#technically...? is the hair effect too subtle...

Leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand, was a man who radiated a casual, unshakeable confidence. He was all sharp lines and easy smiles, his blond hair artfully messy, his blue eyes scanning the room with an air of ownership. He was the kind of handsome that was dangerous.

He caught you looking. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face, and he pushed off the bar, making his way toward you. "Hi," he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble that you felt more than heard. "I'm Willy."

"I know,” you said, before offering your name with a challenge in your smile.

"Of course, you do," he chuckled, not missing a beat. "Can I buy you a drink, or are you going to pretend you're not impressed?"

"I'm not easily impressed," you replied, but you let him signal the bartender anyway.

The conversation was a dance. He was quick, witty, and charmingly arrogant. He teased you about the book you were reading on your phone, and you zinged him right back about the expensive watch on his wrist. It was fun. It was a game. And when he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he asked, "So, are you taking me home, or am I taking you home?" You laughed and decided to end the game.

"My place is nearby," you smiled.

"Then let’s go," he grinned.

-

Your apartment was quiet compared to the roar of the club, the silence filled with the sound of your own breathing and the soft, definitive click of the door locking behind you. He was on you immediately, his mouth claiming yours with a practised expertise that was both thrilling and a little detached. It was like he was following a script, one that had worked a hundred times before.

He was good. Technically. His hands knew exactly where to go, sliding down your sides with the confidence of a man who had memorised this particular map. His lips followed a path designed to elicit a response - a trail of fire down your neck, a teeth-scraping nip on your collarbone that was supposed to make you gasp. It did, but it felt like a reflex, not a reaction. There was no discovery, no genuine connection. It felt more like an act, as he moved with an athletic grace, his body a beautiful instrument playing a solo you'd heard before.

In the dimmed lights of the bedroom, he undressed you with an efficiency that was almost clinical before your back hit the mattress, his lips already closing over your nipple. He sucked with a perfect, rhythmic pressure, his tongue swirling in a way that was undeniably skilled, utterly calculated for maximum arousal. But his eyes were closed, his focus inward. He wasn't watching you, wasn't looking for the subtle cues that told him what you liked. He was just executing the moves before he retreated to undress himself completely.

Returning to you on the bed, his fingers found your core, and he slid one inside you with practised ease. He was good at this, too. He found your clit with his thumb immediately, rubbing in tight, expert circles that built a quick, sharp pleasure. It was like being tuned by a master craftsman - every string plucked perfectly; every note hit with precision. But there was no soul in the music. He was so sure of his effect on you that he barely seemed to notice if you were actually enjoying it, his focus entirely on the mechanics of the act.

He paused, the brief interruption in his rhythm feeling more like a pit stop than a moment of intimacy. He reached over to his discarded jeans, his movements efficient as he pulled out a foil packet. The tear of the wrapper was loud in the quiet room. He rolled the condom on with a quick, familiar motion, his eyes distant, already focused on the next phase. It was practical, responsible, and utterly devoid of passion.

When he finally entered you, it was with a smooth, powerful thrust that was designed to impress. He set a steady, pounding rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with an athletic prowess that was, in its own way, beautiful to behold. His breath was hot on your neck, his grunts a low, rhythmic soundtrack to the performance. He was chasing his own finish line, and you were just a beautiful, willing obstacle along the way.

He shifted your leg, changing the angle to hit that spot deep inside, a move so perfectly executed it should have made you scream. Instead, you felt a strange sense of detachment, as if you were watching it happen to someone else. You could feel the pressure building, a biological response to the expert stimulation, but it was hollow.

He was charming, he was gorgeous, and the sex was profoundly disappointing. You felt the tell-tale twitch of his impending orgasm, and with it, the need to end the show. So, you let out a convincing little crescendo, a series of breathy moans and a final, shuddering cry that sealed his performance. He groaned in response, his body tensing as he found his own release, a satisfied grunt against your skin. When he finally collapsed against you, his breath hot on your neck, he murmured, "God, you're incredible." 

You just hummed in response, a small, polite smile on your face as you stared at the ceiling.

He rolled off you almost immediately, his breathing evening out within minutes. You thought he might fall asleep, but after only a few moments of silence, he stirred. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and efficiently dealt with the condom, tying it off and dropping it into the small wastebasket beside your nightstand with a quiet, unceremonious thud. The act was as practised and detached as everything that had come before it.

Then he began the methodical process of getting dressed. The rustle of his clothes was the only sound. He didn't say another word, just pulled on his jeans and his shirt, his movements as smooth and efficient as they had been when he was taking them off. He gave you a final, cursory glance, a nod that was more of a dismissal than a goodbye, and then he was gone.

You lay awake, feeling a strange sense of anti-climax. The ache between your legs was a mere echo of what it could have been.

_

The following week, pre-season was in full swing. You were at the Leafs' training facility, waiting for your friend Steven Lorentz to finish up so you could grab lunch with him and his wife, Erin. You were chatting with Erin and a couple of the other WAGs near the entrance when the players started trickling out, their voices echoing down the hall.

"So, you just disappeared after that night out," Erin said, nudging you. "Did you leave with someone?"

You sighed. "I did.”

“And?” Erin asked, her curiosity piqued.

“And… well, honestly? It was a letdown."

"What?" Jenna, another WAG, gasped. "He didn’t know what he was doing?"

"Oh, he thought he did," you said with a wry laugh, keeping your voice low. "Super confident, a little too smooth. It was like he was trying to win a prize. I had to fake an orgasm just to get it over with."

Jenna choked on her latte. "You didn't!"

"I did," you confessed. "He was charming enough, I figured, why not? But the actual sex? A total dud. All that confidence and nothing to back it up."

Around the corner, out of sight, William Nylander had just come back to grab his forgotten water bottle. He'd been walking toward the entrance when your voices made him stop dead in his tracks. Every word you said landed like a punch to the gut. ‘A total dud.’ ‘Had to fake an orgasm.’ The confident smirk he'd worn for years froze, then shattered, leaving behind a raw, stinging humiliation he had never felt before. No one had ever said that about him. No one. He stood there, frozen, his water bottle forgotten in his hand.

"Hey! Willy, come meet my friend," Steven's voice called out, oblivious.

William took a deep breath, shoving his humiliation down and forcing a neutral expression onto his face. He walked around the corner, his eyes landing on you. For a split second, you both froze.

"This is Y/N," Steven said, gesturing between you. "She's one of Erin's best friends."

"Hi," you said, your voice a little shaky as you gave a small, polite nod, completely unaware that he had just heard your entire confession.

"Hey," William replied, his voice carefully flat. He nodded back, his eyes holding yours for a fraction of a second too long, a storm brewing behind them.

Steven looked between the two of you, a frown creasing his brow. "Do you guys know each other or something?"

You and William both spoke at the same time. "No."

"We don't," William added smoothly, shoving his hand in his pocket. "It’s nice to meet you."

Steven looked satisfied, but Erin shot you a curious look. William gave you one last, unreadable glance before turning and walking away, his shoulders a little too stiff.

_

A couple of days later, you were in a coffee shop in Yorkville, scrolling through your phone, when a familiar, excited panting caught your attention, and you looked up to see a fluffy golden doodle straining at its leash. Your eyes then followed the leash up to the man holding it.

William.

His expression was unreadable as he met your gaze. He said something to the barista, then led his dog over to your table, the dog's tail wagging furiously.

"You really meant that," he said, his voice low and tight, leaving no room for argument. He didn't sit down, just stood there, a looming presence.

You slowly lowered your phone, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. A small, challenging smile played on your lips. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

He leaned in slightly, his blue eyes locking onto yours, his voice a low, intense murmur meant only for you. "What you said to Erin and the others. The other day."

Your smile didn't falter, but your eyes sharpened. "Ah. So, you were eavesdropping."

"So, was it true?" he pressed, ignoring the jab, his gaze unwavering. “Did you fake it?”

You held his stare, letting the silence stretch for a moment. You weren't ashamed. You were just being honest with your friends. And you saw no reason to be anything less than honest with him.

"Yes," you said, your voice clear and steady. "I did."

His jaw tightened; the wound clearly visible despite his best efforts. “Why?”

You leaned forward, mirroring his posture, lowering your voice to match his. "Because you were on autopilot or something, Willy. It was all about you. Your confidence, your technique, your big finish. And honestly," you added with a slight shrug, "it was boring."

The word 'boring' landed like a final, brutal blow. He watched you, the flicker of pain in his eyes now unmistakable, before it was replaced by that grim, unwavering determination. "Alright," he said, his voice clipped. "Then let me try again."

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Let me redeem myself," he said, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "Come to my place tonight. Give me a second chance to change your mind."

You considered it, tapping a finger on the table. The audacity of it was almost impressive. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I want to know if you’re right," he said, his voice dropping even lower, a raw, honest edge to it. "Or if I can prove you wrong."

You looked at him, at the genuine insecurity peeking through the cracks of his arrogance. You were curious, too. "Fine," you finally agreed, your voice a low, confident murmur. "Tonight."

He gave you a sharp, decisive nod. "I'll text you." Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you sitting there, a small, triumphant smile on your face as you picked up your coffee.

-

That evening, when you arrived at his condo, the air was thick with unspoken challenge. He didn't offer you a drink. He didn't make small talk. He simply took your hand, his grip firm and sure, and led you silently down the hall to his bedroom.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click sealing you in. Then he turned, and the look in his eyes was not one of arrogance, but of fierce, focused intent. He didn't ask what you liked. He was going to find out.

Then he kissed you, and it was nothing like the first time. This was slow, deep, and exploratory. His lips moved against yours with a patient curiosity, learning your shape, your taste. There was no rush, no goal-oriented pressure. He was savouring you. His hands didn't grab; they roamed, mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your spine, the sensitive skin of your neck. He was learning the landscape of your body, not conquering it.

William stripped you with a deliberate slowness that was its own form of worship. His eyes never left yours, watching every flicker of emotion, every shiver of anticipation as he peeled away each layer of clothing. First, your top, his knuckles brushing against your ribs. Then your jeans, his palms sliding down your thighs. He took his time until you were standing before him, completely bare under his intense, unwavering gaze.

Instead of immediately guiding you to the bed, he took a small step back. His gaze was still locked on you, but now it was tinged with a new kind of reverence. He reached for the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head in one slow, fluid motion. The dim light caught the lines of his abdomen, the solid muscle of his chest. He wasn't just undressing; he was unveiling himself to you, baring not just his body but his intent. His hands went to his belt, the metallic clink echoing softly in the quiet room as he undid it, then his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He stood before you, naked and unashamed, his arousal blatant and honest. There was no performance here, only a raw, shared vulnerability, as he lay you back on his bed - and this time, when he settled between your thighs, it wasn't an act.

He lowered his head, and his mouth was hot and reverent. He wasn't in a hurry. He took his time, devouring you with a patient, relentless hunger. He started with soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, his beard a delicious friction against your sensitive skin. He listened to the sounds you made, the hitch in your breath, the way your hands fisted in his hair. He learned what made you gasp, what made you moan, what made you beg. He built you up slowly, expertly, his tongue circling your clit with a maddening, perfect pressure until you were a trembling, writhing mess.

Just when you were on the edge, he lifted his head, a smug, knowing glint in his eye. He replaced his mouth with his fingers, sliding one, then two, inside you, curling them expertly to find that spot that made your vision go white. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow, firm circles as he pumped his hand. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that stole your breath.

Before you could come down, he was moving again. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up completely, before he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, and entered you with a single, slow, deliberate thrust that made you gasp. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, letting you adjust, letting you feel every thick inch of him. This time, there was no barrier, just the raw, intimate heat of him, skin-to-skin against you.

Then he began to move. His pace was teasingly slow at first, a deep, rhythmic rocking that was designed to undo you completely. He was watching you, his gaze intense, as he drove into you again and again, hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. The pressure built, higher and higher, a tidal wave of pleasure that was impossibly strong. He increased his pace, his hips snapping against yours faster, harder, until your second orgasm tore through you, a blinding, screaming wave of ecstasy.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he hooked his arms under your knees, folding you in half and driving into you with a renewed, desperate urgency. He was chasing his own release now, his hips pistoning into yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. You wrapped your legs around him, meeting him thrust for thrust, urging him on.

With a final, hoarse cry of your name, he found his climax, his body tensing as he emptied himself deep inside you. He collapsed against you, his body heavy and trembling, his face buried in your neck. The only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city.

After a long moment, he finally rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. He didn't say anything. He just kissed your forehead, a soft, breathless gesture that said more than words ever could. His heart was a steady, reassuring drumbeat against your back, his arm a heavy, possessive weight around your waist. The air in the room had changed, the charged tension replaced by a warm, sated quiet.

"Well," you finally whispered, your voice hoarse. "I guess you're not a total dud after all."

He chuckled, a low, warm sound against your hair. "I'm glad you think so," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "Because I plan on spending the rest of the night proving it."

You shifted in his arms to face him, your bodies still tangled in the sheets. In the dim city light filtering through the window, you could see the change in him. The cocky arrogance was gone, replaced by a raw, open vulnerability that was far more compelling. You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the rasp of his beard.

"I was wrong," you admitted softly. "Before. It wasn't that you weren't good. You were just… absent. Like you were going through the motions."

His eyes searched yours, a flicker of the old insecurity there. "And now?"

"Now you're here," you whispered, your thumb stroking his cheek. "You're actually with me. It's… a completely different thing."

He let out a breath he didn't seem to realise he was holding, his whole body relaxing against yours. "I've never had anyone call me on it before," he confessed, his voice barely audible. "No one's ever… cared enough to notice the difference."

The confession hung in the air, a stark, honest truth that settled deep in your chest. You leaned in and kissed him, a soft, gentle kiss that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with connection.

When you pulled back, his eyes were shining. He tightened his arm around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he was afraid you might disappear. "Stay," he whispered, the single word a desperate, heartfelt plea.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

“Han Jisung,” he said, stepping forward, extending a hand.

“Y/N,” she replied, shaking it. Her hand was smaller than he expected. Warmer too.

There was a pause, a moment of unfamiliar silence that lingered longer than it should have, and then they both laughed, embarrassed. The tension broke, slightly, like ice cracking under slow-moving water.

That first session was quiet. She was shy, not about her talent, but about letting him in. She sang well, but reserved, holding back from letting the weight of the lyrics carry her fully. Han noticed it right away. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled to face her in the recording booth.

“Try something for me,” he said through the intercom. “Let the breath carry the emotion. You’re technically perfect, but I want to feel it… right here.” He placed a hand over his chest.

She nodded slowly, bit her lip, and tried again.

The next take made something in him stutter.

Her voice floated through the control room like silk threaded with fire. Soft, but powerful. Controlled, but vulnerable. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as she sang. And it wasn’t just her voice, he noticed the subtle sway of her hips when she found the beat, the way her fingers curled around the mic stand like it was something precious, the way her lips shaped each word with meaning.

He hit stop. Leaned back. And quietly whispered to himself, “Shit.”

Because he knew, even then, she was going to be a problem. Not professionally, professionally, she was a dream. But everything about her stirred something inside him that had nothing to do with music.

Still, he kept it together.

Weeks passed. Then months. They worked more closely, sometimes on her songs, sometimes when he was producing with SKZ and she’d swing by the studio just to sit in. She laughed more now, more openly. She teased him too. Called him "Producer-nim" in a mocking tone when she wanted something, and pouted dramatically when he refused.

One afternoon, she dropped by during a session with Changbin and Hyunjin. They were messing around with a new track, and Han’s head was buried in the mix when she tapped his shoulder. He looked up, surprised, only to see her holding two iced coffees and a suspicious smile.

“I bring gifts,” she said.

“Bribery,” Changbin muttered. “Obvious.”

“Effective,” Y/N shot back.

She stayed for hours. The four of them ended up ordering food, sprawled across the couches in the lounge room, laughing about awful stage moments and the worst lyrics they’d ever written. Y/N sat beside Han, knees brushing, and at one point he glanced over to find her already watching him. She didn’t look away when their eyes met. Just smiled and sipped her drink.

By then, the ice between them wasn’t just melting. It had flooded into something warmer. Deeper.

Still, he kept his distance. Until that night.

He hadn’t planned to go to her concert, he wanted to, of course, but his schedule had been jammed. But Minho bailed last-minute and gave him the ticket, and before Han could question it, he was in the crowd, hood up, watching her on stage.

And holy shit.

She wasn’t the girl he remembered meeting in the studio months ago. She was radiant. Dominant. Commanding every pair of eyes in that stadium with a body roll here, a smirk there. Her skirt clung to her thighs, short enough to kill him slowly, her top sleeveless and tight, her movements full of heat. And her voice, it was pure sin. She flirted with the mic stand, ran her hand down her side during a high note, her hips rolling slow to the beat.

He was rock hard halfway through the second song. And he was going insane.

Because every flick of her wrist, every hair flip, every look, he knew, deep down, they weren’t for the crowd.

They were for him.

Backstage was chaos after the show, but he didn’t care. He pushed through the crowd, security nodding at him as he made his way toward her dressing room. His heart thudded in his ears. He could still hear the bass of her closing number vibrating in his bones.

When he found her, she was standing near the makeup mirror, fanning her flushed skin, chest rising and falling.

“Oh, he—”

She didn’t finish.

He grabbed her hand and dragged her past the makeup chairs, past the racks of clothes and half-empty water bottles, into the changing room and slammed the door shut.

“Han, wha—”

He silenced her with a kiss so deep and desperate, she whimpered against his lips. He pinned her wrists above her head, bodies flush, breath tangled.

When he pulled back, barely able to breathe, he rasped, “Y/N… why do you do this to me?”

She was panting, lips red and glistening. “Do what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know shit,” he growled.

She smiled, fucking smiled, and said, “What? I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Y/N, I like you, okay? As if that wasn’t obvious. You’re pretty, you sing beautiful, you, just you, Y/N. I don’t know what to say but I like you. I really have… for a long time.”

She was grinning now, eyes soft.

“I like you too, my silly goose,” she whispered, cupping his cheeks.

He giggled, like an idiot, and kissed her again. What started soft turned fiery in seconds. He gripped her hips, pulled her closer, their tongues tangling as her hands threaded into his hair. His knee nudged between her thighs, forcing her onto the makeup table.

“Han…” she whispered.

He didn’t stop.

Not when her lips were still parted in surprise. Not when her breath caught in her throat. Not even when she tried to speak. His mouth devoured her like he’d waited a lifetime for just one taste of her. The kiss wasn’t gentle, it was unrelenting. Desperate. Their teeth clashed slightly in urgency, lips swollen already from the pressure. His tongue slid past her lips, demanding and hot, tasting every corner of her mouth like he needed to memorize it. She whimpered into him, her back hitting the wall of the changing room, hands flying to grip at his arms, grounding herself as he pressed closer.

His lips trailed down next, leaving a warm, wet trail along her jaw, then her neck. She gasped softly when he sucked gently at the spot just below her ear, her fingers tangling in his hair now, tugging slightly. The sound he made in response, deep, guttural, possessive, went straight between her legs.

Down her collarbone, his mouth moved slowly. Methodically. As if he was deliberately taking his time to mark every inch of skin that had tormented him for months.

Her fingers fumbled at his shirt, pushing it up, trying to get it off, needing to feel him, every inch. He tugged it over his head with one hand, flinging it somewhere behind him, his mouth never once leaving her body. His other hand slid up the inside of her thigh, pushing under her skirt, fingers skating over the soft skin slowly, like he wanted to memorize her shape before even touching her properly.

She gasped when his fingers reached her panties, already soaked. He groaned against her skin.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed, voice ragged, lips at her collarbone. “Fuck, Y/N.”

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but he slid his hand between them, brushing over her heat again, this time with more purpose.

She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, but what came out was weak. “The company—”

He growled, low and rough. “Fuck it.”

With that, he dropped to his knees.

Her skirt was bunched at her waist, the cool air of the room kissing the backs of her thighs. His mouth trailed down her stomach slowly, reverently. She whimpered, hands finding the edge of the table behind her to steady herself.

His lips brushed against her panties, and she let out the softest moan, so quiet, so shaky.

“Han, please—”

He didn’t hesitate.

He hooked his fingers around her waistband and dragged her panties down her legs in one fluid motion. His breath was hot against her folds as he took in the sight of her. A deep, hungry sound rumbled from his chest.

And then his tongue was on her.

He groaned into her pussy like he hadn’t tasted anything this good in his life. He licked her like he needed it to survive, messy, deep, his tongue sliding between her folds, then circling her clit with slow, devastating precision. He kissed her inner thighs, sucked gently at the soft skin just to hear her gasp, before burying his face back in her, arms looping around her thighs to keep her right where he wanted her.

She cried out, body jerking forward, hands flying to his hair. He moaned against her, loving the way she reacted to every flick of his tongue, every swirl, every slow suck at her clit. Her hips rolled into his face and he let her, eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in the taste of her.

When he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right, she broke.

“Han—Han, I—fuck—I’m—”

He kept going, fucking her with his fingers while his mouth never left her clit, coaxing her higher and higher until her thighs trembled violently. She clamped around him, her moans stifled by the back of her hand as she came hard, soaking his fingers, his mouth, everything.

Still, he didn’t stop.

He licked her through it, every last tremble, every soft whimper she made as her body slowly came down from the high. Only when she whimpered his name again, barely audible, did he finally pull away, panting, lips glistening with her arousal.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice thick. “You taste like heaven.”

She was still dazed, chest rising and falling rapidly, when he stood, towering over her again. He kissed her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue, and she moaned into his mouth, tugging him closer.

Then he stepped back just long enough to unzip his jeans, freeing himself. His cock was flushed red, thick, heavy in his hand, already dripping pre-cum as he pumped it slowly, eyes fixed on her face, flushed, lips swollen, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed.

He rubbed the head of his cock along her folds, teasing her, watching the way her hips bucked instinctively.

“You ready for me, baby?”

She nodded. “Always have.”

With a low groan, he slid in, all the way, in one slow, agonizing push. Her walls clamped around him so tight, so warm, that he had to grit his teeth to keep from coming on the spot.

“Fuck,” he moaned, stilling inside her. “You feel so fucking good.”

Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, her nails dragging down his skin as he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that had her biting her lip to keep from screaming. She kissed him, messy, desperate, between moans, her body rocking with each movement.

But the moment she rolled her hips to meet him, something inside him snapped.

He grabbed her thighs, spread her wider, and began fucking her with a pace that had the table beneath them creaking. Her head dropped back, mouth open in a silent scream. He caught it with his lips, muffling her cries, kissing her hard as he pounded into her.

His cock hit deep, over and over, each thrust driving the air from her lungs. Her moans turned breathy, then frantic, her nails now clawing at his back. She tugged at the fabric of his shirt, whimpering when it wouldn’t come off fast enough.

He growled, stood back briefly, and ripped it over his head.

She gasped.

His chest was bare, muscles flexing with every breath, tattoos scattered like art across skin she had only seen glimpses of. She ran her hands down his torso like she couldn’t believe he was real, tracing the lines, the ink, the way he shuddered under her touch.

“Don’t do that,” he warned through gritted teeth, “unless you want me to come already.”

She bit his shoulder, teasing, and he answered with a punishing thrust that made her cry out.

They were both close now, sweaty, panting, bodies tangled. He reached down between them, rubbing her clit in tight circles as he fucked her even deeper.

“Come for me again,” he groaned, mouth at her ear. “Let me feel you.”

She shattered around him, crying out his name as she came hard, her body clenching so tight he couldn’t hold back.

“Fuck—Y/N—I’m—”

He came with a broken moan, burying himself inside her, spilling into her as her body milked every last drop from him. He held her as they both shook, kissing her shoulder, her temple, whispering her name like a prayer.

Eventually, he pulled back gently, breathing hard. He helped her into her dress again, straightening it carefully, kissing her shoulders, her cheek, then her lips, soft this time. Sweet. Loving.

They snuck out quietly, slipping into the car parked by the side alley. He pulled the hood of her jacket over her head before anyone could spot her, guiding her into the passenger seat like she was something precious.

The city lights blurred past them as they drove, street lamps flickering against the windows.

“Han…” she said softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Hm?”

“What do you think the company would do if they found out about us?”

He was silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Then he sighed.

“Y/N… you’re the only one I care about. After Minho hyung.”

She gasped dramatically and slapped his shoulder. “Hey! Don’t distract the driver!”

He laughed, a real laugh, one hand leaving the wheel just long enough to catch hers and intertwine their fingers.

“No, seriously,” he said, quieter now. “I do love you. And if they’re not going to allow us being together? Fuck it. I held myself back long enough, Y/N.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes glossy. She squeezed his hand tighter.

“I wanna make you the happiest one, Y/N.”

Her breath hitched, that line.

She blinked, her chest aching in the most beautiful way.

“…Han,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly, “did you… did you write ‘Hold My Hand’ for me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just smiled.

“Always.”

He glanced at her, leaned over, cupped her cheek so gently, and kissed her, sweet and slow and aching with everything he hadn’t been able to say until now.

A car honked behind them.

Han blinked, looked up, and realized the light had turned green.

She smiled against his lips.

“Light’s green,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly and turned back to the road.

And they drove on, hand in hand, hearts pounding, into the unknown. Together.

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