, muffled through the handkerchief, a pathetic whine, so needy; an utter surrender.

Seemingly unable to hold back any longer, the man buried his length in you, all at once. Your fingers closed around nothing at the painful stretch. Shallow, strained breaths. You would heal in no time, you knew it, Hongjoong knew it, and that seemed to spur him on, pushing as far into you as he could, arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tightly as your body accommodated to his shape once again.

“There you go…” he whispered.

As if already knowing exactly the moment you’re ready, maybe from the way your body started relaxing for just a second it had, he pulled out almost completely and pushed in once again, roughly, and then once again, with even more force, until he set up a fast pace, with intensity that knocked the air out of your lungs.

Your body barely held itself up, only focused on trying to stay afloat during whatever Hongjoong decided to put you through. Your eyes were shut tightly, the tension in you growing rapidly, begging to be released. The sounds of your strained breaths and whimpers around your makeshift gag mixed with the ragged panting somewhere behind you and the noise of skin against skin, all doused in the scent of sex with that faint hue of Hongjoong’s blood that never quite dissipated. Were your fangs out or not, you weren’t even able to tell, not when your mind was hazed with pleasure and submission, with the sweet sensation of being dependent, taken apart and ruined.

And when you felt you would fall apart completely, Hongjoong suddenly pulled out of you; everything pulsed, everything still moved, hungry for more and relentless, when he snatched the handkerchief from your mouth and threw it aside, then sat on the couch and pulled you on top of him, one hand guiding his cock back into you when the other cupped your cheek, suddenly so desperate, suddenly just as needy as you were, filled with craving that only you could satiate. With remains of his pride and control thrown out the window, pulling you in closer as if he could not get enough.

His hold set the pace you did your best to follow, but now, with your eyes meeting from up close, you were barely aware of anything else. Your hands cupped his face, leaning down and making your lips meet in a messy, unsynchronized kiss.

“Bite me” he groaned against your mouth, a command, but with that hue of plea and desperation that made you ride him faster, more fiercely. A moan of your name slipped past Hongjoong’s lips as he tilted his head backwards, baring his throat to you, all sweaty, all inviting, all fucked out.

Your teeth bared on instinct, the hunger no longer possible to contain. You held on for just a moment, savoring the sight. So close now. You leaned in closer. Breathed in.

Your teeth buried in his neck.

The sweet ichor flooded your mouth and you moaned, the overwhelming sensation, melted with Hongjoong’s own pained groan, making you come undone on top of him, your muscles clenching, your teeth sinking deeper. Not even a few seconds later Hongjoong came as well, filling you, with everything he had, both your cunt and your mouth now full of him, full of Hongjoong, full of this luxurious goodness that you could kill for to keep all to yourself. You rode out both of your orgasms, letting the sensation take over. So good. So palatable.

And as the things gradually came to a still, you didn’t stop to take, filling yourself up to the brim.

“Enough, darling. Enough.”

Hongjoong’s hand patted your thigh gently and you reacted instantly, pulling your teeth out carefully. His expression was hazed, as though only half-present, but a small smile ghosted in the corner of his lip, a bit teasing, a bit of that fire he always had. He was slightly pale, and his hair was all tousled, and you didn’t even notice when you disheveled his shirt, now almost completely unbuttoned, showing all the sweat that ran down his chest. You wondered just how much more fucked out you must have looked right now.

You cupped his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs.

“You’re really something else, Joong.” A smile broke out on his face and you mirrored it with your own. “You make it so easy to forget I’m the invincible one.”

“Not exactly invincible, huh” he smirked, his fingers reaching to brush your throat, where his silver cross had burned you before. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. I told you I was curious. I meant it.” He caressed the skin gently now, rubbing it carefully, although he barely had any strength to hold himself up. “But I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”

You smiled proudly.

“I think I like you like this” you suddenly announced and the man blinked in confusion. “Don’t take me wrong, I liked you before, too. But, you are pretty cute when you lose some of that ego.”

A breathy laughter left him, before his hand dropped back to your waist, holding you just a bit closer for now. He was slowly falling asleep, and maybe, just maybe, you were enjoying that vulnerable version of him too much to keep him up.

“I will clean up and make you some sweet tea” you announced, finally climbing off his lap.

“Mhm…”

Hongjoong’s eyes were already closed, and you leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss into his forehead.

Even barely conscious, disheveled and sweaty, with smallest strands of blood running down his neck, to you, Kim Hongjoong still looked ethereal.

A/N: Please reblog if you enjoyed and follow if you would like to read more in the future. Thank you for your time!

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Dividers

He sat by a small fire and you regretted not having even a lighter on you to warm up your nights like that. No wonder he didn’t seem bothered by the temperatures. You approached him cautiously and sat on the opposite side of the fire, just at the verge of the warmth. He glanced at you with a soft smile, but didn’t say anything, as if he already expected your arrival.

You curled up against a tree, letting your eyes slip closed.

You thought that would be it. But you had been woken up by the sound of shuffling and when you opened your eyes again, he was crouching in front of you, holding out some kind of meat roasted on a skewer. You looked at him suspiciously.

“You didn’t eat yesterday.” His words weren’t a question. “Eat before you run out of strengths.”

He left the skewer in your hand before returning to his previous seat and busying himself with his own food.

Some time later you found yourself scooping closer to the fire and scrutinizing him with a careful gaze. His face was neutral, unbothered, lit by the yellow hues of the fire.

“Where are we going?” you suddenly asked.

He let out a breathy laugh, not looking at you from where he was busy picking at his nails with the end of a skewer.

“You’ve been following me for a week and now you’re asking?”

You shrugged. No good response came to your mind.

“My pack’s territory is behind the mountains. It will take another week before we get there.”

“What will you do if I follow you there, too?” You tried to sound confident, but your voice quivered.

“What will you do if I let you?”

You hesitated.

“I need a pack.”

“What happened to your old one?”

“They threw me out.” You wrapped arms around your knees, bringing them to your chest. You finally tore your gaze away from him and focused on the flames.

“For being a beta?” You nodded and he hummed.

Betas weren’t really useful for anything. It was common for some packs to dispose of them when an opportunity presented itself. They tended to stay behind. Impaired senses. Inability to shift.

“We can’t let just anyone join our pack, though.” You felt your heart drop. Of course. You couldn’t expect someone to acknowledge you just because of your persistence. But he didn’t let you dwell on it for too long. “What about it. We will play a game. If you win, I will let you join my pack.”

“And if you win?”

He shrugged.

“I will think of something. My name is Jeonghan, by the way.”

You didn’t find it in yourself to worry about the potential consequences.

It was a simple card game, and he had all that was needed in his backpack, explaining the rules to you. You did your best to follow.

You won the game.

The flicker in Jeonghan’s eye made you think that maybe he knew the outcome before the game even started.

Somehow,  you didn’t find the courage to stay close to him after that, but you would join him for the night when the two of you would share your stories before falling asleep by the warmth of the fire he set up.

On the tenth day, something shifted. You felt it in his demeanor, some form of stiffness, nervousness even. But you were close enough, you believed. His territory was right outside of your reach.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay close?” he asked, but you only shook your head. At heart, you were still nervous and distrustful. What chances there were that this other pack would be better than your previous one? At the very least you weren’t denied by him. But what would your life become?

It seemed that he was uncertain, letting you stay behind this time.

It didn’t take long before you found out, why.

You didn’t sense it – your sense of smell was weak as opposed to others, barely enough to follow the alpha ahead of you, but you still beat yourself up for not having noticed this thing sooner. It was the cracking of twigs and low growl between trees that made you finally pick it up.

The feral wolf was large, covered in thick gray fur, matted in some areas. It didn’t look old. But sick for certain. Yet, you didn’t dwell on its state because the creature pounced, and you had to dive to the side to avoid its sharp teeth and claws.

At times like this you almost understood why betas were undesirable in packs. How were you even supposed to fight back with your human body?

The beast jumped at you again, this time faster, more deliberate, and you ducked only enough to send the two of you rolling down the snowy path. You felt the claws tearing at your shoulder, but your body hit a tree, knocking the air out of your lungs and preventing a scream from ripping out. Your vision filled with dark spots.

Something suddenly collided with the animal, a force that sent it tumbling a few meters away from you before your vision even managed to focus again.

But when it did, it was another wolf that stood between you and the beast, and Jeonghan’s scent filled the air – unmistakable even with your impaired senses, sharp and determined; a growl resonated through his bared teeth.

It seemed that the other finally acknowledged the disparity between it and a healthy opponent, because with a displeased growl of its own, it turned around and ran off into the forest.

Your eyes slipped closed, if only for a few moments before a hand was placed on your shoulder and you flinched before Jeonghan’s familiar face appeared above you, eyebrows creased in concern.

“Are you okay? Can you stand up?”

You blinked slowly. Your head was filled with dull ache and something was still tearing at your shoulder, the warmth slowly dripping down your cold skin. You winced, pushing yourself up.

Jeonghan’s face softened, a small smile finding way into the corner of his lip, making your worries dissipate.

“I think I’m okay” you spoke, but it was laced with uncertainty.

“I hope so. We should probably leave this area before we settle for the night.”

Your fingers clutched onto the hem of Jeonghan’s jacket as the two of you made your way through the forest. You, for once, didn’t even think to remain at a distance. And he – did not say a word about it. The travel, considerably slower than before, was no longer as cold as it used to be. You stuck to his side for the next hours, finding comfort in the alpha’s warmth resonating around him, seeping into you as if he was a furnace.

It was when your breath became uneven and the fatigue was becoming too much, that the two of you sat down around a fireplace that he set up quickly before moving in front of you with some medical supplies that he must have carried in his backpack.

Any other day, you would have preferred to handle things yourself. Growing up in a pack that didn’t care for betas, that’s exactly what you were used to. Jeonghan’s kindness was unfamiliar. A completely strange concept. Something that, any other day, you would be suspicious of, decline it, out of how you had been told over and over again that you’re not worthy of it. These wounds were still fresh.

But there was some form of strictness behind Jeonghan’s generosity as well. It wasn’t a plea, but a command, when he looked at the torn, bloodied fabric of your own jacket, expecting you to take it off.

The warmth of fireplace against your skin was much more pleasant than the freezing wetness of your drying blood and the snow that seeped through your clothes during the struggle. You pulled your jacket and blouse off in one go, and then immediately covered yourself, having a second thought about exposing yourself like this.

“I, uh…”

“Are you scared of me?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Jeonghan didn’t look at you – not at your face, at least, gently pushing your hands away from your chest and putting his whole focus on the gaping wound on your shoulder. You had a feeling it wasn’t the first time he was treating a wound, and the mere fact that he had the first aid kit on him, ready to use, just made it clear that he also knew how to use it.

His touch was gentle, but confident. Not overly careful – not treating you like a hurt animal, no matter that it was exactly what you were right now. But rather, he grounded you with how he did not hesitate, disinfecting your wound the way it needed to be done, not sparing you the stronger, a bit more forceful movements as he cleaned the injury to his best ability.

When you hissed in pain, he glanced at you briefly, but didn’t stop. And, somehow, it felt better this way. It felt right. To not be babied, but cared for in this particular way.

He was showing you that he knows better. That he’s a leader. And a leader was what you needed.

“Do you want me to be scared?” you countered after some minutes had passed.

He shook his head.

“You don’t need to be. But I suspect fear is natural to you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he pressed a damp cloth against the wound at that exact moment and all that left you was a small whimper.

“I’m not demeaning you or anything” he continued, although there was a hint of smile in his voice, as if he enjoyed poking at you, teasing you. Not like you could get seriously offended – you were in no position to, anyway. “But I wonder who you think I am.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Your senses might have been impaired, but not that much.

“An alpha” you grumbled. “Am I wrong?”

“No, I suppose you’re not” he hummed. Your nostrils flared at the smell of medicine he pressed into your injury. Your body shivered at the sting that followed, but you sat still, letting him do whatever he found appropriate. “But you follow me like I’m a pack leader as well. I don’t want you to be misinformed.”

You stared at him with your mouth agape for a few moments. It seemed right – he did give off that particular aura of someone you could trust, rely on and listen to. But you never had the experience of leadership that awoke trust over fear, and you had no idea if it was him being an alpha or something in your gut considering him a leader as well. Besides, you were used to being below everyone else, so…

“Does it matter?”

“Does it not?”

“As long as your leader doesn’t tell me to fuck off, I don’t think it does” you huffed, looking away. “I didn’t suspect you to be the only alpha in a pack, anyway. I mean, you could be, just that it doesn’t really matter. I know my place.” Your voice trembled ever so barely with the last words you spoke, and this time Jeonghan finally looked at you properly, stilling his movements. But the pity disappeared soon, exchanged by an amused smile.

“Your place?”

You hated having to say it out loud.

“You know what I mean. I don’t expect my life to miraculously become heaven. That’s fine. As long as I’m not alone.”

“You should fight for yourself more.”

“You saw for yourself how poorly that goes” you mumbled, looking pointedly at the injury right below your face. Now, cleaned from blood, you saw the rough edges left by the wolf’s claws, and you winced at the sight. These would undoubtedly leave a scar.

“Not really, no.” Jeonghan’s movements continued now as he started dressing your wound with a bandage. “When you think about it, you did pretty well.”

“Don’t mock me…”

“I mean it.”

“You had to save my ass.”

“You had to choose to follow me, to go out of your way to ask to join my pack, for me to be able to help you. It isn’t easy to rely on someone else, but you did. And there is also no shame in receiving help.”

There was some form of logic that didn’t fully resonate with you, even as your eyebrows creased and you pondered on it for the next minutes, until Jeonghan finished wrapping your wound and took off his jacket, wrapping it around your torso. You were shivering a little from the cold, and he approached the fireplace, putting in some more of the tree branches.

“I will wash up your clothes, hopefully they dry by the fire overnight. We should get through the mountains in two days, then it will be an easier route. I will look for more dry wood for the fire. Stay and get some rest.”

You were a bit sad that you wouldn’t get to talk a bit more. Some form of sentiment was growing within you, a fondness towards the man whose thinking process seemed to exceed your own by a mile.

 Jeonghan never took away the jacket that he let you sleep under that night, but even as your own clothes dried, your body struggled keeping warmth for the next two days that it took before the temperatures started raising a little. You had to take frequent breaks on the path, resting by fireplaces to warm back up. Jeonghan didn’t say a word of complaint – and neither did he look bothered with the lack of jacket. But it was only on the night when the snow became sparse again that you decided to return the jacket. It wasn’t, however, still as warm as you imagined, and you found yourself shivering weakly as the fireplace started to die out long into the night.

Jeonghan didn’t say a word, but you heard him shuffle somewhere on the other side of the fireplace, adding some wood into it to keep up the fire. You didn’t notice him walking towards you after, not until his body dropped behind yours with a small sigh. Even despite the weather, his warmth was strong, and you cursed yourself once again for your own weakness.

But when his arm wrapped around your middle, pulling you into him without letting you even think to make that choice yourself, you froze.

“What… do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

You smelled it again now. Softer, non-intrusive scent; you were too close to omit it. And, although it didn’t impact you half as much as it would if you weren’t a beta, there was some unspoken command in it, one that you understood just because it was natural to.

“Your scent won’t work on me” you huffed, turning your head and raising your eyebrow.

Jeonghan hummed. His eyes were closed, a sleepy expression on his face.

So close. His skin was partially covered in shadows, but the light of fireplace reached here and the orange hue made him appear as warm as his body was. His eyelashes fluttered, but eyes remained closed. You held your breath.

 “Jeonghan, are you asleep?”

“Mhm…”

Before you could say another word, he pulled you closer, his face burying in the crook of your neck. You stuttered.

“H-hey, why would you…” You pushed him off gently and he finally glanced at you with a soft smile on his face. You were still close, but – well – you were here before him, and so you decided to stand your ground.  “Don’t waste your energy on that. Scents don’t work on me.”

He pushed himself up a little, resting his head on his palm and gracing you with a lazy, relaxed expression.

“Don’t they?”

“Of course they don’t.”

“They why did you follow me, actually?”

You hesitated, eyebrows scrunching.

“I already told you that. I’m a stray.”

“Yes, I know that. But why did you find me? Was I the only alpha you crossed paths with?”

You shook your head.

“Of course not. There were people in the town, I didn’t go out of my way to find you or anything…”

“But you did follow me of all these people.”

You pressed your lips together, the cogs turning in your head making you go still for a few moments. But no logical thought followed, nothing that made sense based on what you were just told.

“I just had a feeling. I needed to find a pack sooner or later” you shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

“Just a feeling, hm?”

His eyes flickered and you looked away, confused.

Jeonghan observed you for the next few moments before shaking his head and letting out a small chuckle.

“Go back to sleep. We’re almost home.”

You decided that listening to him was less of a mental challenge than continuing this conversation. But it did leave you wondering.

By the morning both of you were a bit cold, because the fireplace had managed to die out over the next hours. It was only reasonable to keep walking side by side to try and keep each other warmer.

Fourteen days had passed ever since the two of you had seen each other for the first time. You couldn’t feel the scent of the territory you entered, but you could feel the air change, the wild animals hiding in the bushes just a bit more wary of your and Jeonghan’s presence. And Jeonghan’s silhouette, too, seemed a bit more relaxed. You didn’t need to ask to know that only a few hours ahead, his pack was waiting for him to come back.

But as he seemed more at ease, you felt yourself grow more nervous.

At some point, Jeonghan’s hand found yours, squeezing it in a wordless reassurance. He didn’t look at you – you were glad that he didn’t, because you weren’t certain how much more pity you could take.

It was a late afternoon when he suddenly stopped in his tracks and you bumped into his back from where you were huddled right behind. His hand steadied you and he smiled brightly, looking somewhere in between the trees ahead. You strained your senses until you caught a faint whiff of another wolf – right as he emerged from between the tree trunks.

“Long time no see, Joshua.”

The newcomer returned Jeonghan’s smile before gracing you with a curious glance.

“What did you pick up on your way, Jeonghan?”

The man’s chest shook with laughter as he threw his arm over your shoulder in an effortless display of… what, exactly? Affection? Ownership…?

“A new recruit” he joked. “Feel free to go ahead and share the news with Cheol.”

“I’m sure he already knows. We could smell you’re not alone all the way from there.”

“You couldn’t have smelt me” you bristled instantly.

The man named Joshua raised his eyebrow.

“Because…?”

“Because I’m a…” Your voice trailed off. You were certain he already knew – the whole exchange seemed a bit out of blue. The man tilted his head to the side. “A beta” you grumbled.

Joshua blinked slowly, then looked at Jeonghan again.

“They’re a bit dense, no?”

Jeonghan laughed loudly, his arm closing tighter around your shoulder, keeping you close against him.

“Just a little. They will learn, though.”

“Hey!” You huffed, pushing him off. But pain shot through your shoulder and you winced, your knees bucking. The trip had taken a tool on you, and the injury, still somewhat fresh, didn’t heal too quick in all the cold and effort you had to put to make it through the forest.

Jeonghan was back in your personal space right away, arm wrapping around your middle to keep you upright. Joshua’s face fell as he took a few steps forward.

“Are you two hurt? Did something happen?”

“We had an encounter with a feral wolf on our way here. Can you go ahead and let others know? We will need some supplies to take care of that properly. And food. And clothes.”

“And a blanket” you mumbled. Nothing you dreamed of more than a dry, warm place to rest. You didn’t think you deserved much – you weren’t used to expecting more than was given, even if by a pity.

Jeonghan hummed.

“A lot of blankets, and a fireplace.”

Joshua smiled.

“You got it.”

Turning around, he leaped forward, shifting into a wolf and disappearing between the trees. You stared for a moment where he disappeared.

“Come on, we need to keep going. Not much longer.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.”

“Why did you call me dense?” you huffed.

The two of you moved at a slow, relaxed pace now. The prospect of reaching your destination soon made you a bit lazy, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to put much more effort in your steps. Besides, Jeonghan himself seemed a bit worn out as well, dark circles under his eyes and paleness of his skin that you didn’t remember being there first time you spotted him from up close.

His hold on you, however, didn’t weaken, making it clear that he wouldn’t let you go until you reached the end of the journey.

“I think the way you have been raised gave you a false idea of what you are or are not” he spoke carefully. “I have a theory that your senses are dulled because your former alphas stifled betas in the pack.”

“I’m just…”

“You’re not much different than anyone else, you can trust me on that” he smiled softly. “There are a few betas in my pack and I assure you that it doesn’t change as much as you think. Yes, your senses are weaker, but not by as much as you believe. Betas can most definitely be impacted by others’ hormones. But they are not driven by that energy. By instincts. It’s powerful in itself. That’s why they’re the most trustworthy.” He took a deep breath in, smelling the air. A squirrel ran up the nearby tree, distracting both of you for a moment. “However, even if you are not aware of it, it doesn’t mean you cannot be impacted. And the fact you’re here proves as much.”

“I don’t get it” you said quickly. A bit too quickly – thoughts were already forming in your head. But you needed him to say it out loud.

Jeonghan stopped, turning towards you now. You could get used to the small smile on his face, always warm, although a bit teasing.

“I mean that you wouldn’t have found me, if I didn’t find you first.”

Reaching his hand towards the thick branches ahead, he pushed them out of the way.

In the darkness that already fell upon the forest, orange lights came from windows of a wooden house standing in the middle of the clearing ahead. In the middle of nowhere, yet clearly taken care of, clean and resonating with warmth. The littlest bit of civilization you missed for the past two weeks you spent almost dehumanized by the conditions of your journey.

You stared at it with your breath held for what felt like eternity, soaking in the sight, the feeling behind it, the promise that it brought.

Jeonghan patted your shoulder.

“You made it here” he announced. The warmth coming from the house seemed to blossom within your chest with newfound strength. You let it take over and nest inside you. “Welcome home.”

Jeonghan smiled. And for once, so did you.

A/N: Please reblog if you enjoyed and follow if you would like to read more in the future. Thank you for your time!

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Seokjin settles in behind you in the giant tub.

“Mmmm,” he sighs, “This is magnificent.”

You lean against him, exposing your neck how he likes it, and he accepts the invitation to feast. His fangs sink through your flesh, leaving two little punctures he can suck your blood through. He savors your taste, then moves to mark another spot on your skin.

The water filling the ancient soaking tub slowly turns a deep crimson shade as the veinwine trails down your body from the small wounds he leaves in his path.

As he feeds, a hand drifts around your waist, gliding below the waterline and down your lower belly until it finds your little bundle of nerves that patiently await his attention.

Teases your clit, slowly rubbing in circling motions that he knows drive you absolutely mad. When your chest begins to arch outward, he knows you long for more.

He curls three fingers into your opening, the water slightly sloshing around your bodies as he thrusts them into you languishly.

His other hand finds a breast, squeezing the soft flesh and feeling the weight of you in his palm before his pointer finger and thumb roll your nipple between each fingertip.

“Seokjin, please, more,” you beg, completely at his mercy. Your inner walls begin to pulsate around him, and he pulls his hands away, removing his touch before you can take the plunge into pleasure.

Frowning, you are about to say something, but your words are quickly forgotten when he hoists you into his arms as he stands.

Jin carries you to his chambers, paying no mind to the temporary water stains he leaves behind, nor to whoever's eyes may land on your bodies while he walks through the halls.

Once inside, he lays you on his bed. It’s only here as a ceremonial piece for his carnal desires, as rest isn’t a requirement for vampires.

Soon after his lips find yours, his fangs nick against your plush lower lip. He sucks it between his teeth; half kissing, half feeding.

The euphoric sensation from his vampire venom tingles through your body, heightening your senses.

The early sunrise leaks through the tall windows behind him, his skin shimmering as it reflects the light off his porcelain complexion. He leaves one lingering kiss above the swell of each breast before stepping away from the bed to close his curtains.

You watch blissfully, admiring the way his toned body moves. Each of Seokjin’s arms extends to grab either side of the curtains, his shoulders rippling as he brings them to his chest, darkening the room.

As he stalks back toward you, he tilts his head and hesitates as his gaze washes across your gorgeous body.

“Come here, pet,” he summons once at the end of his bed, beckoning you to move closer. “Open your legs for me. Show me your pussy before I devour it.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, doing as you’re told.

He bends down to kiss each of your inner thighs, purposely skipping over your center each time he switches sides.

Your legs begin to close around his head before you even realize it.

“What did I tell you?” he growls, forcing them open again and biting your inner thigh as a form of punishment. He takes a quick drink before dragging his tongue, still lingering with blood, through your folds.

He moans against you, tasting two of his favorite flavors flooding his senses. Your decadent essence blends perfectly with the coppered sweetness of your blood.

His tongue takes turns dipping into your core and flicking your sensitive pearl as the shockwaves soon take over. Your release leaks from your folds, and he’s quick to clean you up, lapping up every drop your body has to offer.

But he doesn’t stop there. His torment is ruthless, and he continues ravishing you despite your cries. Jin’s red eyes pierce into yours as you thrash against his mouth, and he uses his vampire strength to keep your legs pinned down.

His cock twitches, craving for its own taste of your slick, needing your warm dewiness to coat him.

The thought alone sends Seokjin into a frenzy, his tongue moves faster as it fucks you, coaxing you into coming all over his face once more.

When he pulls away from you, his lips and cheeks are slightly pink from the residual scarlet blood blended with your slick.

He lines himself up to your core, his head falling back as his icy cock slides into you with ease. It’s a feeling neither will ever tire of.

Seokjin groans as his entire length fills you. It’s a perfect fit every time; one of the many reasons he keeps you alive.

He shifts your body slightly so he’s fucking you from the side, his cock repeatedly hitting that delicious spot deep inside you.

“My favorite little blood slut takes me so well,” he chuckles, eyes falling to where you meet. He pulls all the way out, watching your pussy weep for him before pounding back in. “So easy to unravel.”

He does it again, this time, running his tip through your folds, dipping just the thickness of his head into your wetness before pulling back out. His teasing does little to help your needy state, your second orgasm impending.

He thrusts into you again, the base of his member slamming against your pelvis. Your little gasp of surprise has his cock doubling in size.

“Oh my god. Fuck!” you mewl, feeling him grow inside of you, all while his hips torture you again and again.

“Not yet,” Jin hisses, feeling you get closer to the edge. “You know the rules,” he reminds, though he still doesn’t stop fucking you.

He brings you right to the brink of your next orgasm, and then just as you are about to spiral, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty.

You clench around nothing, your body writhing as you ache for release. “Please, sir,” you whimper, “Wanna come. I need to, please!”

“Shhh, you will soon enough,” he hushes, reaching for the closest candelabra. He tips it over your side, letting the melted wax drip onto your side as he slides his cock back into you.

He dribbles more molten wax, pressing a candle to your skin so it hardens in place, repeating until your ribs, waist, and hip are lined with several flickering candles. You gasp each time the hot wax lands on your flesh, your entire body shivering from the cruel contrast.

The searing heat of wax across your skin and the icy stretch of him within is enough to tear the next orgasm straight from your soul. As the coil finally snaps, you’re sent into another dimension as waves of pleasure cloud your senses.

Your walls squeeze Seokjin, and with another couple of pumps into your silky folds, his frozen seed spills into you.

He looks at you lustfully. Goosebumps cover your body, contentment written across your face, blood bites lining down your neck, and the position of your body with the candles posed along your frame.

“You’re a masterpiece,” he breathes, taking in the sight like you’re an exquisite painting in a museum. One that he could never get tired of looking at.

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Hoseok bounces lightly on the balls of his feet, steadying his breathing as he hears the crowd cheer for the artist on the stage. His dressing room is finally empty; his manager had poked his head in a few minutes ago, informing him that backstage pictures and pep talks with the dancers would begin soon, before withdrawing and leaving Hoseok to his devices.

His team is waiting right outside; as he walks out of his dressing room and starts down the outdoor trail to the stage, his bodyguards and his manager flank him, with the head stylist catching up to them and tripping over herself to straighten his artfully messy hair. He grins at the “J-hope, J-hope!”s that pass him by, waving at shaking hands with staff and crew and a few fans that have managed to make it this far back to the arena. His bodyguards are skilled, though, keeping them politely at bay, until a grown man appears in his line of vision for a flash before he’s pushed back by the bodyguards.

“Hey, wait, wait -” Hoseok halts and peers around the bodyguard towards the man. “Minho hyung?” As the older man grins and nods, Hoseok gasps dramatically before stepping forward and meeting him in a half-hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just hanging out,” says Minho good-naturedly as he walks alongside Hoseok, cradling a Nikon camera hanging around his neck. “I heard you were here - you’ve become a big star! But we knew you would be,” he adds, clapping him on the shoulder as though they’ve been friends for years.

Hoseok gapes, for in his wildest dreams he wouldn’t have imagined Kwon Minho, the senior he and Chanyeol used to worship in middle school, would be saying this to his face. “Oh, I’m not - I mean, I’m, you know - like, there’s a lot of luck -” He dithers on for a few seconds, somewhat aware that all the coolness and swagger he’d been building up in his dressing room is disappearing. 

“I’m actually here with Chaerin,” says Minho, as they finally reach the backstage area where staff and dancers mill around, with sound technicians marching purposefully in various directions. “Her group is performing soon and I’m hoping to get a good view of the stage from out here.”

“Chaerin - oh.” Hoseok remembers now. The group performing right after the current one is a legacy k-pop group; they’d debuted a couple of years before Hoseok, creating a blueprint for every girl group of his generation and after. There had been a rumour a few years ago that one of the members, after the group had gone on a long hiatus, had got engaged to someone from Gwangju - the fact that it might be Minho boggles Hoseok’s mind.

“Yeah - I kept it for the last minute when they performed in London last week and I didn’t get any good pictures,” he laments, running a hand through his hair as the crowd cheers again and they both turn to look. “Learnt my lesson after that,” he adds, a bit louder over the noise.

“Of course. So - I’m sorry, it’s so great to see you after so long,” says Hoseok, grinning when Minho laughs. “I still see you in the football jersey with that sideways fringe that the rest of us were trying to copy.”

“Ah, that was the Justin Bieber era - I remember now.” He chuckles without a hint of self-consciousness. “We were all trying something. Including your friend - Chanyeol? Are you guys still friends?”

“Best friends,” confirms Hoseok, practically giddy at the fact that Kwon Minho remembers them. “He’s an investment banker now, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, he was a couple years below me in SNU as well.”

“Right! I heard you got a scholarship after SNU to - was it Harvard?” 

“Stanford,” he corrects. “But, yeah, that was a really good experience. It was a while ago, though. I got hired by Google after that and worked in San Francisco for a couple years, before I quit and moved back to Korea.” He shrugs. “Wanted to try doing my own thing.”

“Wow. So - so, what do you do now?” Hoseok asks with interest, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning sideways against the wall. “Do you, like, have your own business?” he asks, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.

“I did for a while,” he admits, and his smile fades slightly. “After I finished service, I started a sports marketing firm and it was - it was good. But, you know.” He pauses. “Couldn’t do it remotely for too long. So I sold it and - anyway, I’m a travel vlogger now,” he says, waving a hand. “Going around the world, reviewing cities - it’s cool. You should check out my Instagram.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah, of course,” says Hoseok quickly. “And - I mean, that sounds really cool. But -” Hoseok cringes inwardly, hoping his surprise at Minho - Minho - choosing to be a travel vlogger when he was a merit scholar at seventeen years old, isn’t too apparent. “I always pictured you as a CEO or a world famous football player or something,” he admits sheepishly. “We all did. Sorry - I hope that doesn’t sound bad,” he adds apologetically.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.” Minho shrugs again, and this time it looks more relaxed. “Like I said, the company was going well and everything but… I want to be with Chaerin. And she travels a lot - you know, acting in Los Angeles and her group just reunited and now they’re touring the world… It was hard, being back home and seeing her only once every couple of months. So… now I’m travelling with her. And I’m still a minor shareholder of the company, so it isn’t all that bad.”

Hoseok nods slowly, not quite knowing what to say. “That’s… really good,” he manages finally, hoping it doesn’t sound as half-hearted as it does in his head.

“Yeah. It was an adjustment but… you know.” Minho takes a deep breath, looking in the other direction of the backstage area where Chaerin’s group is standing together with a couple of stylists, sipping on bottled water and marking dance steps. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, though,” he says after a few moments, sounding wistful. 

“Right,” murmurs Hoseok, the sentiment warming heart slightly, for Minho does sound genuine. He sneaks a look at his phone while Minho fiddles with the settings on his camera, scrolling to his chat with her where his thumb pauses on the selfie she’d sent him a few hours ago before heading to work (wavy hair, clean make-up, shiny pink lip gloss and a white lace blouse). All of a sudden, Minho’s decision to be with Chaerin makes complete sense. 

—

Across the world, Chaeyoung nibbles on a carrot stick while peering over her coworker’s shoulder at the laptop screen.

“Let me know if anyone’s coming, okay?” Her coworker, Eunji, reminds her in a low voice as she maximises the window to fit the whole screen.

“Did I miss it?” Jia, another coworker, hurries over to them and pulls up a beanbag next to Chaeyoung with one hand, the other laden with bottles of water and snacks from the vending machine.

“No, they haven’t even started yet. Ooh, soy chips.” Eunji eagerly rips open a packet and offers some to Chaeyoung, who smiles and shakes her head.

“Should we call Duri as well?” she asks, looking through the glass doors at their open floor plan to spot the last member of their little group. “He was pretty excited to watch it, too.”

“I texted him - he needs to send out a copy and then he’ll be here,” says Jia, settling down on the beanbag and tucking their haul under the small table where the laptop is perched. “Come on, what’s taking him so long?” she whines softly.

“Technical issues,” supplies Chaeyoung, before catching herself. “I mean, I presume. The rest of the show has been on time so far, hasn’t it?”

Thankfully, she’s spared from the conversation continuing when Duri exits through the glass doors and makes a beeline for them, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“All clear,” he declares with a flourish, clapping his hands and sitting on the floor next to Chaeyoung’s ottoman. “All the managers are going to be in an hour-long meeting with New York so we can crank up the volume!”

“We’re not cranking anything,” says Eunji, as Chaeyoung and Jia snort. “But we can increase it a bit,” she allows after a moment, pressing the volume up key on her Macbook just as the cheers ascend to welcome J-Hope on stage.

Chaeyoung bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely, although she needn’t bother; next to her, Jia muffles a squeal into her fists as Hoseok appears on the screen in a cloud of smoke, hair gelled up and one exposed shoulder gleaming as he immediately launches into one of his hits.

“I can’t believe they’re all going solo now. I mean, they’re not going solo,” Eunji corrects herself quickly, as though having uttered a taboo word. “But they’re - they’re -”

“They’re thriving solo,” breathes Duri, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “He was made to dance. How much of his life do you think he’s spent just dancing?”

At least the last twenty years, Chaeyoung thinks with pride. At least since Chanyeol’s tenth birthday party when he danced to a Seo Taiji song and did a jazz split in front of about twenty other people and even though he ripped his pants doing it, all anyone remembered was how good he was. 

But all she says is, “Probably a long time.”

The others nod and they enjoy the show for a while, singing along under their breaths. Eventually, a handful of other people join them until it’s a little over half a dozen people in the floor’s creative room, watching J-Hope perform in New York.

“I can’t believe they’ll all be gone soon,” murmurs Jia wistfully, so only Chaeyoung can hear her. “What are we going to do?”

Chaeyoung bites her lip, resisting the urge to correct Jia’s we. It isn’t as though she hasn’t thought about it - it’s impossible not to think about it, the fact that just like Chanyeol left years ago and Seokjin left a couple of months ago, that Hoseok will, too. In fact, part of her expects him to announce it at the end of this performance, although she hasn’t worked up the courage to outright ask him about it yet.

As she watches him perform his heart out, now a BTS song she remembers listening to when she was still in high school, she can’t help but think about it. Her phone feels like a tiny window through which she can see him - the real Hoseok, the one who texted her just before she sat down with her friends with a picture from backstage saying wish you were here, caterpillar - and tightens her hold on it, determined to enjoy the performance he’s worked so hard for. 

When the performance is done and Hoseok waves as he leaves the stage, Chaeyoung grabs her phone and immediately scrolls to their chat as everyone starts heading back to their desks. She’s beginning to type out a long message gushing about his performance when she’s interrupted.

“Hey,” says Duri, sidling up to her.

Jumping slightly, she instantly locks her phone and lets her hand fall to her side. “Hey. You scared me.”

“Oh, sorry! Just - are you okay?”

“Um… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks, nervously fluffing out her hair.

“No, you just looked a little off, that’s all.” He raises his eyebrows, looking amused. “I thought he was your favourite member.”

You have no idea. “Yeah, no…. I’m just stressed about work.” She waves a hand vaguely, her gaze shifting to the meeting room where all the managers are still in a meeting. “A lot of deliverables coming up.”

“Oh. You know,” he continues, stopping at her desk and lowering his voice, “you didn’t hear it from me, but your name is actively up there for the overseas e-commerce project.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes widen. “The one in London? Really?”

Duri nods conspiratorially. “Again - you didn’t hear it from me. But if all goes well -” He shrugs hugely as he backs away “- you might be on a long-distance flight pret-ty soon.”

The rest of the day is a blur, even with Chaeyoung’s active efforts to not get her hopes up. She isn’t stupid; she knows it’s only a chance and even that, through the grapevine, but if it happens… She imagines telling Hosoek, and Chanyeol and Sooah, seeing her father be as excited as he was when Chanyeol got his dream job out of university. It makes her smile every time, followed by an active attempt to suppress it.

Hoseok returns the next day and as happy as she is to see him, she can’t bring herself to tell him, not when it isn’t even confirmed. Thankfully, actually seeing each other after this long takes precedence, and she can finally get her mind off it for a while. Lying next to him in the dark, naked under the covers while he sleeps off his exhaustion and jetlag, Chaeyoung resolves to keep it to herself until she actually has real news to tell him.

He beats her to it, though. The next night, after a nice date of catching up and spending some much needed time together, they return to her apartment for ice cream and a movie. Casual snogging leads to something more, and they retreat to her bedroom so as to not be caught by Sooah.

“Chae,” he says after a while, his head propped up on his hand and tracing his finger lightly along her back as she turns to face him, blissfully post-coital. “I, uh…” He bites his lip, but doesn’t avert his gaze. “I got a date. I need to report at the end of the month.”

Chaeyoung’s half-smile fades, and she says nothing for a few moments. She’d expected this at some point, but there’s an uncertainty that creeps up now, although she isn’t immediately sure what it’s about.

“Um… okay. Do you know where you’ll be posted?” she asks, and she notices the mild relief on his face at her question.

“Gangwon. To start with. They haven’t given me a lot of details,” he adds.

“Except a date.”

“Except a date.” He shuffles closer to her and gently tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Look, I wanted you to be the first to know. I have to tell the company tomorrow and… I guess they’ll have me announce it at the Goyang concert next week.”

Chaeyoung nods. It would certainly make for a headline and while Chaeyoung had had every intention of going to that concert with Sooah, she isn’t sure she wants to hear him tell the world he’ll be gone for the next eighteen months.

“I don’t… I don’t really know what else to say,” she admits, a bit sheepishly. “I mean, I’ll miss you. Obviously. And, uh… it’ll be weird not coming over and seeing you, I guess. But I will miss you,” she repeats. “And, um… I know we’ll still text and stuff and we’ll see each other on holidays… and it’ll end eventually. But I’ll still miss… this and I’ll miss - I’ll miss -”

Her throat catches and she blinks back tears. Next to her, Hoseok nods as she speaks, his eyes filling up as well and the moment she breaks off, he reaches over and pulls her to him.

“I’ll miss you, too, caterpillar,” he murmurs into her shoulder. She sniffles and he tightens his embrace, pressing a kiss to her skin. “I love you,” he adds.

Chaeyoung nods and bites her lip. She doesn’t want to cry out loud but she’s afraid if she does open her mouth, that’s exactly what she’ll do. So she simply wraps her arm around him and hugs him tighter.

—

Almost two weeks after he met Minho in New York, Hoseok finds himself getting ready to go on stage at yet another concert. This backstage layout is familiar, though; he’s performed here so many times that the green room, the sound check and even some of the staff from the venue are known to him. 

Not just him, as it turns out; glancing sideways, he spots Yoongi talking to one of the producers, while Jimin and Jungkook are fooling around in his green room, laughing up a storm. It’s a contrast to the one in New York, where the only familiar person had been Minho (popular, handsome, capable, high-potential graduate who gave up his career to follow his idol girlfriend). Hoseok had wasted no time gossiping about it to Chanyeol after the concert, who seemed to be the only other person who could grasp the magnitude of this revelation.

Hoseok looks back at his friends again, wishing Chaeyoung were here. Ever since he’d told her about his plans for enlistment, she’d been subdued. They still spent time together but he could sense her holding back, as though hesitating to tell him something. 

She was supposed to be here tonight as well but she’d backed out yesterday, needing to stay late at work. He’d tried not to be disappointed; it sounded like an important interview so he’d swallowed any complaints and wished her luck, reminding her that he believed in her.

He’s marking the steps to his first song and testing his earpiece when he looks up to see Jimin jogging towards him, holding up his phone.

“Hyung,” he calls, coming to a stop. “Sooah wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” says Hoseok uncertainly, taking the phone. “Hey, Sooah?”

“Oppa! What’s up?”

“Um -“ He looks around. “About to go up on stage in front of about ten thousand people. You?”

“Sounds rad,” she says breezily. “Listen, I wanted to ask about your after party tonight - is it going to be, like, a rager?”

“A rager? No, I highly doubt it. Why? You two are still coming, right?”

“Yeah, of course we are. I’m in the car outside her office right now,” she chirps. “But, no - I’m asking if it’s going to be, like, hundreds of people on drugs or just friends.”

“Definitely not hundreds and definitely not drugs,” he clarifies immediately, rather confused now. “Just about thirty people in the Hybe building. What’s going on?”

“Will it be okay if I bring a cake?”

“A cake? Oh, Sooah, that’s really sweet of you,” he says warmly. “But you really don’t have to.”

There’s a pause. “Um… we’re all very sad you’re leaving,” she says slowly, “but the cake’s not for you.”

Hoseok frowns, stumped. Then something clicks. “Wait, is it for Chae? Did she get the job?”

There’s a deep sigh on the other end. “Okay, yes - but she probably wants to tell you herself so you have to act surprised! But… yeah, she just texted me and it looks like she got it!”

“Oh, my god! That’s amazing!” Hoseok catches sight of his reflection in a nearby window and tries to suppress his wide grin.

“Yeah, so I thought if it’s a small-ish group, then maybe I could get a cake - low-fat and gluten-free, obviously -“ He can almost hear her roll her eyes “- if you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah! I’ll get someone to bring champagne and chocolates - no, apricot pie! Wait, I’ll ask her if she wants those Japanese rice balls as well -“

“What - no! Oppa!” Sooah exclaims urgently, cutting him off. “You can’t tell her you know! And I don’t even know if she’d want all that - she said she’s not even sure if she’s going to take it. So until we know for sure -“

“Wait - why wouldn’t she?”

“I dunno, I guess because of your enlistment and stuff. But I’m sure she’ll still go - I guess that’s what they’re still discussing in there. But anyway, so about the cake - oh, wait, she’s calling me. Oppa, I have to go.”

“Wait - Sooah!” 

But there’s a click and Sooah hangs up. Hoseok stays frozen for a second before frantically trying to call her back, looking at Jimin’s lockscreen blankly when he’s called by his manager and in the next few minutes, he’s ushered out on stage.

—

Chaeyoung and Sooah reach the after party at Hybe a few hours later, soon after Hoseok and the rest of them reach. It’s late - made even more so by the fact that Chaeyoung’s team at work, who’d been there when she’d got the news, had taken her out to a nearby restaurant to celebrate. With Sooah in attendance as well, the whole thing had felt a bit like a fever dream. 

It’s a bit surreal, even after they enter the party. She knows she’s happy, and all the scenarios she’d been cooking up in her head over the last few days can finally fade away, but there’s a whole new emotion taking over now. The scenarios, very vague at the moment, have taken on a new form altogether and it’s making her stomach hurt a little.

“Not much of a party,” declares Sooah, scanning the room critically as Jungkook comes over. “Hey. Is it just me or did your parties used to be cooler?”

“I mean -“ He looks a bit taken aback and whips his head around, seeming a bit panicked. “I guess it’s not our best,” he admits humbly. “But it wasn’t meant to be. Hobi hyung said he didn’t want a huge deal to be made over him leaving and stuff so it’s just the production team and close staff.”

“Oh, yeah. He announced it tonight, didn’t he?” she muses, glancing at Chaeyoung. “By the way - guess who’s so mindblowing at her job that she’s going to London on a secondment?”

Jungkook’s face freezes in a half-excited expression and he raises his eyebrows, until Sooah smacks his shoulder.

“It’s Chaeyoung! Duh!”

“Oh!” Jungkook steps forward and hugs Chaeyoung, who returns it, a bit dazed. “You’ll love London. Very fashion forward - oh, and you can hang out with Dilara, too! She’s totally -“ He pauses abruptly. “I mean. She’s cool. You’ll meet her.”

Chaeyoung nods mutely, a new variable being introduced to the chaos of scenarios. “Can’t wait,” she manages, nodding as though she meets world famous athletes who model for Calvin Klein all the time. 

Somewhere behind Jungkook, she spots Hoseok talking to Namjoon in a corner, both of them looking deep in conversation. Namjoon holds a glass of wine, but Hoseok has only a bottle of water he’s turning in his hands, as though absently.

“Can we get a drink?” Chaeyoung asks, interrupting Sooah and Jungkook.

“Of course, babe,” answers Sooah, and they all glide towards the makeshift bar. “Ooh, Prosecco. Would’ve gone great with the strawberry cheesecake I almost got,” she adds innocently.

Chaeyoung gives her a look, glad for a distraction from the strange anticipatory pit in her stomach. “I didn’t say you couldn’t get it, unnie. I just said I’d have only a bite.”

“No, no - we’ll get you the cake you want. Even if it’s some no-fat, no-carb, gluten-free vegan crap.” Sooah makes a face but then smiles, throwing an arm around her shoulder and squeezing it. “Your celebration, your cake.”

Chaeyoung smiles back weakly. Now that they’re at the bar, she discovers she doesn’t feel like a drink after all. She looks around again and this time, she meets Hoseok’s eyes. They light up as if out of habit and she waits for him to make his way to her.

But he doesn’t, and neither does she. Instead, he cocks his head in the direction of the balcony - a small crevice to the side where she can see someone with a cigarette in hand - and waits until she starts walking to follow her. When they reach, she realises the person she’d seen was Taehyung and he’s on the phone, speaking in English.

“- don’t get it. You said it wasn’t a big deal so I just don’t see why - no, but that’s not even what I -” He stops abruptly when he sees Hoseok and Chaeyoung and purses his lips, his jaw hard.

Hoseok raises his eyebrows. “Sorry,” he mouths, taking a step back. “We’ll just -”

But Taehyung shakes his head and puts out his cigarette in the ash tray before brushing past them and heading back out. “Hold on,” she can hear him say as he leaves. A couple of minutes later, she spots him exiting the building downstairs, phone still to his ear.

“Wow,” she mutters.

“Yeah. Par for the course, though,” adds Hoseok, although Chaeyoung isn’t quite sure what he means. She turns to face him and suddenly, all thoughts of Taehyung leave her mind.

“Hey,” he says softly, smiling. He looks tired but happy, a very specific post-concert look she’s come to love. But there’s something else in the way he looks at her, and she knows he knows.

“Did Sooah tell you?”

He winces slightly. “Not on purpose. She wanted to bring a cake,” he explains, a bit sheepishly.

She chuckles. “Yeah, she did. I finally convinced her not to.” She bites her lip.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, walking towards her with his arms open. 

Chaeyoung knows it’s an image she’ll remember for a long, long time: Hoseok, his proud smile, arms wide and generous, holding the world open for her. She meets him halfway and wraps her arms around his waist as he hugs her, squeezing her shoulders.

“I knew you’d get it. I just knew it,” he says against her hair, and he actually sounds like he believes it. “I’m so proud of you, caterpillar,” he repeats, kissing the side of her head.

She nods against his shoulder, the smile returning to her face. He sounds so genuine; it makes her feel guilty almost, but she doesn’t know why. “Thanks,” is all she manages before they separate.

“Are you pissed that Sooah told me before you could?” he asks, tugging lightly at a lock of her hair.

“You would think… but, no,” she admits, taking a seat on the small granite bench. “I’m actually kind of glad she didn’t. I wasn’t really sure how to tell you.”

He frowns. “Why? You know I would’ve been happy.”

“No, of course you would’ve been happy. It’s just… I don’t know, there are a lot of moving parts,” she says vaguely. “It’s six months to start with but when I asked about the leave policy, they said there are usually events and stuff on the weekends, too… but I guess if we really plan it well - your holidays back and my free weekends…” She shrugs, dropping her gaze to her lap.

Hoseok is silent for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he says quietly. “We can work that out any way you want.”

“Yeah, but we still need to plan,” she repeats. “And if I get the additional six month extension and I’m gone for a year - although, that may not even happen so no point thinking about it now, I guess.”

The strange anxiety is still building in her stomach. Part of it feels good, the part that peaked when he hugged her. But when she observes Hoseok now, how he’s uncharacteristically quiet, how his happiness and pride seems clouded by something else, she isn’t even sure what she’s supposed to be feeling now.

“Chae,” he says, and then pauses. He walks over slowly and takes a seat next to her before exhaling slowly, his gaze on his hands in his lap. “You know when I left for Seoul, right? I was barely out of high school and I had to pitch my parents to even let me go… and then they did. And after that it was just… pure support - from them, from my sister, Chan, even you. I didn’t have to worry about anything except debuting. And then training and performing and touring,” he adds, sighing a bit as though he knows he’s beating around the bush. “I had nothing holding me back.”

He finally turns to her, but Chaeyoung finds she can’t quite meet his eyes. It’s coming, and she knows it.

“Chae, I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back,” he says gently. “I can’t be. Everything you’ve worked for, getting an international assignment… none of it can be about me. None of it should. Being an idol is a challenge in itself but now I have a limitation that I can’t do anything about - maybe if I didn’t have to enlist it would be different but -“

“Are you breaking up with me?” She interrupts him, somewhat relieved to hear she doesn’t sound angry. “Because that would be kind of lame, considering I’m not sure we’re technically dating yet.”

He half-chuckles, without humour. Then he lowers himself off the bench and turns towards her, resting a forearm lightly on her knee.

“Yeah. Technically we aren’t. Don’t you think it’s for a reason?” he asks. “Maybe it’s for a reason you’ve hesitated this whole time to call me your boyfriend? Maybe it’s for a reason that you haven’t been able to say -“

Chaeyoung’s heart skips a beat. She meets his eyes, relieved when he doesn’t say the words out loud either. “Why do you think you’re holding me back?” she murmurs.

“Because you shouldn’t have to be thinking about how you’re going to take vacation days or whether or not you’ll take an extension based on where I am,” he answers earnestly. “You’re too young to be making decisions based on anything other than what you want for your future. That’s what I did. I was out there, making  music and touring, having new experiences completely unencumbered, untethered to anything. I want that for you, baby,” he says, squeezing her hand.

Chaeyoung is silent for a moment. “Is this some kind of knee jerk reaction before you enlist?” she asks quietly. “Or are you really…”

“No, it’s not,” he says immediately, shaking his head. “I’m not scared, or trying to get out of anything. This is your time,” he urges. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be right here, cheering you on the whole time. And when I’m out and if you’re still here - in this place… I’ll follow you wherever you are.”

She swallows. It’s all so unexpected, and she doesn’t want to admit that the churning in her stomach is slowing down. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean it,” he says, his eyes wide. “I don’t want to end this. I just think we have to… for now. I don’t want to be with anyone else or - or date or anything.”

She sniffles and looks away. “Yeah, I’m sure your dating options in the military will be just fierce.”

He cracks a smile. “Even if they are, it won’t matter.” He scooches closer to her and rests both his forearms on her knees. “It took me twenty years to realise that the girl I’m supposed to be with was right next door. A couple years of service isn’t going to change that.”

Twenty years. She thinks of how hesitantly she’d asked her boss about taking holidays, wanting desperately not to sound like she was shirking her responsibilities but also wanting to know… 

“What if I meet someone there? If we’re not together, if you want me to have new experiences… I’m not saying I will, but what if?”

Hoseok’s eyes flicker and it’s clear he hasn’t considered this a possibility. His eyes fall for a moment before he raises them again to meet hers, his eyes just slightly red, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t said anything.

“If you do… then you do,” he says softly. “Like I said… you have your whole life ahead of you. This is part of it.” He pauses, lowering his eyes slightly again and biting his lip. Chaeyoung’s hand itches to touch him - on his cheek, his hand, anywhere - but she stays motionless. “I’m just letting you know that… I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Chae. You’re the one.”

She nods, pressing her knuckle to the corner of her eye before anything spills out. “You know that I also -” But the words catch in her throat and she looks away guiltily because he’s right. She still can’t say it.

“I know,” he mutters, and she can hear how he’s trying to reassure her of the fact. “It’s really okay, Chae. I’m so proud of you. I really am,” he adds, squeezing her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers.

Chaeyoung’s vision is blurring now. It’s overwhelming, the stress of the day, the exhilaration at getting the assignment, the strange anxiety after and Hoseok’s bombshell of a confession. She knows if she stays here any longer, with him, she’s going to break down. Despite everything he’s said, something’s changed now and she can’t quite expect the same comfort she could have a few minutes ago.

“I’m going to -” She clears her throat and sniffs, before getting to her feet. “It’s been a long day and… I think I’m going to head home.” 

Hoseok stands up with her, nodding but looking worried. “Okay. Um… listen, we’ll - we’ll talk later, right? Before I leave?”

“Yeah, totally,” she says, making a show of gathering her back and adjusting her cardigan. 

“Okay. Congratulations, again. On the assignment.” He reaches for her, probably her arm or her waist, but Chaeyoung turns around to face him before he can. 

“Thanks. And congrats to you, too, on your… concert. And the other thing.” She sighs inwardly but can’t find it in her to be embarrassed, not now. To avoid the awkwardness, she leans over for a quick half-hug before she turns back around and leaves.

—

The next few days are busier than Hoseok can ever remember his life being. Between long meetings with the company about his mid-service album release and other appearances during service, going back to Gwangju to visit his parents and actually getting ready to leave for a year and a half, he feels like he barely has any energy left to eat and sleep.

The entire time, however, a part of his attention is constantly on his phone, waiting for some sign from Chaeyoung. He’d given her some space the day after his concert and would’ve given her more but with every passing day, he comes closer and closer to leaving and the fear that he won’t hear from her at all becomes more and more real.

He texts her a few times but receives only short replies, ones that typically end with her being busy with work. He thought he’d been able to read her mood that night reasonably well. She’d been taken off guard but he thought she’d seemed understanding as well. There had been no anger whatsoever but now he can’t be sure.

He tries to remind himself that she, too, is getting ready to leave for a long assignment but every time he picks up his phone to see nothing from her, his heart breaks just a little bit more at the thought that he might have to leave without a goodbye from her.

The morning he is finally at the base, ready to leave, he looks around with remaining dregs of hope that Chaeyoung might be here. His parents are, and his sister and the other members - and Chanyeol, who’s driven down just to see him off like Hoseok had half a dozen years ago.

“Hey, man.” Chanyeol comes over now, clapping him on the back. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Hoseok nods, exhaling deeply and trying to calm his nerves. “Was it like this for you, too?”

“Worse. You’re handling it remarkably well,” he replies. “Especially the hair and everything. I remember I cried the night I had to shave my head.” He shakes his head, apparently reliving the memory.

Hoseok nods, running a hand nervously over the short bristles on his head. “Least of my problems, honestly,” he mutters. “Thanks for being here, though. You know if your sister’s coming, too?” he asks after a moment, unable to resist.

“My sister? Doubt it,” says Chanyeol, looking around at the rest of the site. “That must be your sergeant. Looks friendly.”

Hoseok follows his line of sight and manages a snort. “Yeah, about as friendly as that tutor you had in eleventh grade.”

Chanyeol shudders as Hoseok rewinds back to the fact that Chaeyoung won’t be coming. He’d stopped by her place last night but Sooah had informed him that she wasn’t home yet. It didn’t seem like a lie, but it hadn’t stopped Hoseok from feeling disappointed all over again.

“Can you ask her to call me?” he’d asked Sooah in a low voice, trying to keep the pleading out of it. “After tomorrow, I - I don’t know when I’ll be able to -“

“Yeah, I know. I’ll tell her.” Sooah had seemed particularly sympathetic and only let him leave after giving him a tight hug, telling him to get used to military life so he could look out for Jimin when he joined.

It was a bleak farewell but it was something. He pulls out his phone and stares at the screen like he had been all week, hoping for it to come to life with the Chaeyoung’s contact picture filling the screen. When it doesn’t, his mind goes down the same rabbit hole it has the entire week as well, as to whether he’d made the right decision in ending it.

She would be here, if he hadn’t ended it. Granted, with his parents and Chanyeol present, they wouldn’t have been able to have the tearful, romantic parting he’d daydreamed numerous times. There would be no lingering hugs, no wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks, no lame jokes to ease the tension, no last savouring the scent of her hair. 

This is all my fault. But he can’t find it in himself to regret his decision. She’d probably be here if he hadn’t ended it, and he’d see her standing next to her brother as he left, eyes shining but brave… and spending the next year and a half figuring out ways to fly back and forth to be with him, making decisions about her career based on where he was.

The moment he imagines it, his heart slows. It was the right thing to do. She would go, she would work hard and be successful, she would have fun, Dilara would look out for her (after a heartfelt text he’d sent her a couple days ago), and in two years, Hoseok would see her happy. I’m sorry, Chae, he thinks, glancing around at the people seeing him off, but hopefully you’ll understand it someday.

With that, Hoseok exhales shakily, hoping the wave of emotion overcoming him is just about leaving. Next to him, Chanyeol keeps up a stream of encouragement.

“Trust me, it goes by way faster than you’d think,” he remarks seriously. “And you’re older and eventually you’ll have at least a couple of your friends join you. If you get a decent bunch of bunkmates and you’ll have - hey, you know what? You’re a morning person. That fresh air, out in the barracks, away from the city? Top tier. It almost made me a morning person. And they’ve relaxed the phone policy a lot so that’ll be better, too. And they’ll probably let you eat properly as well - oh, speaking of phones,” he mutters suddenly, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Hey. Yeah?”

Hoseok tries to internalise all of Chanyeol’s commentary while he answers his call, trying hard to stay positive. All your family and friends are here, Hobi, he tells himself urgently. That should be enough.

“Uh, I don’t know, it’s probably still at home? How would I know where your letterman jacket from ten years ago is, Chae?” Chanyeol listens, giving Hoseok a silent look of bewilderment while the latter’s heart stops. “No, I’m not at home. I’m not even in Gwangju - I’m out at the military site, seeing off Hoseok oppa. Did you say bye to him?” He raises his eyebrows deliberately before nodding and handing Hoseok the phone. “Her royal highness would like to say bye to you,” he tells him.

Hoseok lets out a sound somewhere between a chuckle and choke. He makes sure Chanyeol is looking away before putting the phone to his ear, his heart hammering. Turning away slightly, he finally speaks. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

The moment he hears her voice, he squeezes his eyes shut, for it feels as though she’s right here. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to remember where he is. “How - how are you?”

“I’ve been better,” she replies. “Am I on speaker?”

“No.”

“Is my brother with you?”

Hoseok glances sideways to see Chanyeol now talking to Jungkook. “Kind of.”

She hums. There’s a few moments of silence during which he clutches the phone tighter, wishing more than anything she was here right now.

“I know I’ve been avoiding you the last few days,” she says finally, sighing quietly and - Hoseok suspects - a little guiltily. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know how to… or what to…” 

“It’s okay,” he says automatically. “I’m glad you called now,” he adds softly, taking a couple of steps away from Chanyeol.

“I want you to know that… I get it,” she admits. “I’m not entirely sure what you were imagining I was going to do and I’m not saying I completely agree with you,” she clarifies, “but I get it. And I’m not mad at you.”

Hoseok clenches his teeth and nods, not trusting himself to speak. This wouldn’t be a good time to be overheard for his voice is sure to tremble or crack if he does try.

“I guess my brother is still around,” she guesses. “It’s fine. I just wanted to tell you to take care and be safe… and don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Her voice is getting thick now, and Hoseok imagines for a moment he’s hugging her. “Yeah,” he manages tightly. “You, too.”

An announcement booms from somewhere across the site, and dozens of new recruits around the area whip around towards the direction of the sound. Hoseok’s heart skips a beat; this can’t be how they leave this. He takes a couple of steps away from Chanyeol so as to not be overheard, aware of how he’s running out of time.

“Chae, I -” Hoseok panics as his mind goes blank; now that he’s finally speaking to her, it’s hard to choose what to say to her. “Have an amazing time in London,” he says, all his effort going into keeping his voice steady. “You’ll be fantastic.”

“Yeah.” She exhales shakily when another announcement sounds and the movement increases. A couple of feet away, Chanyeol turns to him and frowns in what looks like confusion, presumably at how long this phone call is taking. 

“Do you have to go?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just - just take care of yourself and, um…” She sniffles just as Chanyeol begins approaching Hoseok, hand half-raised for his phone. Hoseok holds up a finger and takes an automatic step back.

“I will,” he promises, nodding before he remembers she can’t see him. “You, too. Please.”

“Yeah. And Hobi?” She pauses until he hums tightly in response. “I love you, too. Just so you know.”

Hoseok has to turn around this time, biting his lip to keep a straight face and squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the tears threatening to spill out as the third announcement comes on.

“I’ll let you go now,” she murmurs, clearing her throat. “Take care, oppa.”

He nods again, turning back to see Chanyeol approaching him again, motioning to the other recruits who are all making their way through the gates. On the other side of the phone, Chaeyoung waits for him.

Just as her brother nears him, Hoseok swallows. “You, too, Chae.”

They hang up at the same time, and Hoseok hurries to hand Chanyeol his phone before bustling around and picking up his back, subtly wiping his eyes on his sleeve at the same time. When he straightens up, he’s surrounded by five of his group members and his parents right in front. Several hugs take place, each blurring into the next with one stark absence throughout.

At the end, it’s just Chanyeol left. His oldest friend walks him to the gates, beyond which Hoseok will have to continue on alone.

“You okay?” he asks gently, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Just hitting me now, is all.” He rubs his eyes before turning to Chanyeol. “I should go. And, uh, email me any tips you have.”

“Will do. Eat well and sleep the best you can. Helps more than you know.”

There’s a moment when they nod at each other, before stepping forward in a hug. “Take care of yourself, Hoba,” mutters Chanyeol, patting his shoulder. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Can’t wait. You take care, too.” Hoseok bites his lip. “Take care of your sister, too,” he adds, wishing for the first time that Chanyeol knew about them.

Chanyeol chuckles as they part. “Don’t worry.” He takes a step back and smiles, shoving his hands inside his pockets. With one last look at his best friend, parents and members (and a girl he imagines in a neat sweater with shiny hair and a playful beret), Hoseok steps through the gates.

—

The following morning, sunlight leaks through the curtains, filtering across your hotel bed in golden streaks. You shift against the sheets, reluctant to wake up until the brightness eventually forces your eyes open.

You lie there for a moment, enjoying the warmth as your eyes focus, reliving last night over again for what feels like the hundredth time–until a wave of sudden dread washes over you.

“Shit!” you gasp, jerking up as panic floods your body. “Oh my god, what time is it?” You fling yourself across the bed, grabbing your phone off the charger with clumsy fingers.

7:48 a.m.

You sigh, “Thank god.” It’s not even past eight; you’re safe for now.

Not even a second later, it dings in your hand. Something in your chest flutters as your heart sees the name on your screen. It’s a text from Vernon.

You hesitate to unlock your phone, your heart rate rising as you consider all the things he could have said.

Heading to meet a potential new sponsor with Ash. Review emails and update our schedule for the next week.

Oh…

Another text bubble pops up directly underneath it.

Ideally no interviews before 10 a.m., unless it’s something big.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. So he’s pretending last night didn’t happen? Pretending he didn’t have you pressed against the elevator wall with his mouth on yours?

A thousand reckless replies flash through your mind–some angry, some unprofessional, perhaps one even a little dirty. Groaning out of annoyance, you delete every word and type something safe instead, before pressing send.

Good luck with the meeting!

I’ll send you the schedule for you to confirm after reviewing everything.

Barely a second later, another bubble pops up. Your cheeks heat up thinking about him sitting there watching your typing bubble, waiting for your response to come through his phone.

Meet me in the lobby at 7 tonight, we’ll ride together to the event.

Wear something nice. Formal-nice, not club-nice ;)

Your breath catches. He did not just send you a winky face emoji. Just like that, the line between work and whatever last night was begins to blur again. You don’t even know how to reply to that. Is he attempting to flirt? Or simply teasing you about your fashion taste? You groan again, deciding another safe text is your best bet.

Will do!

Your phone dings again, breaking the tension. This time, Rui.

Morning, babe. Meet me at Lxce after lunch! A little birdie told me we’ve got some serious dress hunting to do.

You smile. Rui’s timing is perfect. It’s a reminder that not everything in your life has to feel so complicated. Sometimes, things do work out for you.

Your mind drifts back to Vernon–his hands, his voice, the heat in his eyes that should never have been aimed at you. The kiss hadn’t been gentle, but you could feel his restraint. The way he forced himself to hold back, as if he was fighting his inner demons from taking over.

And tonight, you might just test how long that self-control of his can last.

After what feels like an endless stream of emails, back-to-back phone calls, and a handful of DMs, you finally finish arranging Vernon’s schedule for the next week and a half.

There’s hardly time to breathe before you move straight to your next task. Using the spare key in your bag, you let yourself into Vernon’s hotel room. His scent lingers in the space, warm and masculine, clinging to the rumpled bedsheets and his worn clothes. You breathe in deep, and for a split second, your heart flutters in a way you know it shouldn’t.

All of the post-win Interviews, sponsorship negotiation gossip, and trending highlight reels have the fans in a frenzy. Jin, Vernon’s head of security, warned you earlier that some of them had already figured out which hotel he was staying in. Which means in addition to this morning’s correspondence, you also needed to rebook his room, yours, and more staff. And now, on top of everything else, you’re in a rush to pack his belongings.

You head straight for his nightstand, gathering his things and placing them into his bag. Though your fingers pause when they brush against the watch he always wears on event days.

In the bathroom, his cologne sits uncapped on the counter. You lean in, stealing a breath of the scent, and another wave of flutters stirs inside you, impossible to ignore. You shake your head and mutter under your breath, “Y/N, get it together. There’s no time for this.”

By the time you’re hauling both your bags and his down to the lobby, Jin is waiting.

“Ms. Y/N!” he greets warmly. “That was quick. Is this everything?”

“Yes! These are mine, though,” you say, nudging the smaller set of luggage to the side.

“I’ll get these delivered to the new location. Still need to finish scouting the place, checking exits, the usual.”

“I appreciate it,” you reply with a grateful smile, finally letting yourself exhale. You’re finally done with “work” for the day. Now, the rest will be fun.

In the car ride over to Lcxe, the luxurious formal wear boutique, you get lost in thought. You can’t help but wonder what Rui has planned this time. You had looked up the store earlier this morning, but couldn’t find a whole lot of information, as it’s by appointment only with a limited website.

Regardless, it doesn’t matter. Playing dress-up always lifts your spirits, tugging you back to the old days when clients would pay just to watch you slip into exquisite gowns and couture.

“Hi, gorgeous!” Rui beams the moment you step inside. “This is Baila, she’ll be helping us this afternoon. Come in, come in.” He loops his arm around yours and leads you deeper into the boutique. “We have a lot of work to do.”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” you breathe, turning in a slow circle to take in the room. Dresses line the walls in a cascade of beautiful colors and textures. Some hand-beaded silk, others delicate lace, and airy layers of tulle so light they look like spun sugar. It’s almost overwhelming, except you love it.

Baila appears with the first round, and soon you’re slipping in and out of gowns beneath the soft fitting-room lights. A slinky black satin dress hugs every curve, making Rui whistle dramatically. A vibrant pink tulle number makes you laugh until your stomach aches, the skirt practically swallowing you whole. Then there’s a beaded gown that glitters like starlight; it’s so heavy you can feel the weight of it settle on your shoulders the moment it’s zipped.

Each dress brings a new reaction, Rui and Baila both oohing and awing during the reveals. Each change of fabric and silhouette type shows you a different version of yourself in the mirror.

“Hmm, maybe we need to rethink our process here,” Baila muses, lips pursed as she rifles through a rack. Her perfectly arched brows draw together in concentration. “Remind me again of what Mr. Chwe plans to wear tonight?”

“Black suit, red stitching,” Rui answers, waving a hand dramatically. “Why don’t we look for something that complements that? Intentionally coordinating…I like it. And imagine the photos, absolutely stunning! Especially since you’re his date. Everyone will want a photo.”

Your head snaps up. “Oh, I’m not his date. We’re just…going together.”

“I was there when he listed you as his plus one, sweetie,” Rui says with a sly grin. “That’s date territory.”

You force a little laugh, though your chest tightens. Surely he only invited you for work purposes…right? It’s not a real date. He’s your boss, and you're his…stripper friend turned assistant.

Before you can spiral further, Baila lets out a triumphant “Aha!” She pulls out a striking gown from the rack; it’s a deep crimson that gleams under the boutique’s lights.

“It’s exquisite, I just don’t usually wear red,” you say, hesitating. “Doesn’t it clash with my hair? That’s, like, a fashion no-no, right?” You glance between them for confirmation, twirling a piece between your fingers

Baila shakes her head confidently. “I know what you mean, but the contrast between the shades will work for you. It won’t compete–it’ll highlight.”

“Exactly,” Rui adds, eyes bright. “I see her vision. Just try it on. If you hate it, we’ll pivot. But if you love it…” He gives a dramatic pause. “Game over.”

You step into the fitting room again, slipping into the smooth, silky fabric that glides over your skin like water. The gown clings in all the right places, and the cut is elegant yet daring. The back dips low, a wide cutout just below your shoulder blades that runs all the way down to just above the curve of your butt. Suspended across the open space, a delicate gold chain drapes like jewelry against your bare skin, a single red jewel swaying when you shift, catching the light.

Taking a careful step out, you gather the fabric slightly in your hands so you don’t trip, already reminding yourself to wear your tallest heels tonight. The dress deserves it, plus, you don’t want to accidentally tear this work of art.

“Now that was literally designed for you,” Rui gushes, eyes sparkling as he circles you. You turn toward the giant mirror, catching the full view of your back, watching the jewel glimmer with each breath.

“That’s it. That’s the dress.” Baila says, resting her hands on her hips as she nods.

You trail your hands down your sides, almost in disbelief. “I think you’re right.”

The three of you let out a squeal in unison, celebrating the find. This went way better than expected.

After slipping back into your earlier clothes, Baila carefully zips the gown into a protective garment bag, handling it like treasure. You head toward the counter to pay, but Rui smoothly steps in, already pulling out a card.

“Don’t worry about it, Vernon told me to take care of it.”

You freeze. “What? How did he even know about this? I thought Ash was the one who reached out to you.”

“I mean, yeah, she did,” Rui admits with a shrug, “But he’s the one who actually set all of this up.”

He did? That little revelation lingers in your head. Why would he care to do that?

“Well, I gotta run, babe,” Rui says, pulling you into a quick hug. “I’ll see you tonight in that hot new dress, okay?”

“You certainly will. Thanks again for your–” Your stomach growls loudly, cutting you off.

Rui raises an eyebrow. “Trying on all those dresses worked up an appetite, huh?”

“Sorry,” you laugh sheepishly. “I’ve just been so busy today, I guess I forgot to eat. I’ll grab something once I drop this back off at the hotel.”

He narrows his eyes, like he wants to scold you but decides against it. “Hmm, alright. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Yes, of course,” you reassure with a smile. “Bye, and thank you!”

On your way out, a sign across the street catches your attention, then a mannequin in the window dressed in a black lingerie set that’s as bold as it is beautiful. The kind of piece that makes everyone happy just by simply existing.

You hesitate only a moment before glancing up and down the street, waiting for a break in traffic. Then you dart across quickly, heart picking up as though you’re sneaking off to do something you shouldn’t.

Inside, cool air greets you along with a sales associate who instantly notices where your eyes are lingering. With a knowing smile, she guides you toward the display, where the set waits in every possible size, laid out like forbidden fruit waiting to be picked. You hadn’t exactly planned on buying anything to wear under the dress, but standing here surrounded by delicate lace and silk, temptation wins.

Who cares if no one else sees it? Just knowing you have it on will make you feel powerful, dangerous, seductive. A secret weapon hidden under satin. And maybe it won’t stay a secret.

Perhaps tonight ends in someone else’s bed…or maybe that’s just a dangerous little fantasy. Either way, you slip your size into the worker's hands who helps you check out. You thank her for the quick service, feeling as though you’ve just gotten away with something.

As if the universe is conspiring to spoil you, the very next building you pass flaunts a giant ‘FLASH SALE’ sign over the entrance to a designer shoe boutique.

The sensible angel on your shoulder tells you to keep walking. The little demon smirks and whispers, You can’t wear a new dress or new lingerie with old shoes…

You already know which voice you’re listening to.

Soft music plays inside, and gorgeous shoes of all kinds are set out on velvet displays. And there, sitting dead center as if lit by a spotlight only you can see, waits a pair of black stilettos that stop you dead in your tracks.

At first glance, they seem ordinary until you take a closer look at the ankle strap. What makes these so unforgettable is the gold snake cuff winding up the ankle, with metal scales etched with impossible detail. The head is slightly lifted, the snake’s mouth open in a frozen strike.

They’re beautiful yet striking. And they instantly remind you of Vernon’s viper tattoo, holding the same aura of restrained dominance.

Well, the decision’s made, feeling more like fate than anything.

Minutes later, the shoes are boxed and bagged, joining your other indulgences of the day. You step back out into the street with a big smile. With a satisfied sigh, you wave down a taxi and give the driver the address to your new hotel.

Even if tonight turns out to be pure chaos, at least you’ll be looking like the devil’s favorite sin.

While waiting at the front desk for the receptionist to hand you the keycard for your room and the spare for Vernon’s, your phone buzzes. Speaking of him, it’s a text about craving takeout from a small street market vendor just a few blocks away.

Perfect timing. Grabbing his food gives you the perfect excuse to get something to eat too. You drop your things off in the room, making sure to hang up your dress so it isn’t wrinkled, before stepping back out into the warm early evening air.

The market is alive with the scent of grilled meats, sweet sauces, and fried snacks mingling together, and the soft chatter of passersby drifts around you as you make the short walk to the vendor’s cart.

The couple running the stall greets you with cheerful smiles, their hands busy arranging skewers over a smoky grill. You place Vernon’s order, satay beef skewers and popiah, then glance at the neatly stacked trays of food, asking for a recommendation for yourself. The gentleman behind the cart gestures toward the chicken rice, explaining it’s one of their most popular dishes. The fragrant aroma of tender chicken and ginger-laced rice fills the air around you.

Your order is ready in minutes. You find a spot on a low stone bench near the bustling street market and unwrap the food, letting the savory scents envelop you. Families and couples drift past, pausing to peer at colorful stalls and sample snacks, their laughter mingling with the sizzle of grills and the calls of vendors.

You take a bite and moan. The flavors are perfectly balanced; the dish is savory, fragrant, and has just the right hint of spice. Whether it’s the fact that you were starving, or the care that went into making the meal, it hits the spot. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of the evening and the hum of the street around you seep into every bite.

With a satisfied stomach and a little extra energy, you notice a spring in your step as you head back to the hotel. Part of it is from the food, no doubt, but another part is the excitement building inside you as the night draws closer.

You have just about two hours to recharge your social battery and get ready for the charity gala.

Outside Vernon’s suite, you knock, fully expecting him to answer. Instead, you’re met with silence. You knock a few more times, ear close to the door, hoping you’ll hear some movement. But still nothing. You fumble for the spare key in your purse, quietly letting yourself inside.

“Vernon?” you call, your voice softer now, more cautious in case he’s napping, but there’s no reply.

The faint sound of running water drifts from the bathroom. You follow it, your pulse quickening. The door is slightly ajar. And you know you shouldn’t, but your curiosity wins.

Peeking in, you see him through the foggy glass. Shapes emerge more than details. You can’t see much beyond the width of his shoulders, the sweeping darkness of his tattoos covering his legs, stomach, and chest. His entire body is practically inked…you don’t know what to do with that information right now. It’s too much.

You freeze for a moment, caught between awe and something far more primal as your core squeezes. Right now, you want nothing more than to shed your own clothes and step inside. Wanting to feel the warmth of him, the tension of his body under your hands. Wanting to trail your tongue along each black line on his skin. The fantasy alone makes your pulse spike.

Between the scent of Vernon’s body wash and the half-hidden view of his naked body, your senses are on overdrive. It all makes it nearly impossible to think of anything else but climbing in there next to him, climbing him, for that matter.

The water cuts off abruptly, and you let out a startled gasp, stepping back. But, as your luck would have it, your foot catches the edge of a footrest jutting from the armchair. You stumble backwards, twisting around and scrambling to regain your balance, only managing a few unsteady steps before something–someone–bumps into you from behind.

“I thought I heard you,” he says, his voice low, teasing, each word deliberately measured.

Turning around, you’re met with a very wet Vernon holding a towel that barely covers his lower half. His hair is still damp, and water droplets fall down the side of his neck. You’re frozen in place, unable to form a coherent answer.

Your eyes are glued to him, tracing the dark ink of his tattoos across every inch of his skin. You want to memorize the way his muscles flex beneath the patterns, the way his ab muscles shift with each step he takes closer. It’s mesmerizing, impossible to look away from, every line and shadow pulling your gaze like a magnet.

Your eyes drift lower, and for a second, they lock onto the subtle outline of his half-hard cock hidden behind the towel. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you swallow hard. Forgetting entirely what you’re here for.

“Need something?” he smirks, unable to hide the playful tone in his voice. Snapping out of your daze, your cheeks warm.

You jerk your gaze back up to meet his, those golden eyes glinting with amusement.

“No! Um…here,” you stammer, thrusting the takeout bag toward him before pivoting and practically sprinting toward the door.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, ideally dressed,” he calls after you, voice teasing, making it impossible not to bite your lip on the way out.

You slip out before your brain–or your body–can make any rash decisions. Once in the quiet hall, you take a slow, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself as your pulse races. A few steps later, you reach your own door and step inside, closing it behind you.

Leaning against it, you press a hand over your heart, feeling it hammer with a mix of anticipation and something darker. Something almost dangerous simmers just beneath the surface.

Ever since last night, Vernon has been dying to say–do–a million things to you. That kiss had barely scratched the surface. He wanted more. Wanted to feel you, tease you, lose himself in you. But he doesn’t want to push too hard, not yet. So he’s been taking it slow, careful. His attention has been focused on helping you through a day that’s already overwhelming, making it about easing your stress rather than whisking you off somewhere private to indulge in the desire growing between you.

This morning, on the drive to the sponsorship meeting, Ash mentions casually that she hopes Rui won’t be too busy today.

Curious, Vernon asks why, and she fills him in. Between managing his schedule and anticipating his needs, you haven’t remembered to find a dress for the gala tonight. Ash only realized last night and suggested you ask Rui for a little help.

Vernon nods thoughtfully, slipping his phone from his pocket. A quick text, a brief call to a popular boutique, and suddenly the afternoon is blocked off. It’s all taken care of before you even have a chance to worry.

“Happy?” he asks, glancing at Ash, who’s looking at him with a hint of mischief. He’s fully aware she’s been eavesdropping.

“Very,” she admits, a slow, secretive smile spreading across her face as she pieces it together. Vernon’s grin widens, satisfied too. Not just with his plan, but with the subtle way he’s able to make you feel cared for, even from a distance.

After the sponsorship meeting, which went pretty good by his standards, Vernon heads back to the hotel to get ready. His tailor and Rui will be stopping by his room for one last suit fitting, both wanting to ensure every stitch is perfect.

Vernon is more interested in hearing from Rui, wanting to know if the dress situation has been sorted out.

“The damsel is officially no longer in distress,” Rui says with a teasing tilt of his head. “In fact, she’s turning into royalty tonight. Well, as long as she doesn’t pass out between now and then.”

Vernon’s eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean? Is she not feeling well? Is something wrong?”

Rui squints at him, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips. Why is everyone giving him that look today? First Ash, now Rui…

“She didn’t have time for lunch today,” Rui explains, “And knowing her, she probably skipped breakfast too. She said she’d eat once she got back here, but…” His sentence trailed off, the concern hanging between them unspoken but clear. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Hand me my phone,” Vernon demands, hand held out.

The tailor reaches over and passes it to Rui, who hands it directly to Vernon. Without another thought, Vernon sent you a quick text, wanting takeout from a local market he knows is nearby. Knowing that once you smell the food, you’ll be urged to get something too.

He could have just texted you to eat, but this way, you think it’s your own idea. Whatever helps keep you fueled and steady on his arm tonight.

Vernon’s been holding it together ever since he met you in the lobby, guiding you out to the waiting town car with a fake calmness. When what he really wanted was to drag you back upstairs, press you against the nearest wall, and take you the way he’s been craving.

He smiled for the press lined up on either side of the red carpet leading into the gala, letting them take as many photos as they wanted. He was just happy to have you on his arm.

Now inside, he’s playing nice, exchanging polite greetings with gala guests whose names slip from his memory as quickly as they’re offered. It’s not his fault. His head is too full of you. Always you. Especially when you look like that.

He turns slightly, stealing a glance at you. Your arm is linked through his, and he feels the vibrations as you laugh at something someone says, and the sound tugs at something in his chest. You look exquisite. Your red hair is pinned up in a way that makes you look untouchable, though a few carefully loosed curls trail down and frame your neck, drawing his gaze lower… to the delicate slope of your collarbone, and the swell of your breasts.

From his height, he catches a glimpse of black lace peeking just above the neckline of your dress. The sight alone has him burning, unable to think of anything else besides peeling your dress off, inch by inch, to uncover what’s waiting beneath.

And that dress…fuck. Whether it’s silk or satin, he couldn’t say, but the way it clings to you, draping across every curve like it was made for you, is enough to undo him. The color is a deep cherry red, a perfect match to the color painted across your lips–the very lips he finally tasted last night.

The memory hits him hard. His length stirs against the confines of his tailored pants as he recalls his body pressed against yours, the warmth of your skin, the lingering taste of minty gum on your tongue. That kiss hadn’t been nearly enough, and standing this close to you now only makes the hunger worse.

“Vernon!” someone calls from across the room.

“Excuse us,” he says politely to the group you’d been speaking with, guiding you through the crowd toward a circle of his racing friends.

He stops beside a tall figure with a wide grin. “This is Mingyu,” Vernon says, “my closest friend outside of Virex.”

Mingyu, a driver for Team Mercedes, takes your hand. He shakes it slowly as his charm dials up without hesitation. “Lovely to finally meet you,” he says, his eyes lingering a moment too long. Then, with a cocky grin, he adds, “What are you doing on this loser’s arm?”

You laugh, before covering your mouth with a hand, “Sorry, I’m sorry. That caught me by surprise. I know you’re kidding, but it’s hard to picture Vernon losing anything.”

Vernon appreciates the ego boost.

“Seven hundred and fifty million fans. Two hundred and twenty miles per hour. Twenty-four races. Only one champion. And that’s going to be me, sweetheart,” He finishes the boast with a wink. “Sure you don’t want to jump teams?”

Vernon scoffs, “Don’t you need to actually win some races first before you crown yourself champion?”

Mingyu is about to snap back, but his confidence wavers as his eyes land on the newest arrival. Ash glides toward the group like she owns the room. Vernon notices Mingyu’s throat bob with a hard swallow and has to bite back a smile.

“Oh my god! Ash, you look absolutely stunning,” you gush. Then, with a sly glance in Mingyu’s direction, you add, “Right, Mingyu? Doesn’t she look incredible? The slit on your dress makes your legs look lethal.”

Vernon catches your tone instantly. You’re setting him up, teasing, and he loves it.

Mingyu stumbles over his words, muttering a quick, “Y-yeah, incredible,” before tossing back the last of his drink. He excuses himself abruptly, mumbling something about a refill.

Vernon’s grin finally breaks through, wide and unrestrained. He knows exactly what you just did, and he approves, one hundred percent. Those two need a little push. It’s been two seasons full of tension that is eventually going to snap–if it hasn’t already…

“Vern, mind if I pull Y/N away to meet some of the other ladies?” She turns to you, not even waiting for him to answer, but he doesn’t mind. “You’ll love them, they’re in the same field as us for some of the other drivers. Come on!”

“I’ll be here,” he says softly as you slide your arm free, following Ash across the room.

Mingyu strolls back now that the coast is clear, two drinks in hand. He passes one to Vernon, who nods in thanks before taking a sip.

“So,” Mingyu begins, leaning in slightly. “Wanna tell me what you’re doing with Youngmin’s sister? Does he know?”

“Mind your business, ‘Gyu,” Vernon replies, keeping his tone light but sharp. For a moment, he had forgotten that Mingyu had met Youngmin before. What surprises Vernon more, though, is that he recognized you immediately–just from old photos he’d seen years ago in your childhood home.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend,” Mingyu warns with a smirk. “I’d come clean sooner rather than later. Especially if she’s looking at me like that.”

Vernon follows Mingyu’s gaze across the room. You’re huddled with the other women, laughing and sharing stories, but your eyes are fixed on him. Good.

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Vernon half-jokes, a grin tugging at his lips, eyes refusing to leave yours.

“I’ll drink to that,” Mingyu chuckles, shaking his head, clearly amused, and just a little impressed.

More drivers drift over to chat, their voices blending as Vernon’s attention is only half on them. Minutes later, his focus slips again, drawn to you across the room, catching those little, lustful glances you exchange like a private line runs between you.

The string band shifts tempo, the music slowing into a languid, intimate rhythm, practically inviting couples onto the dance floor.

“Excuse me, fellas,” Vernon says with a low voice, before he strides toward you.

“May I have this dance?” He whispers over your shoulder. You shiver, not having noticed him walk over to you, but take his hand.

Vernon guides you onto the floor, pulling you closer as he slides his arms around your body. His hand rests low on the small of your back, anchoring you to him, while your arms loop over his shoulders.

Your fingers soon find the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly, testing him. He leans his head in close to yours, lips brushing the shell of your ear, guiding you effortlessly in time with the slow, intoxicating rhythm. The heat between you builds, each turn and sway adding more fuel to the fire.

Just as the song is winding down, his breath, hot and teasing, fans against your ear.

“Leave with me.”

It isn’t a question. There’s no pleading, and he’s not asking. Just a magnetic demand that makes your pulse spike.

As the final notes fade, you both slide off the dance floor, seamlessly moving into the crowd as the next song begins. His hand stays planted on the curve of your lower back, fingers slowly rubbing, memorizing.

He knows he’s playing unfairly, and he doesn’t care. After holding off for so long, after feeling your skin against his just once, he can’t take his hands off you. Not now, not ever.

The cab ride back to the new hotel is a study in restraint and temptation. Vernon’s fingers twirl a loose strand of your hair absentmindedly, brushing it away from your neck while your hand drifts higher up his thigh. Your fingertips trace the inner seam of his pants, sending little jolts of electricity straight to his cock.

Neither of you speaks, but words aren’t necessary. You both know you’re playing a dangerous game, testing how far you can push the other without giving in, daring the other to crack first.

In the elevator, the energy in the air shifts. His eyes lock with yours for the hundredth time that evening, yours instinctively dipping lower to his lips before flicking back up. Waiting, teasing, measuring. He mirrors you, the faintest smirk playing on his mouth, neither willing to make the first move but both aching to.

The doors slide open onto your shared floor, the soft hum of the elevator retreating to the lobby fading into the background, leaving the hallway intimately silent.

“Coming?” Vernon asks, holding his hand out. It’s an invitation, a challenge loaded with unspoken promises. You know what this means, and so does he. What he doesn’t know, however, is whether you’ll accept.

After what feels like an eternity–though in reality it’s only a few heartbeats–you slip your hand into his, letting him guide you to his private suite.

He unlocks the door quickly, eager to pull you inside. Your lips finally meet as it clicks shut behind you.

One of his hands threads into your hair, fingers tangling in the fiery strands, while the other tilts your jaw, angling your face perfectly toward him. A small, startled gasp escapes him as your hand cups him through his pants, the heat of your touch making him shiver.

Vernon pulls back just enough to drink you in. His eyes are dark as he traces the curve of your lips, admiring the flush of your cheeks, the way your body presses against his. Every detail before him is a vision he wants to memorize, savor, and lose himself in.

“Don’t you know red is my favorite color?” Vernon murmurs, his hands sliding over your silk-covered curves. “Your hair, that dress, even your lipstick–it’s all driving me fucking insane.”

Your arms loop around his neck, yanking him closer until your mouths collide again in a fight for dominance. The kiss is wild and hungry, neither willing to surrender. His tongue dives into your mouth, stealing a moan from your throat, the noise making his length twitch against the fabric of his pants. It’s a sound he clearly hopes will be on repeat tonight.

When he finally breaks away, his thumb drags across the corner of your mouth, smearing the crimson that’s already starting to blur. He pauses, eyes dark with mischief. “Think what remains of your lipstick will stay in place while you choke on my cock? I want you ruined,” he says, voice thick with want. “I want visual proof of what I do to you.”

Your body tingles hearing his words, and heat rushes right to your core. "Let's find out," you breathe, lowering onto your knees. Your fingers fumble to undo his belt. At this point, you’re driven by need more than patience. You’re eager to taste him, craving for your mouth to be full of him.

Dropping down to your knees, your hands instinctively reach for his belt, forcefully undoing it before unzipping his pants and pushing them down a few inches.

Vernon's thick erection tents in his boxers, teasing you for what's to come. Licking your lips, you watch as one of his tattooed hands reaches in to pull his length out. He pumps it slowly before lining his swollen tip up to your parted lips.

He lets out a shaky breath as you enclose your warm, wet mouth around his cock.

He watches you with a slow, burning smile, his other hand reaching down to guide you closer to him, taking control of the pace.

“Open wide, babygirl," he demands, "We're just getting started..."

You obey, flattening your tongue to shield his velvety flesh from your lower teeth as he eases himself deeper into your mouth, inch by inch.

The swollen tip nudges the back of your throat, and your eyes water instantly. You blink through the sting, taking calming breaths through your nose. He starts to move, slowly at first, then deeper, forcing you to open wider. To take more of him with every push.

“Shit,” he hisses, jaw tight as he stares down at you, looking up at him. “So fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”

His fist tightens in your hair, keeping you steady as he uses your mouth, wet sounds filling the room. Drool spills past your lips, running down your chin and slicking his length as he stretches your throat wider, deeper, until you can hardly breathe.

A guttural groan rips from his chest, vibrating through you, making your pussy throb. You moan around him without thinking, the vibration making him jerk hard inside you. The sudden thrust makes you gag, throat convulsing.

He eases back just enough to let you gasp for air, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking down your cheek. The moment you nod that you’re ready, you sink down again, swallowing him greedily, your hand twisting around the thick base you still can’t fit past your lips.

“Holy f-fuck,” he stutters, the cracks in his voice betraying how close he is. “I’m already–fuck–so close. Don’t you see what you fucking do to me?” His free hand shoves through his damp hair, eyes dark with desperation as you suck harder, working him like you were made for it.

His hips twitch uncontrollably, teeth bared, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “I’m gonna come–”

You take him deeper, throat stretching as you swallow around him, determined to claim every drop. That’s all it takes. His body shudders violently, head tipping back as hot, thick ropes of release spill against the back of your throat.

“Such a good cockslut. Come back up here,” he growls, fisting your hair and yanking you upright. The sharp sting makes you gasp, the pain rolling into pleasure as it shoots straight down to your cunt, flooding you with heat and slickness.

You stumble into him, pushing him further into the suite. Your fingers claw wildly at his shirt, ripping it open. A pleased smile spreads across your face as buttons fall to the floor.

He chuckles darkly, though his eyes are blazing. “This is a ten-thousand-dollar suit, Y/N.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” you pant, dragging your nails down his chest. You lean in, using your tongue to trace along his tattoos below his peck. “I wanted to see more of you.”

His lips twitch into a dangerous smile. He understands, because he wants to see all of you, too.

“My turn,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. His hands slide down your body, finding the hidden zipper of your dress. As it lowers, his mouth follows, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses over your ribs, your stomach, down toward your hips. He peels the gown away from you like unwrapping something forbidden.

By the time he’s kneeling, you take advantage, lifting your leg and pressing the sharp tip of your heel into the hard plane of his chest. He topples backward onto the bed, catching himself on his elbows, eyes flashing with hunger.

“You had your turn already,” you smirk.

The view nearly ruins him. From the pointed heel indenting his bare skin, his gaze trails up the smooth line of your calf, past the soft curve of your thigh, and straight to your pussy–barely covered by sheer panties already soaked through. A dark, wet spot clings to the delicate fabric, betraying just how badly you want him.

His cock throbs violently. Fuck. Best view in the world.

Your hand slips down between your legs, fingers gliding over the damp fabric. You rub slow, lazy circles, smearing the wetness and making the patch darker, bigger, until the sound of your slick fills the air.

He grits his teeth, fists clenching at his sides as a groan rumbles in his chest. Watching you touch yourself is pure torture. He lasts three seconds longer before snapping.

“Fuck this,” he growls, surging forward, ready to tear those panties aside and devour you whole.

Vernon doesn’t bother being gentle. He manhandles you, tossing you onto the bed like you weigh nothing. The mattress dips beneath your body, and before you can catch your breath, he’s on you. His mouth trails hungry kisses from the black lacy bra he was dying to see earlier, down your stomach. Each press of his lips leaves a hot ache inside of you, until he’s hovering right over your soaked core.

His tongue flicks out, tasting you through the sheer fabric of your panties, dragging slowly over the damp spot that betrays how badly you want him. His nose nudges against your swollen clit, sending a jolt through your body, but just when you arch up for more, he pulls back.

A low laugh vibrates in his throat as he hooks his fingers into your waistband and peels your panties down achingly slow, teasing you with every inch of exposed skin. They slide off your legs, landing somewhere on the floor.

Instead of returning to your cunt right away, he shifts his focus to your heels, running his hand over the delicate strap circling your ankle. His gaze lingers on the snake detail coiled there, metallic and gleaming against your skin. His lips brush over it in reverence.

It’s like a piece of him is already a part of you. And fuck, does he like that.

His hands spread your thighs wide, and before you can plead, he thrusts two fingers deep inside your drenched pussy. The stretch has you crying out instantly.

“Can’t wait to split you open on my cock,” he murmurs, voice thick with possessive hunger.

Pumping his fingers into you, he groans after hearing obscene wet sounds. “Think this pussy can handle all of me?”

“Y-yes,” you whine, head tipping back, legs falling open even wider in offering. “Yes, take me. Please!”

But he doesn’t give in, not yet. “You have to come first,” he rasps, curling his fingers upward until they press right against a spot that makes your vision blur. “I need to know you’re ready for me.”

Your back arches off the bed as he fingers you with ruthless precision, his thumb brushing over your clit while his fingers drag against that perfect place inside you. Heat coils tight in your belly, and your entire body quivers uncontrollably, desperate moans slipping past your lips as he drives you closer and closer.

“Come on, baby, I know you’re close. Come for me,” he coaxes, voice rough with need. His mouth lowers to your chest, lips sealing around one soft peak through the lace, sucking until your back arches off the bed. His tongue swirls over your nipple, slow and deliberate, before his teeth graze just enough to make you gasp. He releases that side only to move to the other, giving each equal attention.

You wriggle your arms behind you, unhooking the bra and tearing it off you, tired of the thin barrier.

“Perfect fucking tits,” he groans against your skin, lavishing you. “I could stay here all night between them, but I still need to taste you.”

He trails lower, his kisses brushing down your ribcage, back across your belly, until he’s hovering between your thighs again, his tongue leaving teasing licks.

The coil inside you tightens unbearably, your muscles trembling as the pressure builds.

“Come all over my fingers and lips. You can do it, pretty girl. Let go for me.”

His words cut the final thread of your control. The coil snaps, pleasure exploding through your veins as your whole body shudders. You scream his name as you come, clenching around his fingers, soaking his hand.

But he doesn’t stop, he won’t let you float down just yet.

His mouth seals over your swollen clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking mercilessly while his fingers keep pumping in and out of you. You thrash beneath him, the overstimulation sending you spiraling higher, your climax stretching into one endless, drawn-out wave.

He moans like a man possessed, like he can’t get enough. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping tight, dragging you down the bed until your cunt is flush against his face. He devours you, tongue plunging inside to lap at your juices while his thumb circles your clit in unbearably slow, teasing strokes.

“F-fuck, Vernon!” you cry out, voice breaking. “Oh my god!”

Another orgasm tears through you without warning, crashing harder than the last, your thighs clamping around his head as you convulse.

And still, he’s reluctant to let go, but his cock is throbbing, demanding to be inside you.

He strips off the last of his clothes in a rush while you kick your heels off, the thud of them hitting the floor drowned out by the sound of his ragged breathing.

He grips himself, thick and hard, and drags the head through your slick folds, smearing you open before lining up. With one brutal snap of his hips, he slams inside, bottoming out so deep you choke on a cry.

“Fuck,” he snarls through gritted teeth, your pussy clamping down on him like a vise. His whole body shudders at the stretch before he starts pounding into you, fast and merciless, each thrust shaking the bed beneath you.

You’re panting, gasping for air as your nails dig into his inked biceps, clinging to him like you’ll disappear otherwise. He groans at the sting, fucking into you harder as though your claw marks are fueling him.

His big hands move to your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your peaked nipples, squeezing the soft flesh rougher than he should. “Perfect tits,” he grits out, watching them bounce wildly with every violent thrust. The sight makes his cock twitch inside you, driving him even crazier.

He’s pictured this ever since that very first night at the club, when your tits were on display in front of his face for your dance performance, celebrating his win that night.

The real win is happening right now; this is the best prize. You’re the only reward he wants–now and forever.

Sweat drips from his temple as he presses his forehead to yours, snarling with the effort of holding himself back from breaking you completely. His rhythm is relentless, hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room.

You hook your legs around his waist, ankles locking tight, and the shift gives him a deeper angle. One that makes you let out a broken cry as he pounds your sweet spot again and again. Your nails drag down his back, leaving angry red streaks he’ll feel for days. So worth it.

“Take it,” he growls, voice rough and desperate. “Take this cock like you fucking begged for it.”

Every thrust steals your breath, every graze of his length against your walls has you unraveling faster, dragging you helplessly toward the edge. And he won’t let up until you shatter around him.

“Come on. I want you to fucking lose it on me. I want you to scream.”

Your body bows beneath him as the coil inside you snaps. Pleasure crashes through you violently, and you cry out, clenching down around him as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it,” he growls, “Milk my cock. You’re not done, baby, not until I say so.”

He keeps slamming into you, cock hitting every spot that has you trembling. It’s too much–your body spasms, another orgasm tearing through you so hard your throat goes raw from the scream.

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes, watching your face contort with pleasure, watching your body writhe beneath his. His hand slides between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, ruthless strokes. “You’re gonna come again. Gonna come until you can’t take it.”

Tears prick your eyes, but your pussy is already fluttering around him, dragging you into yet another release. Your legs shake violently, body a mess of moans and broken cries.

You’re limp beneath him, wrecked from orgasm after orgasm, but he’s still pounding into you, chasing his own high. His thrusts grow sharper, less controlled, his hips jerking as his restraint finally begins to unravel.

“This fucking cunt,” he growls, teeth bared as he slams into you again, harder, deeper. “So tight–squeezing the life out of me.”

You cling to his shoulders, your nails digging crescent moons into his sweat-slick skin. Every time he drives into you, your walls clench helplessly around his cock, milking him, dragging him closer to the edge.

His rhythm stutters, a guttural groan ripping from his chest. He leans down, his forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his breath ragged and uneven. “I’m–fuck, I’m gonna come.”

The words make your pussy clench tighter, and he hisses, hips snapping harder as his thumb finds your clit again, circling mercilessly. “Take it,” he snarls, voice breaking with desperation. “Take every drop.”

His whole body locks up, cock buried to the hilt as the first hot rope of cum shoots into your core. A raw cry tears from his throat as he jerks inside you, thick spurts spilling deep, filling you so full it leaks out around his length with every shuddering thrust.

He rides it out, rutting through his orgasm, forcing it deeper as he chases every last wave of release. “Holy fuck,” he groans, teeth sinking lightly into your skin as his cock twitches inside you.

Finally he slows, collapsing against you with his chest heaving. His cock is still nestled deep, pulsing as the aftershocks wrack his body. His arms cage you in, holding you possessively, sweat mingling as his lips brush over your temple.

“Mine,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the word becoming more of a vow than anything else.

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏! ↳ view series masterlist

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

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“Don’t you know red is my favorite color?” Vernon murmurs, his hands sliding over your silk-covered curves. “Your hair, that dress, even your lipstick–it’s all driving me fucking insane.”

Your arms loop around his neck, yanking him closer until your mouths collide in a fight for dominance. The kiss is wild and hungry, neither willing to surrender. His tongue dives into your mouth, stealing a moan from your throat, the noise making his length twitch inside his dress pants. It’s a sound he clearly hopes will be on repeat tonight.

When he finally breaks away, his thumb drags across the corner of your mouth, smearing the crimson that’s already starting to blur. He pauses, eyes dark with mischief. “Think what remains of your lipstick will stay in place while you choke on my cock? I want you ruined,” he says, voice thick with want. “I want visual proof of what I do to you.”

Your body tingles hearing his words, and heat rushes right to your core. "Let's find out," you breathe, lowering onto your knees. Your fingers fumble to undo his belt. At this point, you’re driven by need more than patience. You’re eager to taste him, craving for your mouth to be full of him.

Dropping down to your knees, your hands instinctively reach for his belt, forcefully undoing it before unzipping his pants and pushing them down a few inches.

Vernon's thick erection tents in his boxers, teasing you for what's to come. Licking your lips, you watch as one of his tattooed hands reaches in to pull his length out. He pumps it slowly before lining his swollen tip up to your parted lips.

He lets out a shaky breath as you enclose your warm, wet mouth around his cock.

He watches you with a slow, burning smile, his other hand reaching down to guide you closer to him, taking control of the pace.

“Open wide, babygirl," he demands, "We're just getting started..."

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 + 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏! ↳ view series masterlist

→ Taglist: want to be notified when each part is posted? join my taglist here or follow @shadowkoo-fics & turn on post notifications. you can also join the collab-specific taglist here!

@aeristudios @yoonguurt @lovetaroandtaemin @daniela-f-uwu @fancypeacepersona @verogonewild @smiileflower @lezleeferguson-120 @livelaughloveseventeen @indyuhhhhh @ilikekpop-c @jiminie-08 @cheolscherryhair

Your apartment was already too warm, heavy with the breath of late summer heat. Fans buzzed uselessly in corners, wine bottles clinked together on the kitchen counter, and half-melted candles leaned drunkenly in mismatched holders. Your friends sat scattered around the living room, slouched in various stages of buzzed and barefoot, legs thrown over each other, necks craned toward glowing phone screens. 

The mood had turned rowdy an hour ago, drinks flowing faster than the conversation could keep up. Xiaojun, ever the instigator when tipsy, nudged Ten with a sly grin. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” 

“Which mythical creature would you let raw you?”

Everyone howled. Ten didn’t miss a beat. “A werewolf. Tall, repressed, dramatic. Just my type.” 

Kun groaned and covered his face. “You guys are the reason I can’t take horror movies seriously anymore.” 

“So?” Ten grinned. “Truth or dare, Winwin.” 

“Dare.” 

“I dare you to draw a summoning circle on the floor.” 

You all hooted as Winwin grabbed a paper and pen from someone’s bag and started scribbling. The lines weren’t symmetrical. He even added a warped little smiley face in the center for good measure. 

The red candle sat inconspicuously on your bookshelf, nestled between an old tarot deck and a plastic skull from last Halloween. You eyed it and brought it down onto the paper, lighting it without thinking, without ceremony. “For the ambiance,” you said. The flame bloomed tall, then steadied. 

“Okay,” your friend Xiaojun grinned, cheeks flushed. “Truth or dare.” 

You were three drinks in, tongue loose, body humming from a mix someone had made. “Dare,” you said. 

Xiaojun leaned forward, elbow knocking over a half-full glass of wine across the coffee table. “Summon a demon.”

You snorted while leaning forward to clean up the spill. “Is that all?”

Ten pulled up a Reddit thread on his phone titled ‘Demon Summoning Spells That Totally Work (don’t try this at 3AM)’. 

You laughed and read it out loud. It wasn’t even Latin, just a string of syllables that sounded like someone choking on poetry. You said it anyway, because why not? That’s what the night was for. To tempt fate, mock ghosts, drink too much, and feel invincible. You spoke the words with theatrical flourish. 

Then the lights flickered. The candle flared. A chill dragged its fingers down your spine. One of the wine glasses cracked sharply, a fault line webbing through the glass like it had been struck from within. 

You all screamed. Laughed. Clapped. 

“Damn, that was good timing!” Hendery said, and you all cackled until it hurt. 

But then you saw him. 

He was already there, already part of the scene, like you had forgotten to notice him until now. He sat on one end of the couch, a spot that you were sure was previously empty, his legs spread wide as if it was his throne. He wore a smug half-smile on his face, teeth catching in the glow of the flickering candlelight. 

He looked boyish and bored. The kind of handsome that made your stomach twist, not in attraction, but warning. He had an aura that suggested that he belonged in another time. That he knew things you didn’t. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he chided, his voice low and amused. 

No one reacted. No one else even looked. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. You blinked, thinking maybe it was just your eyes playing tricks. He was still there. 

You didn’t scream. You didn’t run. Instead, you laughed, awkward and breathless, brushing it off as an illusion, a trick of the alcohol. 

You turned to Kun. “Truth or dare?”

He blinked like you’d pulled him from another thought. “Truth.” 

You thought fast. “If you had to be haunted by one supernatural being for the rest of your life, what would you pick?”

He tilted his head, considering. “A ghost. Preferably a quiet one that does minimal damage to my belongings.”

You laughed, the sound a little too high. “That’s fair.” 

You watched as Ten reached for the nearly empty wine bottle, pouring the last of it into his cup. “Guys, we’re out of wine.” 

Groans filled the room. Hendery was nearly asleep, half-curled on the carpet. The rest of them rallied together to clean up, lifting bottles and collecting stray corks. You hugged everyone goodbye at the door with a tired smile, laughing off the cracked glass incident and bad Latin with a theatrical bow. 

But he was still there. Leaning against the kitchen island now, watching the scene like it was one he’s seen a thousand times before. On Winwin’s dilapidated summoning circle, the red candle burned tall, its wax unmelted. 

When the door finally shut, the lock turned, and it was just the two of you. “I’m not drunk enough for this,” you muttered. 

“You summoned me,” he said, voice smooth as satin, smugness laced behind every word. “Whether you meant to or not.” 

“I didn’t summon anything,” you shot back. “It was a joke.” 

His smile didn’t fade. “Not such a joke when I’m right in front of you.” 

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Okay. What the hell are you?”

He stepped toward you—slow, like he had nowhere else to be, like time bent differently around him. “A demon,” he stated. “Sort of.” 

“That doesn’t sound comforting.” 

“It’s not supposed to. You summoned me, so now I’m here.” 

“I was dared to read a spell on Reddit.” 

He grinned. “And it worked.” 

You scoffed. “You’re not real.” 

He walked past you—solid, warm, real enough that the air stirred in his wake—and sat back on the couch. The candlelight reflected in his eyes. 

“I’m Yangyang,” he said lightly. “And whether you believe in me or not doesn’t really change the fact that I’m here now.” 

You stared. He stared back. “I’m not scared of you,” you said flatly. 

He smiled wider. “That’s your first mistake.” 

You shook your head, not saying a word to him. You went back into the kitchen and stacked the last of the glasses in the sink, and wiped the sticky rings off the coffee table with a dish towel. 

The summoning circle was smeared now, warped under wine stains. You picked up the red candle, still burning, still perfect, not a drop of wax spilled, and pinched the flame out between your fingers. It should’ve hurt. It didn’t. The flame didn’t go out either.

Yangyang lingered in your periphery, half-shadow and half-smirk, leaning on the arm of the couch. You didn’t look at him. 

“You’re really committing to this bit, huh?” you grumbled. 

“Bit?” He responded with mock sarcasm. “You said the words. You brought me here.” 

You ignored him. Turned off the lights. You climbed into bed without brushing your teeth and closed your eyes. 

You didn’t see Yangyang follow you into your bedroom, but you felt him there anyway. It was like static in your sheets, like pressure behind your eyes, like the space beside you was more than just empty. 

You buried yourself further under the blanket and told yourself it was just residual alcohol or perhaps a lucid dream. You would sleep it off. 

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your own shower running. For a moment, you thought one of your friends had stayed the night. Then you remembered ushering them out, the cracked glass, the candlelight, the boy on your couch. Yangyang.

You rose slowly, moving toward the bathroom door. It was open. Steam curled out in soft spirals. 

And there he was, leaning lazily against the tiled wall, fully clothed, hair dry, arms crossed, watching you like you were the intrusion. 

“What the fuck,” you breathed, stepping back. 

Yangyang gave you a slow once-over. “Good morning to you, too.” 

“Do demons have boundaries?”

He scoffed while walking past you out of the bathroom. “Do humans have any sense of gratitude anymore?”

You slipped in and slammed the door shut. 

When you came out five minutes later, he was in the kitchen, legs swinging off the counter, eating a bowl of your cereal. Milk dripped from the corner of his mouth only the laminated marble. 

You pointed at him. “You don’t live here.”

He held up the spoon, waving it around. “Could’ve fooled me.” 

It didn’t stop at that. 

He was in the corner of your room when you got dressed, face buried in a book he didn’t even seem to be reading. He hovered behind your shoulder while you typed on your laptop, occasionally commenting on your essay draft as though he were your professor.

“Your thesis is soft,” he quipped, lips brushing the rim of your coffee mug before taking a sip. “Your transitions are sloppy.” 

You deleted a paragraph out of spite. 

When you checked your Zoom screen for class, he didn’t appear. But at the end of class, when you turned off your laptop, you saw his reflection on the black surface of the screen—upside down, hanging from your ceiling like a bat. 

“You’re not even trying to be subtle.” 

“I could be worse,” he teased, suddenly blinking up at you from under your desk. 

You nearly fell out of your chair. 

After that, you started searching for banishment rituals between classes. You didn’t find much, just blogs from the early 2010s and a YouTube video titled ‘15 Ways To Know You’re Being Followed By A Demon (And How To Make It Leave)’ with a thumbnail of a shadowy figure and a memed terrified face. 

You tried salt circles. You tried holy water that was really just tap water prayed over by your neighbor’s Catholic aunt. You even messaged a psychic on Yelp who specialized in ‘astral pests.’ She stepped into your apartment, took one look at Yangyang lounging on your couch in a plain t-shirt and joggers, and vomited in your sink. 

“I don’t do infernals,” she whispered, wiping her mouth. “You’re on your own.” 

Aside from that, the red candle never went out. You tried blowing it, snuffing it, even pouring water on it. The flame hissed and bent, but it always snapped upright again, stubborn and steady. 

Yangyang watched you from the kitchen island, head tilted. “You’re really trying, aren’t you?”

“I’d like my personal space back.” 

He smiled like he didn’t understand the concept of it. 

“Why are you always so close?” you snapped one afternoon, voice sharper than you meant it. “You hover. You watch. It’s like you’re in my skin.” 

Yangyang took a long breath, then stepped closer, slowly enough that you had time to stop him, but you didn’t. You felt his presence like pressure—behind your eyes, in your chest, beneath your ribs. It wasn’t quite touching, just proximity and awareness. 

He leaned in, mouth near your ear. “You ask too many questions,” he whispered, his voice like smoke, soft and poisonous. “Curiosity is dangerous.” 

You shivered. He laughed. 

Not long after that, he started showing up outside the apartment. At first, you thought it was your imagination playing a sick joke on you. But then you saw him across campus, sitting beneath a tree near the library, sunglasses on, arms folded, expression bored. 

He appeared again, in your class, sitting in a seat near the back of the lecture hall with an all-too-familiar smirk. The next time you looked over, he was gone. 

When you left the building, feeling as if you might have finally been rid of his presence, there he was, leaning against the wall just outside the door. 

“You’re so annoying,” you growled, speeding past him. 

“That’s nice of you to say,” he replied, falling into step behind you. 

That night, you lay on your bed staring at the ceiling, the candle flickering quietly on your windowsill. Then you felt the mattress shift. 

“I can’t sleep if you’re watching me,” you said flatly, still staring at the ceiling. 

“I’m not watching you.” 

“You’re literally in my bed.” 

“Correction. I’m on your bed.” 

You rolled over to glare at him. He lay sprawled across the edge, face turned toward you, his head propped up on one arm, completely at ease. 

There was a glitter of amusement in his eyes, but his voice had gone soft. “You summon me. I’m yours now.” 

You stared at him. And for the first time, you let the words sink in. 

Yours.

You sat cross-legged on the floor of your living room, remnants of party laughter and salt granules scattered on the carpet. The wax of a different candle had dripped down into a dish below in thick rivulets, pooling into shapes that almost resembled wings. 

Yangyang lounged in the armchair, one leg thrown over the side, twirling your lighter between his fingers like it was a toy. His eyes never left you while you cleaned up tarot cards, picked up glasses, or even when you yawned, loud and obvious. 

“I’m going to bed,” you muttered, brushing past him. 

“I’ll be here,” he said simply. 

You didn’t say goodnight or anything else, for that matter. You just climbed into bed, pulled the blanket over your body like armor, and pretended not to feel the weight of his presence behind the closed door. 

Sleep came in jagged waves that night. 

First, you dreamed of running barefoot down a marble hall that stretched too long, endless. Then Yangyang was there. He was dressed in something strange. White robes cinched at the waist with a golden thread that shimmered like sunlight underwater. There was a sword strapped to his back, and his eyes were filled with something darker than night. 

When he reached for you, you slipped through the floor and woke up gasping, fingers curled in your sheets. After your breathing evened and your heartbeat steadied, you found that the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. 

You stepped out of bed, and your foot brushed something brittle and blackened at the edge of the rug. You looked down. 

Burn marks. A perfect half-moon of them, like something had been burned right at the foot of your bed. You knelt slowly and felt them. The edges of the fibers were still warm. 

You didn’t scream. But your heart tried to. 

At the windowsill, something pale fluttered, drawing your attention. 

Feathers. Singed, charred around the tips, yet soft at the center. No bird in your neighborhood left feathers like that. 

Later that day, when you stepped out of the shower and looked at the fogged mirror, there were streaks. You moved closer to look at them. 

There, beneath the fog, were fingerprints. They dragged across the mirror like someone had leaned both palms against the mirror and sighed. 

Your spine crawled. You turned around in the bathroom, looking for anything else unusual but found nothing. 

When you brought everything up with Yangyang, he didn’t even look up from the book he was flipping through…upside down. “Could’ve been a cigarette ember,” he mused. “You know Winwin smokes sometimes.” 

“That doesn’t explain the—”

“The mirror? You probably did it yourself before the water got hot enough.”

“And the feathers?”

He paused, then shrugged. “Maybe from your pillows. You’ve had that one for years, right?”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s just your mind playing tricks. Happens when you don’t sleep well.”

You stared at him, but he smiled like he had won something. But you let it go. For now.

Throughout that week, your dreams deepened. Each time you closed your eyes, Yangyang was there. Never the same but always him. 

One night, he wore a suit—black, sharp, blood on the cuff. He stood in the middle of a ballroom floor, alone. The lights above spun in slow motion, but no one else was there. Just him, holding out his hand, the other hidden behind his back. 

Another time, he was barefoot in the rain. His hair was soaked, his eyes red while he cried without sound. You ran into the rain and reached for him then, but your fingers passed through like water. 

The worst was the one where he fell from the sky. He had wings, and they were burning. You screamed his name in your dream, but it didn’t sound like ‘Yangyang.’ It felt older, something full of salt and flame, but your throat gave shape to it anyway. 

You woke up sweating. Above you, the ceiling bore new marks. Scorch marks in the shape of wings stretched outward above your bed. It was like the imprint of something massive and divine. Standing on your bed, you ran your fingers over the pattern, and they came back blackened with ash. 

This time, you snapped. 

“Okay. Seriously. What the fuck is going on?” You spat as you stood in the kitchen with your arms crossed, glaring at Yangyang.

He was stirring instant noodles like this was the most casual day of his life. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know what I mean. The dreams. The feathers. The scorch marks. The handprints. The ceiling. The thing you do when you show up in places and keep following me.” 

He looked at you, unreadable. Then he smiled, just barely. “Weird things happen all the time. Doesn’t mean they have a reason for them.”

“You’re lying.” 

“I’m protecting you.” 

That stopped you. “From what?”

Yangyang didn’t answer. He simply blew on the noodles and took a bite like it wasn’t your reality unravelling thread by thread. 

You groaned and turned away, frustrated. “Fine. Whatever.” 

And maybe that would’ve been the end of it, just another failed confrontation with the demon in your apartment, until you mentioned something else. “Oh, by the way, I ran into an ex on campus. It was odd seeing him again after so long. I didn’t know he still went to this school. He even texted me. Can you believe that?” 

You didn’t even look at Yangyang at first. You were busy pouring yourself a cup of water. But Yangyang’s head had snapped up. His jaw was clenched. 

“You didn’t block him?”

You turned to him, your head tilted in confusion. “Why would I?”

He didn’t answer right away. He stood there, tension simmering like smoke off a matchstick. “He made you cry. I remember that.” 

“You weren’t even—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “You don’t even know what you are to me.” 

You froze. “What?”

Yangyang’s eyes glowed. Not like fire, but like something older. Like something that remembers creation and loss. But by the next breath, it was gone. He blinked and smiled crookedly. “Forget I said anything.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. 

A few days later, you mention something else to him. “You know the old couple in the unit down the hallway?” you asked idly, eyes still on your phone. 

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t seen them in weeks. But suddenly their lights are on. I didn’t get a notice about anyone moving out or in or anything like that.” 

Yangyang stiffened. “They probably left. Happens all the time. You just didn’t notice,” he said too quickly, too easily. 

You narrowed your eyes. “But I always notice. They were here before I even moved in.” 

“Don’t make this a thing,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.” 

“Don’t tell me to—”

“It’s nothing,” he repeated louder, already walking away. 

You didn’t follow him. You just stood there, pulse quickening, wondering what you were missing. 

You were starting to get used to him.

Yangyang, with his ridiculous habit of leaving your refrigerator open like the concept of condensation didn’t apply to him. Yangyang, with his lazy sprawl on your couch, flipping through your books, commenting on everything with that bored lilt that somehow made you want to throw something at him and kiss him all at once. 

He was always around. Not quite human, not quite gone. Like static, like the buzz behind your thoughts, like the shiver that settled into your bones whenever he got too close. 

You didn’t talk about what happened. The mirror, the burn marks, the way the air sometimes went still when he walked into the room, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. 

You almost convinced yourself you were imagining it all. Almost. 

And yet, when sleep took you without warning, it felt like being pulled beneath velvet waters. 

When your eyes opened, you were still in your apartment. But not really. The room was the same shape, but the walls were deeper somehow, lined in dark wood instead of paint. The floor was polished, gleaming faintly beneath your bare feet. Candlelight flickered on every surface, spilling honey-colored light across heavy drapes, gilded picture frames, and furniture that looked too ornate to exist in your real life. 

It was warm and familiar. But not yours. 

You turned—-because you felt him before you saw him. 

Yangyang stood behind you, close enough that his breath stirred the wisps of hair at the nape of your neck. His hands ghosted up your sides, calloused fingers dragging slow paths just beneath your ribs. 

“You don’t remember,” his voice trembling. “But I do.” 

You tried to pivot and look around, but his hands held you in place, firmly. Like if he let go, everything would come undone. 

“This place,” he murmured, nose brushing the curve of your shoulder, “was ours once.” There was something ruined in the way he said it. 

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but he was already kissing you, soft and slow. His touch wasn’t hungry at first. His hands slid down your hips, then back up, fingers memorizing the shape of you like he had done it a thousand times and never got it quite right. 

“I found you,” he breathed into your skin. “Every time. Even when I wasn’t supposed to.” 

Your breath hitched. His mouth moved lower, and you reached for him instinctively, nails digging into his arms when he pressed you against the nearest wall. He wasn’t rough, nor was he gentle. It felt like his soul was tearing at the seam, and the only way to hold it together was this, the two of you tangled in something neither time nor death could erase. 

The fabric between you added a strange kind of tension. You hadn’t noticed what you were wearing until his hands slid over it. Cotton, pleated, heavy with time. Something from another decade. The kind of thing you’d only seen in old photographs, oil paintings, or museum glass. 

You gasped when Yangyang’s palm slid over your stomach, then lower. The fabric of your dress was old, threadbare, and thin, but it might as well have been soaked in water with the way his fingers glided across it. It clung to your body like it knew what was coming. 

Yangyang’s suit jacket had been discarded somewhere between one breath and the next, his shirt half-unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up his forearms like he had been preparing for this, for you. His hair was a little tousled, his gaze so dark it threatened to swallow you whole. 

His hands worked their way up your sides again, slower this time, mapping the seam where cotton gave way to skin. He cupped your breasts over the fabric, thumbs brushing lazily over your nipples until the cotton grew warm under his touch. When he dipped his head, mouthing at your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, he did it like he had worshipped you in another life and was only now allowed to remember. 

“That feels so good,” you whispered, breath catching as his teeth grazed a spot just above your heart. 

“I know,” he said simply, dragging his palm between your thighs, pressing through the soft folds of your dress, heat finding heat. “I know everything you like. Even the things you’re afraid to ask for.” 

The way his fingers found you under your dress felt like he had done it a thousand times before. Your body jerked when his thumb pressed against your clit firmly and his fingers ground slow, torturous circles on your folds through the barrier of your underwear. Your hips bucked forward, instinctively, wanting more. 

“That’s it,” he exhaled, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you moaned. “Don’t hold back.” 

You clung to him now, mouth open and panting into his throat. Yangyang didn’t stop. He reached under your dress, pushing it up past your hips with reverence and fever. When his fingers slipped under your panties and slid against your bare skin this time, it wasn’t just good. It was devastating. He circled your entrance with maddening patience, dragging his fingers through your slick folds like he was testing the depth of your want. 

And then he sank two fingers into you. You cried out, breath catching in your chest. He groaned against your ear, the sound low and broken, like it hurt him to be inside you but hurt more not to be. 

“You always feel like this,” he whispered. “Tight. Hot. Like you were made for me.” 

Your knees trembled, and he pressed his body closer to keep you upright, one hand braced against your lower back as his other moved between your legs, fingers working in slow, merciless strokes. He curled them just right, dragging over a spot that made your vision blur. 

You gasped again, shocked by how good it felt, how precisely he knew where to touch, how you were already tipping forward into ecstasy. 

Yangyang shifted slightly, angling his fingers inside you while applying pressure to your clit with his thumb. It made your whole body jolt. 

“There,” he murmured. “There it is.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, desperate, grounding yourself in the flex of his muscle, the damp heat of his breath at your throat, the glide of his palm as it pressed flat against your pelvis, holding you there while he fucked you with his hand. 

“I didn’t even know—” you tried, the words catching in your throat as pleasure began to build, your hips bucking into his forearm. 

“I do,” he said. “I always know.” 

Your breath stuttered, hips rolling in time with the slow, deliberate curl of his fingers. Each thrust grazed something inside you that made your pulse flicker like lightning behind your ribs, like your body had been waiting for this exact touch to remember what it meant to burn. 

Yangyang knew just how to move. When to press deeper, when to draw back, when to drag his fingers in a languid arc that made your thighs shake. His thumb moved in tight, patient circles, not rushed, not careless, but focused like he had all the time in the world and none of it went to waste. 

You whined softly, the sound catching on your tongue as your head fell against his shoulder. Everything else fell away, and there was only the slick drag of his fingers, the weight of his body grounding yours, and the heat coiling tighter in your gut. 

“Just like that,” he murmured, voice rough and close, like thunder caught in a storm cloud. “Let go for me.” 

You tipped over the edge in a slow, cresting wave, one that broke again and again as your walls pulsed around Yangyang’s fingers, drawing them deeper, clenching like your body never wanted to let him go. You moaned against the exposed skin of his neck, desperate and unrestrained, the sound swallowed by the curve of his neck and the press of his lips against your hairline. 

Your legs gave out first, but Yangyang caught you and held you through the aftershocks, his hand firm at your back while his fingers stayed nestled deep inside you, steady and unyielding as your body shook. 

“There you are,” Yangyang whispered, as if he’d been waiting lifetimes for this moment. His thumb slowed, drawing the last threads of pleasure out of you like silk from a spool. 

Your pulse thrummed against his chest, heart still climbing down from its peak. Sweat pooled at the base of your spine, your muscles slack, every nerve lit up and undone. 

Yangyang didn’t pull away. He cradled you through it, still moving soothingly between your legs like a vow, as if to remind you he'd been there and that he was still there. That he always would be. 

Then something in you shifted. A current ran beneath your skin as desire kindled again in the quiet space between ecstasy and hunger. His mouth brushed your cheekbone, then your jaw. You turned toward it instinctively, catching the soft tremor in his breath before his lips claimed yours. 

This kiss wasn’t careful. It unleashed something from inside of you. 

You found yourself dragging him with you, one hand fisting in the collar of his shirt, the other tracing blindly along the hallway. There were no words for the ache building again between you, only the thud of your heart and the shuffle of desperate limbs as he backed you toward the bedroom. 

Somewhere along the way, your dress slipped off your shoulders. Yangyang’s shirt hit the floor. Your panties were tugged down with shaky hands, and his pants followed, kicked off without grace. It didn’t matter. You fell into the bed fully bare, limbs tangled, skin pressed against skin like you were trying to remember a body you had forgotten in a past life. 

The sheets bunched beneath you, and his thighs slid between yours. Your palms roamed his torso, memorizing the lines and heat of him with greedy fingertips. You felt him shudder as you pressed your lips to the center of his chest, just over his heart, then lower. 

Yangyang let you guide him to his back, his breath catching as you slipped down his body and between his legs. You looked up at him once, and what you saw there in his eyes wasn’t lust. It was longing. Fierce. Ancient. Unhidden. 

You let your gaze linger on him for a moment longer—on the rise and fall of his chest, the tremble in his abdomen, the way his lips parted like he was already halfway gone. Your fingers trailed down his torso, light at first, teasing, until they wrapped around the base of his hardened length with a grip that felt familiarly confident. 

You stroked him slowly, savoring each movement, intentional and precise. Yangyang let out a sound that was low and broken, like it had been punched from the center of his chest. Your hand glided from base to tip, twisting just slightly at the top, thumb brushing the sensitive underside where he throbbed hardest. The heat of him pulsed against your palm, heavy and alive, and each roll of your wrist seemed to unravel him further. 

He threw an arm over his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Fuck—” 

You wanted to hear more. Needed to. 

You dipped your head, letting your tongue trace a single line up the length of him. A flick, then a swirl, then a kiss to the flushed tip. He jolted, his hips bucking up like his body couldn’t help but chase the warmth of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around him, slow and sure, and took him inch by inch until your mouth was full, jaw stretched wide. 

Yangyang’s hips tensed beneath you. His hand flew to his sides, clutching the sheets. 

You moved with grace, but not gentleness. There was desire behind it, a rhythm that felt instinctive, practice in another life. Your lips slid up and down in steady bobs, hollowing your cheeks just enough to make him groan. One hand steadied the base of cock, twisting with each descent of your mouth, while the other pressed against his thigh to keep him grounded as he writhed beneath you. 

“That…fuck, that feels—” he gasped, voice cracking, wrecked. He couldn’t finish his sentence. His head fell back, neck arched, throat bared. He looked divine like this, unraveling under your touch, lost in you. 

You moaned softly around him, just to feel the way he twitched in response, how his hips jerked upward despite himself. Your pace quickened, slick and controlled, your lips dragging down to where your hand met your mouth, and up again with a soft pop that made him curse like he was praying. 

Yangyang’s hand found your hair, weaving through and trembling as you continued. You watched the way his body arched, the way his abdomen tightened, and his thighs tensed. You knew that edge. He was close. Too close. 

Suddenly, his fingers tightened in your hair, and he pulled you off, breathless. “Wait, wait—”

You let him go with a soft drag of your lips, glancing up just in time to see the flicker of panic in his eyes, drowned quickly by something else, something raw. He surged upward and flipped you both in one smooth, fluid motion. Now he was above you, flushed and panting, absolutely wrecked. His hair was a mess of gold shadows, sweat pearling along his temple, his pupils blown so wide that the brown was almost gone. 

He didn’t speak. He just stared down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he lowered himself slowly, deliberately, until the weight of him pressed against your center, hot and heavy, his cock sliding between your folds. He didn’t slip inside, not yet, only gliding through the mess you’d both made of each other, wet and silken.

You felt the smear of your arousal over him, mixed with the dampness that clung to your thighs and his abdomen. The friction made you cry out softly, your hips arching up to meet his.

Yangyang’s breath hitched. His body trembled like restraint cost him something. “You’re so wet,” he groaned. “You always were.” 

He rocked forward, dragging the head of his cock along your clit in a slow, deliberate grind. You gasped, your thighs instinctively trying to close around him, but he pressed them open with a gentle firmness, keeping you spread open for him. 

“Feels like you missed me,” he murmured, amused and awed all at once. “Tell me how much you want this.” 

You whined, rolling your hips to match his pace. “Please.” 

He grinned faintly, but it was tight with control. “Tell me what you want, baby.” 

You almost sobbed. “I want your cock. I need it.” 

“You need it?” He echoed, grinding harder. “Say it again.” 

“Please, Yangyang—fuck—please, I need your cock, I need you inside me—”

That did it. He aligned himself, sliding just the tip in. The stretch made your back arch as your body opened for him easily, like it had always been his. Like you’d been waiting for this, for him. 

“You take me so well,” he moaned, pushing deeper, inch by inch. “You always do.” 

It felt impossibly good, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. The stretch, the weight, the slow push forward until he was buried to the hilt inside of you. Your body clenched around him like you didn’t want to let him go. It felt as if you had done this before. Many times. 

You whined his name, barely audible. Yangyang stilled for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. “Fuck, I’ve missed this. You have no idea.” Then he started to move. 

His hips rolled into you with a rhythm that felt almost ritualistic, like he was savoring every stroke, every clench of your walls around him. His mouth was everywhere. Your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, your shoulder, your jaw. Kissing, tasting, worshipping. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin. “You’ve always been perfect for me.” 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each thrust stoked a fire in your core, but it wasn’t enough. “I want more,” you whispered, breath hot against his ear. “Harder.” 

His breath caught, and then he gave you exactly what you asked for. His hips snapped forward, deeper and rougher now. But even like this, there was an intimacy about it.

Yangyang knew your body like a second language, like he’d written poetry in the curve of your spine and memorized the sound of your moans. His rhythm grew frantic but never careless, hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars. 

You cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders, holding on as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you of something, as if this was a reunion and not the first time. 

He swallowed every sound you made with his mouth, kisses messy and open and hungry. “I know you,” he growled into your ear. “I know this body. I know how you fall apart.” 

You felt your pleasure building again, fast, sharp, inevitable. Every snap of his hips, every praise spilling from his lips, every heated drag of skin against skin, it pulled you closer to the edge. 

Yangyang’s pace turned relentless. He buried his face in your neck, panting, groaning your name like it was a vow. “I’m right here,” he murmured. “Let go for me.”

And just as your body began to shatter again, just as pleasure surged up through your spine like a storm, you saw it. The flicker of gold light. The blur of candle shadows. 

Your eyes flew open. 

The air felt different. The scent of your own sheets filled your lungs, and the familiar warmth of your apartment surrounded you like a second skin. Your heart pounded in your ears as the last waves of your orgasm rippled through you, the aftershocks thrusting you fully back into reality. 

But Yangyang was still here, hovering over you. Solid. Hot. Panting. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted, his chest heaving like he’d just run miles to get to you. The dream might have shattered, but he hadn’t vanished. 

And here, in your own bed, in your own space—something inside you shifted. 

You pushed at his chest, and his brows furrowed, confused, until he was lying on his back as you straddled his hips, planting your knees on either side of him. His cock, still slick from you, pressed against your folds. You rolled your hips slowly, dragging your wetness along his length, coating him in your juices. 

Yangyang’s breath hitched, his hands curling into the sheets beside him like he didn’t dare touch you. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Fuck, don’t tease me.”

You smiled, lazy and wicked. “You made me beg for this earlier.” You rocked against him again, slower this time, letting your clit catch on the head of his cock. “Your turn.”

His head tipped back with a groan that sounded like surrender. “Please…” His eyes met yours, glassy and desperate. “Please, I need your pussy. I need to be inside you.” 

You didn’t make him wait long. Lifting just enough to line him up with your heat, you sank down in one smooth motion until he was buried to the hilt. The stretch made your breath stutter, but the sound that tore from Yangyang’s throat nearly undid you. 

His hands shot to your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear. He sat up suddenly, chest pressed to yours, arms banding tight around your waist. His face was buried in your neck, and that made you realize—he was shaking. 

When you pulled back to look at him, you saw the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Yangyang…” you started, but he shook his head quickly.

“Don’t—” His voice broke, rough and urgent. “Just…please. Keep going.” 

You could have pressed, but something in his tone, fragile but commanding, made you move instead. You found a rhythm easily, your hips rolling in a way that felt less like improvisation and more like memory. 

The way you moved on him was slow filth, deliberate and precise, dragging him out nearly to the tip before sliding back down, clenching around him until his jaw locked. Every rise and fall made his breath stutter, his grip on your hips tightening as he lay back. 

Whatever restraint he had been holding onto snapped. His hips began thrusting up into you, meeting each grind with enough force to make the headboard tap against the wall. One of his hands slid to the small of your back, holding you down so he could drive into you harder, like he was chasing something just out of reach. 

“Fuck—” His voice was hoarse now, the words coming in fragments. “I’m gonna—”

You clenched around him just as he came, his hips rocking up desperately as if he could reach impossibly deeper, burying himself in you with each pulse. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, his moans muffled against your skin, his whole body trembling as the last of it shuddered through him. 

When his breathing finally slowed, he didn’t let go. If anything, his arms only tightened, keeping you locked against him as if letting you go might break him entirely. 

And yet there was still that glint in his eyes. That thing he wasn’t telling you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The silence felt thick. The only sounds were the fading echoes of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of adrenaline in your ears. 

Yangyang finally loosened his grip enough to let you shift, though his hands lingered like he was reluctant to let you go. His gaze swept over you—messy hair, glowing skin, the faint tremble in your thighs—and his expression softened. 

Without a word, he reached over to your nightstand, pulling a tissue from the box. His touch was careful as he cleaned you, swiping gently at the warmth spilling from between your legs. You shivered, not from the chill, but from the way he was looking at you, like you were something precious he didn’t want to lose. 

When he finished, he tossed the tissue aside and sat back, searching your face. “Do you…want me to go?”

The question was quiet, but it made something twist in your chest. “No.” 

He eased, just a fraction, but it was enough for you to see. He lay down beside you without another word. 

You turned toward him, reaching out until your fingers found his shoulder. You tugged lightly, and he came willingly, tangling his body with yours. His warmth bled into you, steady and grounding. 

Your eyes grew heavy almost immediately. The last thing you felt before sleep pulled you under was the slow rise and fall of his chest, his breath ghosting over the curve of your neck. 

It must have been moments, or centuries, until you opened your eyes. The room was still yours, but not. The walls looked softer, shadowed in a different century’s dust. 

You blinked, and the ceiling curved into an unfamiliar arch. Candlelight spilled across the floorboards, the faint scent of incense threaded through the air. 

A single chair sat by the bed, and in it, Yangyang, dressed in white so pale it seemed to ward away the dark. His hair fell loose, catching the light. There was something unearthly in the way he looked at you, as if he had been watching for days, afraid to leave. 

Your chest ached—not from illness, though your breath came shallow—but from the weight in his eyes. You saw it then, the knowledge that this was the end of this version of you. 

When he spoke, his voice was both a prayer and a rebellion. “I’ll find you again.” 

Your vision flickered. Candlelight fractured into shards, as though the room were made of glass and someone had tapped it. 

In one shard, you saw yourself lying in a hospital bed, plastic tubes whispering in and out of your skin. His hair was shorter there, his hands trembling as he smoothed a blanket over you. In another, you were beneath an oak tree, your blood blooming into the dirt while he knelt beside you, feathered wings curled tight to hide you from the sky. 

In every vision, the ending was the same. His hand on yours. His eyes lit with something stubborn and breaking. And then—

The punishment. 

Wings torn away. A body cast down. A life stripped to begin again in a different shape. 

The shards kept turning, each one another life, another loss. The pattern was so clear it hurt. Love, separation, the slow, relentless finding of each other. Always too late. Always in pieces. 

Somewhere between the shifting visions, you felt his real hand—the one in this life—tighten over yours. A tether. A vow that even if the glass broke a thousand more times, he’d step through every shard to reach you.

The images in the shards shifted. No longer ancient lives, but your own streets. Your own nights. 

You saw yourself walking home last winter, hands buried in your coat pockets, snow grinding under your boots. A shadow trailed a few steps behind, a stranger whose pace matched yours. But then Yangyang was there, slipping between you and them, his head tipped just enough for the stranger to falter. You couldn’t hear the words, but you saw the fear in their movements before they turned and left. 

In another shard, it was the night you left the school library well after the sun had set, your phone buzzing with messages from an ex who had never taken ‘no’ very well. You were convinced you were alone on the walk home, until the faint rustle of leaves behind you. You remember dismissing it as the wind. But here, in the vision, you saw Yangyang emerge from the shadows, his hands balled into fists. And behind him, white feathered figures, too bright to be human.

The visions came faster. Yangyang’s palms slamming into your bathroom mirror so hard the glass cracked into spiderwebbed pieces, leaving two burned handprints searing into the surface as a winged figure dragged him back. White feathers drifted from them onto the floor of your bathroom, your bedroom, and out onto the windowsill. 

Yangyang’s eyes had always been on you. Not in the way of someone watching from afar, but in the way of someone holding a line that no one else could see. Fighting things you didn’t know existed. Bleeding for a life you didn’t know was in danger. 

Your throat tightened, the truth crystallizing in you like ice spreading through glass. You weren’t just meeting Yangyang now. You had always known him. In every version. Every city. Every life. And every time, the end had found you. 

And it was finding you now. 

The last shard shivered, edges glowing like embers. You leaned closer without meaning to, pulled toward the vision as if it could burn its way into you. The image swelled, filling your sight until there was no edge, no glass, only your bedroom. The present. 

You were there, lying tangled in the sheets, your skin bare against Yangyang’s. His breath moved over your shoulder, his hand still clasping yours. Outside the window, the sky boiled with light, a golden storm swallowing the horizon filled with silhouettes of wings—dozens, maybe hundreds—-closing in. 

Then you blinked, and the vision was gone. 

The heat of Yangyang’s hand on yours was real. The smell of candle smoke was real. Yet as you looked around, the ceiling above you pulsed, breathing like a living thing. Your apartment was folding in on itself, the walls bending as if trying to push toward him. 

Yangyang’s skin caught the shifting light, and for the first time, you saw the mark below his collarbone, faint but unmistakable. A brand, shaped like the summoning circle from that night with your friends, glowing through his skin as though it had been carved into his soul. 

The truth settled over you heavy and undeniable. You weren’t drunk that night. The candle hadn’t been an accident. You were always going to call him. 

You understood now what he was, and what he had done. He was a guardian angel. Yours. Who had broken rules to save you, not once, but over and over, until heaven itself had torn him from its ranks. 

“I told you I wasn’t scared,” you whispered, the memory tasting different now, less naïve, and more like a dare you hadn’t known you were making. 

His gaze met yours, something in it sharp and unbearably tender. “That,” he began, “was your first mistake.” 

The walls trembled. A feather drifted through the window, not white, but blackened at the edges. 

He drew you in closer, the mark on his chest burning brighter between you. “I didn’t fall for power. I fell so I could stay.” 

Your lips parted to answer, but fate beat you to it. A crack split the room, not in the floor or the walls, but in the very air between you. The sound was sharp, like ice breaking on a frozen lake. 

The red candle on the nightstand stretched upward, its flame elongating into a twisting column of gold and shadow. The scent of lightning threaded through the smoke, stinging the back of your throat. Shadows moved along the walls, whispering in a language you didn’t know, yet the syllables felt like they belonged to your bones. 

“You feel it,” Yangyang murmured, his voice tight. He wasn’t looking at the candle, or the walls, or the crackling light flooding in through the window. He was watching you. As though if he kept his gaze steady enough, it could hold you in this moment, in this room, in this life.

He closed his eyes briefly, like the words he would say next hurt him to do so. “You’re breaking us apart.”

“Me?”

“You’ve always been my constant,” he began, almost a confession, almost an apology, “but it’s not supposed to be like this. You’re torn between timelines. Your lives are stacking, bleeding into each other. The more you remember me, the faster it unravels. And if I don’t go back—”

His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw fear in his eyes. 

“If you don’t go back, what?” you demanded. 

“Then I’ll finish what I started, but we won’t survive it.” 

Another crack tore through the walls. This time, you saw a fissure of light, widening, pulling at the room like a tide. The ceiling sagged toward it, then the walls, the floorboards, even the bed frame groaning as though gravity itself was changing direction. 

You clutched his arm, nails digging into his skin. “Don’t you dare—”

“I have to,” he cut in, his voice breaking around the edges. “I have to go back to the celestial plane. I have to fix what I broke when I fell for you.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, almost tender. “They’ll assign you a new guardian. One who won’t…” His jaw clenched. “On who won’t fall in love with you.” 

The words hit you like a physical blow. “No.” You shook your head, as if the sheer motion could stop him. “No, I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want—”

He smiled then, and it was the most devastating thing you had ever seen. Gentle. Resigned. “You were worth it,” he assured. “Every time.” 

The fissure above you cracked wide open like lightning. The room convulsed, shadows on the walls screaming now, the candle flaring high enough to lick the ceiling. The mark on his chest blazed like a star about to collapse. 

You barely had time to breathe before they came—white-winged silhouettes pouring through the rift in a flurry of blinding light and rushing wind. Their faces were hidden behind veils, but their presence pressed against you like the weight of an ocean. 

Yangyang’s arms encircled you, holding you tight for a second, then two until they were pulling him away. Not cruelly, but with the inevitability of the tide reclaiming what had strayed too far from shore. 

You fought to hold on, nails scraping on him, your voice breaking. “Yangyang—”

His forehead pressed to yours, shaking with something more than fear. “Maybe in another version, I get to stay.” 

The light claimed him, peeling him away from your grip, from your bed, from this life. You watched as he unraveled into golden dust, scattering into the rift as it closed until there was nothing left but the echo of his warmth on your skin. 

And then—

Silence. 

Your ceiling was still, your apartment whole again. No wings, no rift, no trace of him. For a moment, you almost believed you had dreamt it all. That it had been nothing more than exhaustion, too many nights away studying, too much loneliness bleeding into your imagination. 

Almost. 

Because on the floor was a faint patch of burned carpet in the shape of the mark on his chest. Because the scent of smoke lingered, warm and metallic. And because, on your nightstand, the red candle finally went out, wax finally melting down, wick finally charring. 

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