CHAPTER 5

Ashley woke up to a head-splitting headache, a tired groan escaping her lips as she fought down the sudden wave of nausea rising in her throat.

‘God… when was the last time I got knocked out like this?’

She tried to piece together what she could from the night before, but the sheer mental effort only made the throbbing behind her eyes worse. Squinting against the blinding, aggressive brightness of the room, she tried to take in her surroundings, but nothing looked familiar. She had absolutely no idea where she was. 

She didn't have ivy wallpaper, nor did she keep any kind of plant at all. This wasn’t her couch. This wasn’t even her shirt. Is that a cat?

Her eyes widened in horror as her gaze dropped from the feline back down to her own body, the realization finally hitting her like a freight train: she wasn’t wearing her own clothes.

‘Oh my God… did I hook up with someone?’

Panic set in instantly, forcing her to bolt upright—a move she regretted the exact second she did it as the room violently spun.

“Oh. Morning, sunshine,” a familiar voice greeted.

Ashley turned her head slowly, holding her breath until she spotted the speaker. When she did, she heaved a massive sigh of relief.

“Hi, Gina,” she exhaled, instantly collapsing back down against the pillows. “What time is it..?”

Gina stepped toward the couch, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade in one hand and a small plate containing a few plain crackers and a single aspirin on the side. She set them down gently on the coffee table. “It’s around… eleven-thirty-ish in the morning.”

Ashley muttered a raspy thank you, blindly reaching out for the pill sitting beside the crackers. She popped it onto her tongue and downed it with the Gatorade, chugging the sweet, cold liquid like her life depended on it. She gasped as the bottle finally left her lips as she slumped deeper into the couch.

“How are you not having a hangover right now?” she groaned, her voice muffled against her arm.

Gina shrugged. “People call it alcoholism. I call it liver training.”

Ashley laughed softly but instantly winced in pain, so she stopped herself before she rattled her brain any further. She closed her eyes and grabbed one of the throw pillows to smother her face with it, desperately craving total darkness. Even with her eyelids squeezed shut, the beams of the morning sunlight felt like they were actively drilling holes straight into her skull.

“Stay in for as long as you need,” Gina said, crossing the room to fill up her cat's food bowl. The feline let out a little “mraw?” and trotted eagerly towards its owner.

“I thought I ended up hooking up with somebody…” Ashley sighed, relief evident in her tired voice.

Her friend chuckled. “Who said you didn't?” she teased, only to have a pillow thrown straight to her face.

~~~ A week later ~~~

“How is your training going, Ashley?” Her father asked across the dinner table.

Ashley was back at their family estate for the holidays. The dining room was modestly decorated with Christmas decor – green and red ribbons wrapped around lit candles that filled the room with warm light, while a majestic green tree stood in the corner, adorned with red and golden globes, wrapped in silk ribbon, and topped by a golden angel.

She swallowed her food and offered a small smile. “I'm doing well, Dad. I haven't killed any agents so far, at least.”

President Graham chuckled warmly. “So I've heard. Agent Kennedy seems to be as sharp as he's ever been. They said you helped him succeed in his previous mission.”

Ashley's fork stopped midway, a bitter, fleeting smile crossing her lips. “No… they're exaggerating. He was more than capable on his own,” she replied quietly.

Her father did not miss the sudden shift in her demeanor. He had always been aware of how his daughter viewed the man he sent to save her. He had dismissed it as a simple crush before, but now that they were working close together, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. “Ashley… As much as I know how capable Mr. Kennedy is, it would be wise to–”

“Dad… I don't know what you've heard, but there's nothing like that between us,” she assured him, still holding a small forced smile. “It's Christmas Eve, Dad. Let's just enjoy our meal.”

The president wanted to press further, but realized his daughter was right. It had been rare enough to see her ever since she graduated from college. Looking back, he remembered how he watched her do her absolute best to do whatever she could with her life – a fire that he noticed she had carried ever since she came back from Spain. 

He sighed softly, deciding to keep the lectures to himself for now as he offered her a warm nod. “You're right, sweet pea. You'd better still have room for dessert.”

~~~

Leon lay motionless in his bed, his thick sheets a bunched-up mess by his feet after hours of just tossing and turning. Luckily, no one had asked him out for a drink tonight, leaving him to do what he wanted with his rare free time: sleep. And sleep he did, alright, for the past 14 hours. Now, he's faced with a new problem: he couldn’t sleep any more.

He looked at the clock. 11:55 pm. He sighed, bored out of his mind. A jog would be good right now.

He forced himself up, pulled on a dark long-sleeved shirt, and wrapped a scarf around his neck to fight the winter chill a little. Five minutes later, he was standing in the foyer, pulling on his jogging shoes, when his private phone buzzed against the table with an incoming text. Sitting back on his heels, he reached for it and flipped the screen open.

“Merry Christmas. I hope you're not drinking too much.”

Sender: Ashley Graham.

He checked the clock, and it read 12:00 am. It was officially Christmas Day. The small smile that quickly graced his lips disappeared just as fast, replaced by a frown as he felt a hollow ache in his chest. He was the one who had hurt her, yet she was the one who reached out to him first.

His free hand flew to his forehead, letting it slide down to pinch the bridge of his nose as a wave of guilt washed over him. “I'm such an asshole…” he muttered to himself. 

He stared at the glowing screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the keypad, unsure of how to reply. Finally, he settled on keeping it brief.

“Don't worry. I'm not,” he typed. “Merry Christmas.” 

And send.

It wasn't even a moment later when his phone buzzed again.

“Good. Hangovers are terrible,” it read.

Leon stared down at the screen, a soft, dry huff escaping him.

“Speaking from experience?” he texted back. 

As he waited for a reply, he remembered seeing her completely hammered right when he was about to leave the bar. He had hesitated for a long while, realizing that none of the trainees probably knew where she lived. He had only left once he overheard that her female friend was taking her to her own apartment instead.

After a minute passed with no response, he went back to tying his shoes, figuring she must have fallen asleep. He had just finished tying the laces when his phone buzzed again. 

“Why are you still up, anyway?”

He chuckled. “Changing the subject, I see,” he typed. “Couldn't sleep. Going out for a jog.”

“In the cold?”

“A little snow doesn't hurt me.”

“Okay, Superman.”

He chuckled again, his voice echoing across his empty apartment, realizing he was enjoying their little banter a little too much. Then his smile faded. The warmth seeped out of his chest, replaced by that familiar, heavy weight the reality tends to bring. 

‘Here I go again…’ he thought, a wave of self-reproach hitting him. He shouldn't keep leading her on, and he shouldn't keep letting himself fall.

Snapping himself out of it, he typed his final text message for tonight.

“Heading out now. Go get some sleep.”

It took a long while for her to answer back. Leon stood by the door. The cold handle was already in his grip, but his gaze remained fixed on the screen as the seconds ticked by in the quiet foyer.

Finally, the phone buzzed one last time.

“Alright. Be safe out there.”

Leon stared at the words, the simple wish seeming to wrap around his rapidly beating heart, like it was enough to protect him against the chill waiting outside. He didn't reply. Flipping the phone shut, he slid it into his pocket, opened the door, and stepped out.

~~~

Monday came along quickly, violently pulling everyone back to reality. The quiet, empty offices of the headquarters were suddenly booming with life. Across the halls, trainees were being yelled at for misplacing forms, screaming matches threatened to explode, telephones rang back-to-back, and paperwork was practically flying off the desks as employees scrambled to catch up on three days’ worth of backlog. 

And it was only 10 am.

After all, the threat of bioterrorism never stops. Not even for the holidays.

“Here are the logs, Miss Hunnigan. A-and these are the proposed revised formats for next year,” Ashley hurriedly said, her heels clacking frantically against the polished floor as she rushed to the cubicle.

“Thanks, Ash,” Ingrid replied, smoothly taking the stack from her hands.

Ashley collapsed into her seat, exhausted. She sat up slightly to rub her aching feet. She had been running around the building in her heels for the past two hours.

“I'd rather do a post-op report late at night…” she mumbled. Ingrid hummed in agreement.

Suddenly, a sharp knock interrupted them both. They turned in their seats to find a courier in a rumpled suit, looking just as exhausted and frantic as everyone else in the building.

“Hunnigan. Agent Kennedy is to be deployed tonight. Be sure to notify him ASAP,” the man said with clipped urgency, already pivoting on his heel to sprint off toward his next task.

Ashley looked to her mentor in horror, finding her slumped even further in her seat. Not only did they have to finish the mountain of standard paperwork required by the end of the day, but a sudden deployment meant they would also have to get the intensive, additional post-op reports done by tomorrow morning.

“I… am so sorry. I jinxed us both…” Ashley squeaked, pulling her hands away from her aching feet as guilt washed over her.

Hunnigan rubbed her temples, a severe tension headache already tightening behind her eyes. She shook her head, letting out a weary breath. “Well… nothing we can do about it now. It’s not your fault, Ashley.”

~~~

Ashley took a long, deep breath, finally finding the time to rest after a full four hours of rushing back and forth across the building. Slumped at her desk, she brought one of her legs up to rub her calf and heel, desperately trying to relieve the throbbing pain before she had to do it all over again the moment the clock struck one.

“Rough morning?”

Ashley turned around to find Leon standing by the entrance of the cubicle, a folder tucked under his arm and two cups of takeout coffee held in his hands.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how their new dynamic is supposed to be now. But then she let out a soft breath, a small smile gracing her lips. “Pretty brutal, to be honest.”

He chuckled, a hint of relief evident in it. “Yeah… happens every year after the holidays.” He stepped forward and held out his hand, offering the drinks. “Here. For you and Hunnigan.”

She gratefully took the cups from him, trying to ignore the sudden jolt of nerves when her fingertips brushed slightly against his. “Thanks. We badly need this.”

He smirked, leaning his shoulder against the edge of the cubicle partition. “Sorry for bringing you into this. They just had to pick me of all people... Again.”

Ashley let out a breathy chuckle. “The cons of being good at your job, I suppose. Thanks to you, Miss Hunnigan, and I are bound to our computers for the rest of the night.” 

She took a long sip of her drink and felt her entire body instantly relax, the warm liquid tasting like sweet nectar. “Oh, that’s so good…” she sighed, leaning back into her chair.

Leon’s smirk softened into something a bit more genuine as he watched her. The brief silence that fell between them felt nice. It was warm. Comfortable. The complete opposite of the one they had shared at the bar. Ashley felt it too, her heart beating at a steady, peaceful rhythm as she cradled her warm drink. 

As her fingers traced the smooth rim of her cup, a quiet realization washed over her. ’Maybe things could turn out fine after all... Maybe being just friends really was for the best.’

A soft, relieved smile silently made its way to her face. Looking up at him, she broke the silence. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, I have a briefing later about tonight’s mission,” he replied, gesturing to the folder tucked in his arm.

Ashley let out a soft oof, her eyes squinting. “Must be a long one since you’re being called this early…”

He shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

Silence lingered between them again, and he took it as his cue to leave. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold, okay? I’ll see you guys tonight.”

“See you,” she replied softly.

With one last nod, he turned on his heel and walked out of the cubicle, disappearing into the busy hallway toward the briefing rooms.

~~~

She hummed a random tune, trying to pass the time faster until it was ready to eat.

Much to Ashley's surprise, things didn't get quite as hectic as they had been in the morning. There was still a bit more work to be done compared to a usual Monday, but at the very least, she somehow managed to score some quiet time in the office breakroom. She grabbed a cup of instant noodles, filled it with hot water up to the line, and sat down at one of the tables, waiting patiently for it to cook.

“Mind if I join you?”

Ashley turned around to see who it was. “Liam,” she said, offering a warm smile. “Of course not.”

He didn't waste a second, walking toward her enthusiastically and taking the seat across the table. “Tough morning, huh?”

She let out an exhausted chuckle. “Brutal,” she sighed, leaning her weight into her hand. “Plus, our agent's getting deployed tonight, which means…”

Liam grimaced in sympathy. “Post-op reports.”

“Yep,” she replied, peeling back the foil lid of her noodles to check if they were done cooking. She hummed happily when she realized they were, and began stirring them around with her fork.

“The disadvantages of having a seasoned agent, huh?”

Ashley laughed. “Yeah, that's exactly what I told him!”

Liam's eyebrows shot up. “He's here?”

“Mh-hm,” she replied around a mouthful, sipping a few strands of her noodles. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “Been up in the briefing room since noon.”

“Yikes…” Liam hissed.

For a while, Ashley's sipping of her noodles, and Liam's awkward tapping on the table were the only noises that cut through the silence that fell on them.

“Say…” Liam started. “What… do you think of him?” He asked cautiously.

Ashley looked up from her very late lunch, thoroughly surprised by the sudden direction of the conversation. “You mean Le– I mean… You mean Agent Kennedy?”

He nodded, his posture turning entirely rigid, eager to get an answer.

She blinked, staring down at her cup as she thought about it. “Well… if you mean aside from him being incredibly good at his job…” Her voice trailed off for a second. “He's… impossibly kind. And considerate.”

Liam’s shoulders slumped slightly at the praise, a flash of insecurity crossing his features.

“And a total jerk. All at the same time,” she suddenly added, a wry smile touching her lips. “Somehow.”

Liam blinked, his face twisting into a mix of confusion and amusement. “What?”

“Well, he—” She cut herself off, stopping before she could spill anything else.

There was nothing left for her to be angry about anymore. She couldn't let her lingering frustration or her temper get the better of her now. She didn't want to dwell on the past, especially since things had finally begun to look up for the two of them, even if they were only ever going to remain as friends.

“Never mind,” she said softly, shaking her head. “It's nothing.”

Liam leaned forward, his eyes searching hers. “Then… Do you like him?”

She froze, taking a long moment to answer before letting out a quiet sigh and shaking her head. “Nothing's going to happen, even if I did.”

“But… do you?”

“Liam… why are you asking me these things?” she asked, forcing a light laugh to mask the growing annoyance creeping into her chest at his persistent questioning.

He tensed up, like he was caught red-handed. “Sorry, I just… I wanted to make sure it would be okay if I asked you out.”

Ashley's eyes widened, her fork freezing mid-air. “What..?”

Liam chuckled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as a distinct shade of pink dusted his cheeks. “I… I like you, Ashley. For… quite some time now.”

Ashley could only stare at him, her mind going entirely blank, completely at a loss for words. “Liam… I–”

“I know… you probably just went through something heavy recently,” he interrupted gently, misinterpreting her silence. “So you don't have to give me an answer right now. But… I just wanted to at least let you know.”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the breakroom. Suddenly, the sharp ring of Liam's phone cut through the air, making both of them jump in their seats.

“Uh… ‘scuse me, it's my mentor,” he said, frantically scrambling to his feet.

Ashley watched in a daze as he slowly backed his way toward the door, juggling his buzzing phone. “Um… just… think about it. Let me know what you think. Soon. Yeah? Sorry, I gotta…” he stammered, his face bright red as he quickly stepped out into the corridor and let the door swing shut behind him.

In his blind rush, he seemed to have immediately bumped into someone in the hallway. Through the wooden door, Ashley could hear his muffled voice pipe up: “Ah, sorry, man,” before he quickly answered his call and hurried away.

Left entirely alone, Ashley turned back to her noodles, trying desperately to process the absolute whiplash of the last five minutes. She just sat there, staring blankly at the steam rising from the cup.

There were just too many things happening today. Her brain was already spread thin from the morning rush, her heart wasn't even fully healed yet, though it was finally starting to feel better—but now this?

Letting out a defeated sigh, she leaned forward and sprawled out completely across the cold metal table, pressing her burning cheek against the surface, trying to seek a small bit of comfort from the cool surface.

Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of the door, Leon had stood frozen in place. 

His chest tightened, a cold sense of dread suddenly settling deep into his stomach. Slowly, impulsively, he reached out to the handle, nudging the door open just enough to create a tiny, almost invisible crack.

Peering through the sliver of space, he found her, sprawled across the table in the most adorable way possible. A faint, involuntary smirk tried to touch his lips, but it vanished before it could even form.

This was exactly what he had wanted, wasn't it? He was the one who had drawn the line at the bar. He was the one who insisted they remain friends. Now, he was getting exactly what he asked for. She was moving on. She was shutting down any possibility of them, right as other men were lining up to take his place.

Knuckles turning white against his folder, Leon silently let the door click shut. He swallowed the lump in his throat, adjusted his jacket, and walked away into the shadows of the hallway.

CHAPTER 5

Ashley woke up to a head-splitting headache, a tired groan escaping her lips as she fought down the sudden wave of nausea rising in her throat.

‘God… when was the last time I got knocked out like this?’

She tried to piece together what she could from the night before, but the sheer mental effort only made the throbbing behind her eyes worse. Squinting against the blinding, aggressive brightness of the room, she tried to take in her surroundings, but nothing looked familiar. She had absolutely no idea where she was. 

She didn't have ivy wallpaper, nor did she keep any kind of plant at all. This wasn’t her couch. This wasn’t even her shirt. Is that a cat?

Her eyes widened in horror as her gaze dropped from the feline back down to her own body, the realization finally hitting her like a freight train: she wasn’t wearing her own clothes.

‘Oh my God… did I hook up with someone?’

Panic set in instantly, forcing her to bolt upright—a move she regretted the exact second she did it as the room violently spun.

“Oh. Morning, sunshine,” a familiar voice greeted.

Ashley turned her head slowly, holding her breath until she spotted the speaker. When she did, she heaved a massive sigh of relief.

“Hi, Gina,” she exhaled, instantly collapsing back down against the pillows. “What time is it..?”

Gina stepped toward the couch, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade in one hand and a small plate containing a few plain crackers and a single aspirin on the side. She set them down gently on the coffee table. “It’s around… eleven-thirty-ish in the morning.”

Ashley muttered a raspy thank you, blindly reaching out for the pill sitting beside the crackers. She popped it onto her tongue and downed it with the Gatorade, chugging the sweet, cold liquid like her life depended on it. She gasped as the bottle finally left her lips as she slumped deeper into the couch.

“How are you not having a hangover right now?” she groaned, her voice muffled against her arm.

Gina shrugged. “People call it alcoholism. I call it liver training.”

Ashley laughed softly but instantly winced in pain, so she stopped herself before she rattled her brain any further. She closed her eyes and grabbed one of the throw pillows to smother her face with it, desperately craving total darkness. Even with her eyelids squeezed shut, the beams of the morning sunlight felt like they were actively drilling holes straight into her skull.

“Stay in for as long as you need,” Gina said, crossing the room to fill up her cat's food bowl. The feline let out a little “mraw?” and trotted eagerly towards its owner.

“I thought I ended up hooking up with somebody…” Ashley sighed, relief evident in her tired voice.

Her friend chuckled. “Who said you didn't?” she teased, only to have a pillow thrown straight to her face.

~~~ A week later ~~~

“How is your training going, Ashley?” Her father asked across the dinner table.

Ashley was back at their family estate for the holidays. The dining room was modestly decorated with Christmas decor – green and red ribbons wrapped around lit candles that filled the room with warm light, while a majestic green tree stood in the corner, adorned with red and golden globes, wrapped in silk ribbon, and topped by a golden angel.

She swallowed her food and offered a small smile. “I'm doing well, Dad. I haven't killed any agents so far, at least.”

President Graham chuckled warmly. “So I've heard. Agent Kennedy seems to be as sharp as he's ever been. They said you helped him succeed in his previous mission.”

Ashley's fork stopped midway, a bitter, fleeting smile crossing her lips. “No… they're exaggerating. He was more than capable on his own,” she replied quietly.

Her father did not miss the sudden shift in her demeanor. He had always been aware of how his daughter viewed the man he sent to save her. He had dismissed it as a simple crush before, but now that they were working close together, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. “Ashley… As much as I know how capable Mr. Kennedy is, it would be wise to–”

“Dad… I don't know what you've heard, but there's nothing like that between us,” she assured him, still holding a small forced smile. “It's Christmas Eve, Dad. Let's just enjoy our meal.”

The president wanted to press further, but realized his daughter was right. It had been rare enough to see her ever since she graduated from college. Looking back, he remembered how he watched her do her absolute best to do whatever she could with her life – a fire that he noticed she had carried ever since she came back from Spain. 

He sighed softly, deciding to keep the lectures to himself for now as he offered her a warm nod. “You're right, sweet pea. You'd better still have room for dessert.”

~~~

Leon lay motionless in his bed, his thick sheets a bunched-up mess by his feet after hours of just tossing and turning. Luckily, no one had asked him out for a drink tonight, leaving him to do what he wanted with his rare free time: sleep. And sleep he did, alright, for the past 14 hours. Now, he's faced with a new problem: he couldn’t sleep any more.

He looked at the clock. 11:55 pm. He sighed, bored out of his mind. A jog would be good right now.

He forced himself up, pulled on a dark long-sleeved shirt, and wrapped a scarf around his neck to fight the winter chill a little. Five minutes later, he was standing in the foyer, pulling on his jogging shoes, when his private phone buzzed against the table with an incoming text. Sitting back on his heels, he reached for it and flipped the screen open.

“Merry Christmas. I hope you're not drinking too much.”

Sender: Ashley Graham.

He checked the clock, and it read 12:00 am. It was officially Christmas Day. The small smile that quickly graced his lips disappeared just as fast, replaced by a frown as he felt a hollow ache in his chest. He was the one who had hurt her, yet she was the one who reached out to him first.

His free hand flew to his forehead, letting it slide down to pinch the bridge of his nose as a wave of guilt washed over him. “I'm such an asshole…” he muttered to himself. 

He stared at the glowing screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the keypad, unsure of how to reply. Finally, he settled on keeping it brief.

“Don't worry. I'm not,” he typed. “Merry Christmas.” 

And send.

It wasn't even a moment later when his phone buzzed again.

“Good. Hangovers are terrible,” it read.

Leon stared down at the screen, a soft, dry huff escaping him.

“Speaking from experience?” he texted back. 

As he waited for a reply, he remembered seeing her completely hammered right when he was about to leave the bar. He had hesitated for a long while, realizing that none of the trainees probably knew where she lived. He had only left once he overheard that her female friend was taking her to her own apartment instead.

After a minute passed with no response, he went back to tying his shoes, figuring she must have fallen asleep. He had just finished tying the laces when his phone buzzed again. 

“Why are you still up, anyway?”

He chuckled. “Changing the subject, I see,” he typed. “Couldn't sleep. Going out for a jog.”

“In the cold?”

“A little snow doesn't hurt me.”

“Okay, Superman.”

He chuckled again, his voice echoing across his empty apartment, realizing he was enjoying their little banter a little too much. Then his smile faded. The warmth seeped out of his chest, replaced by that familiar, heavy weight the reality tends to bring. 

‘Here I go again…’ he thought, a wave of self-reproach hitting him. He shouldn't keep leading her on, and he shouldn't keep letting himself fall.

Snapping himself out of it, he typed his final text message for tonight.

“Heading out now. Go get some sleep.”

It took a long while for her to answer back. Leon stood by the door. The cold handle was already in his grip, but his gaze remained fixed on the screen as the seconds ticked by in the quiet foyer.

Finally, the phone buzzed one last time.

“Alright. Be safe out there.”

Leon stared at the words, the simple wish seeming to wrap around his rapidly beating heart, like it was enough to protect him against the chill waiting outside. He didn't reply. Flipping the phone shut, he slid it into his pocket, opened the door, and stepped out.

~~~

Monday came along quickly, violently pulling everyone back to reality. The quiet, empty offices of the headquarters were suddenly booming with life. Across the halls, trainees were being yelled at for misplacing forms, screaming matches threatened to explode, telephones rang back-to-back, and paperwork was practically flying off the desks as employees scrambled to catch up on three days’ worth of backlog. 

And it was only 10 am.

After all, the threat of bioterrorism never stops. Not even for the holidays.

“Here are the logs, Miss Hunnigan. A-and these are the proposed revised formats for next year,” Ashley hurriedly said, her heels clacking frantically against the polished floor as she rushed to the cubicle.

“Thanks, Ash,” Ingrid replied, smoothly taking the stack from her hands.

Ashley collapsed into her seat, exhausted. She sat up slightly to rub her aching feet. She had been running around the building in her heels for the past two hours.

“I'd rather do a post-op report late at night…” she mumbled. Ingrid hummed in agreement.

Suddenly, a sharp knock interrupted them both. They turned in their seats to find a courier in a rumpled suit, looking just as exhausted and frantic as everyone else in the building.

“Hunnigan. Agent Kennedy is to be deployed tonight. Be sure to notify him ASAP,” the man said with clipped urgency, already pivoting on his heel to sprint off toward his next task.

Ashley looked to her mentor in horror, finding her slumped even further in her seat. Not only did they have to finish the mountain of standard paperwork required by the end of the day, but a sudden deployment meant they would also have to get the intensive, additional post-op reports done by tomorrow morning.

“I… am so sorry. I jinxed us both…” Ashley squeaked, pulling her hands away from her aching feet as guilt washed over her.

Hunnigan rubbed her temples, a severe tension headache already tightening behind her eyes. She shook her head, letting out a weary breath. “Well… nothing we can do about it now. It’s not your fault, Ashley.”

~~~

Ashley took a long, deep breath, finally finding the time to rest after a full four hours of rushing back and forth across the building. Slumped at her desk, she brought one of her legs up to rub her calf and heel, desperately trying to relieve the throbbing pain before she had to do it all over again the moment the clock struck one.

“Rough morning?”

Ashley turned around to find Leon standing by the entrance of the cubicle, a folder tucked under his arm and two cups of takeout coffee held in his hands.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how their new dynamic is supposed to be now. But then she let out a soft breath, a small smile gracing her lips. “Pretty brutal, to be honest.”

He chuckled, a hint of relief evident in it. “Yeah… happens every year after the holidays.” He stepped forward and held out his hand, offering the drinks. “Here. For you and Hunnigan.”

She gratefully took the cups from him, trying to ignore the sudden jolt of nerves when her fingertips brushed slightly against his. “Thanks. We badly need this.”

He smirked, leaning his shoulder against the edge of the cubicle partition. “Sorry for bringing you into this. They just had to pick me of all people... Again.”

Ashley let out a breathy chuckle. “The cons of being good at your job, I suppose. Thanks to you, Miss Hunnigan, and I are bound to our computers for the rest of the night.” 

She took a long sip of her drink and felt her entire body instantly relax, the warm liquid tasting like sweet nectar. “Oh, that’s so good…” she sighed, leaning back into her chair.

Leon’s smirk softened into something a bit more genuine as he watched her. The brief silence that fell between them felt nice. It was warm. Comfortable. The complete opposite of the one they had shared at the bar. Ashley felt it too, her heart beating at a steady, peaceful rhythm as she cradled her warm drink. 

As her fingers traced the smooth rim of her cup, a quiet realization washed over her. ’Maybe things could turn out fine after all... Maybe being just friends really was for the best.’

A soft, relieved smile silently made its way to her face. Looking up at him, she broke the silence. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, I have a briefing later about tonight’s mission,” he replied, gesturing to the folder tucked in his arm.

Ashley let out a soft oof, her eyes squinting. “Must be a long one since you’re being called this early…”

He shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

Silence lingered between them again, and he took it as his cue to leave. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold, okay? I’ll see you guys tonight.”

“See you,” she replied softly.

With one last nod, he turned on his heel and walked out of the cubicle, disappearing into the busy hallway toward the briefing rooms.

~~~

She hummed a random tune, trying to pass the time faster until it was ready to eat.

Much to Ashley's surprise, things didn't get quite as hectic as they had been in the morning. There was still a bit more work to be done compared to a usual Monday, but at the very least, she somehow managed to score some quiet time in the office breakroom. She grabbed a cup of instant noodles, filled it with hot water up to the line, and sat down at one of the tables, waiting patiently for it to cook.

“Mind if I join you?”

Ashley turned around to see who it was. “Liam,” she said, offering a warm smile. “Of course not.”

He didn't waste a second, walking toward her enthusiastically and taking the seat across the table. “Tough morning, huh?”

She let out an exhausted chuckle. “Brutal,” she sighed, leaning her weight into her hand. “Plus, our agent's getting deployed tonight, which means…”

Liam grimaced in sympathy. “Post-op reports.”

“Yep,” she replied, peeling back the foil lid of her noodles to check if they were done cooking. She hummed happily when she realized they were, and began stirring them around with her fork.

“The disadvantages of having a seasoned agent, huh?”

Ashley laughed. “Yeah, that's exactly what I told him!”

Liam's eyebrows shot up. “He's here?”

“Mh-hm,” she replied around a mouthful, sipping a few strands of her noodles. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “Been up in the briefing room since noon.”

“Yikes…” Liam hissed.

For a while, Ashley's sipping of her noodles, and Liam's awkward tapping on the table were the only noises that cut through the silence that fell on them.

“Say…” Liam started. “What… do you think of him?” He asked cautiously.

Ashley looked up from her very late lunch, thoroughly surprised by the sudden direction of the conversation. “You mean Le– I mean… You mean Agent Kennedy?”

He nodded, his posture turning entirely rigid, eager to get an answer.

She blinked, staring down at her cup as she thought about it. “Well… if you mean aside from him being incredibly good at his job…” Her voice trailed off for a second. “He's… impossibly kind. And considerate.”

Liam’s shoulders slumped slightly at the praise, a flash of insecurity crossing his features.

“And a total jerk. All at the same time,” she suddenly added, a wry smile touching her lips. “Somehow.”

Liam blinked, his face twisting into a mix of confusion and amusement. “What?”

“Well, he—” She cut herself off, stopping before she could spill anything else.

There was nothing left for her to be angry about anymore. She couldn't let her lingering frustration or her temper get the better of her now. She didn't want to dwell on the past, especially since things had finally begun to look up for the two of them, even if they were only ever going to remain as friends.

“Never mind,” she said softly, shaking her head. “It's nothing.”

Liam leaned forward, his eyes searching hers. “Then… Do you like him?”

She froze, taking a long moment to answer before letting out a quiet sigh and shaking her head. “Nothing's going to happen, even if I did.”

“But… do you?”

“Liam… why are you asking me these things?” she asked, forcing a light laugh to mask the growing annoyance creeping into her chest at his persistent questioning.

He tensed up, like he was caught red-handed. “Sorry, I just… I wanted to make sure it would be okay if I asked you out.”

Ashley's eyes widened, her fork freezing mid-air. “What..?”

Liam chuckled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as a distinct shade of pink dusted his cheeks. “I… I like you, Ashley. For… quite some time now.”

Ashley could only stare at him, her mind going entirely blank, completely at a loss for words. “Liam… I–”

“I know… you probably just went through something heavy recently,” he interrupted gently, misinterpreting her silence. “So you don't have to give me an answer right now. But… I just wanted to at least let you know.”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the breakroom. Suddenly, the sharp ring of Liam's phone cut through the air, making both of them jump in their seats.

“Uh… ‘scuse me, it's my mentor,” he said, frantically scrambling to his feet.

Ashley watched in a daze as he slowly backed his way toward the door, juggling his buzzing phone. “Um… just… think about it. Let me know what you think. Soon. Yeah? Sorry, I gotta…” he stammered, his face bright red as he quickly stepped out into the corridor and let the door swing shut behind him.

In his blind rush, he seemed to have immediately bumped into someone in the hallway. Through the wooden door, Ashley could hear his muffled voice pipe up: “Ah, sorry, man,” before he quickly answered his call and hurried away.

Left entirely alone, Ashley turned back to her noodles, trying desperately to process the absolute whiplash of the last five minutes. She just sat there, staring blankly at the steam rising from the cup.

There were just too many things happening today. Her brain was already spread thin from the morning rush, her heart wasn't even fully healed yet, though it was finally starting to feel better—but now this?

Letting out a defeated sigh, she leaned forward and sprawled out completely across the cold metal table, pressing her burning cheek against the surface, trying to seek a small bit of comfort from the cool surface.

Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of the door, Leon had stood frozen in place. 

His chest tightened, a cold sense of dread suddenly settling deep into his stomach. Slowly, impulsively, he reached out to the handle, nudging the door open just enough to create a tiny, almost invisible crack.

Peering through the sliver of space, he found her, sprawled across the table in the most adorable way possible. A faint, involuntary smirk tried to touch his lips, but it vanished before it could even form.

This was exactly what he had wanted, wasn't it? He was the one who had drawn the line at the bar. He was the one who insisted they remain friends. Now, he was getting exactly what he asked for. She was moving on. She was shutting down any possibility of them, right as other men were lining up to take his place.

Knuckles turning white against his folder, Leon silently let the door click shut. He swallowed the lump in his throat, adjusted his jacket, and walked away into the shadows of the hallway.

"Why not?" Leon asked.

"Because I could hurt you." You replied.

A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him. "That's your reason?"

"Leon," you said softly, shaking your head. Though you hated to admit it, seeing him like this made it difficult to refuse him because the darkest part of you wanted nothing more than to give him exactly what he was asking for.

But still something in you would never want to cause harm to him even if he is the one asking.

"I'm serious," Leon purred, a hint of challenge lacing his voice and his throat bobbed as he swallowed his own saliva.

"So am I." You crossed your arms, fighting the urge to look away from the stubborn set of his jaw.

There was a brief silence after, that stretched between you and him almost heavy and vibrating.

"But I want it," Leon sighed dramatically.

"No." You said firmly again.

"Please," Leon begged, and his lips curved into the most adorable pout you'd ever seen onto someone.

It was really unfair, how someone who could be so stubborn and infuriating could also look so impossibly endearing when he wanted something.

Seeing him like that you pinched the bridge of your nose, and for a second you closed your eyes. "Leon, as much as I like seeing you like this, I can't hurt you."

"I am the one asking, so hurt me." Leon growled, and shifted slightly again on the floor.

The demand snapped something inside you and before you could second-guess the impulse, you stepped closer to him.

Every step felt heavier that the last, but then with a loud exhale from your nose and strong determination you swung your arms and slapped him loudly across his cheek, that made a sharp sound echo in the room you were in.

Leon's head whipped to the side from the impact. A second later, his mouth twitched upward and he let out a low, guttural groan that seem to vibrate through your own body, for a moment he inhaled the air deeply into his lungs as if he was enjoying the delicious pain; and then with a smug smirk he clicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek and turned his head back to you again. "Harder," he breathed.

Fuck you enjoyed it. Way too much, if you could add.

A small gasp escaped past your lips and you guide your fingers up to your face then, rubbed your lower lips with your thumb and you nodded.

Before swinging again, putting the full weight of your shoulder into the blow. The sound was louder this time, a dry smack echoed in the room and as you gaze at him a bright red mark on his skin. Leon's eyes rolled back in the back of his head.

And a look of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over his face, slowly he reached up, seizing your hands in his, and began kissing your knuckles slowly. "That's my girl," Leon rasped against your skin making a warm pleasure run down your thighs.

Then to your surprise he rose to his feet in one fluid motion. The sudden shift brought him to tower over you, making you suddenly falter on your own steps.

Then he stepped even closer into your space, his heat radiating through your clothes, making you bite your lips.

The teasing glint in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a raw, heavy hunger that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "Leon—" you start but he didn't let you finish, instead he stepped closer to you covering the gap entirely between you and him, and then without a warning he crashed his lips against yours.

The kiss stole the air from your lungs, leaving you pleasantly lightheaded. You kissed him back, and the soft sound that escaped you, drew a smile from him against your lips.

Slowly, Leon pulled away, only to draw you into his arms instead. One arm slipped around your waist in a smooth, effortless motion, holding you close as warmth spread through your chest and a flurry of butterflies erupted in your stomach.

Then he leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. "I'm going to show you exactly what that did to me," Leon murmured, and a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. The intimate whisper alone was enough to knock the breath out of you.

After he said it the world after seemed to blur around the edges; as warmth unfurled deep within you, rising steadily until your pulse thundered in your ears and just like that every coherent thought slipped from your grasp.

The first thing you registered was the profound, tranquil quiet.

Quiet, except for the incredibly faint, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a laptop keyboard echoing through the massive space.

You slowly blinked your heavy eyelids open, your lashes fluttering against the soft, diffused morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. For a long, harrowing second, you didn't move a single muscle. Your brain instinctively braced for the sharp, cataclysmic agony of the sun-fire to tear through your abdomen once more.

But the world-ending pain never came.

Instead, there was only a dull, entirely manageable ache pulling at your stitches. The heavy, dark magic Madame Kim had poured into your veins had finally settled, leaving you wrapped in a cocoon of expensive cedarwood and clean linen.

A deep, shuddering sigh of pure relief escaped your lips. Without thinking, you stretched your arms above your head, letting out a soft, gravelly groan as your stiff, exhausted muscles finally decompressed against the plush mattress.

The typing instantly stopped.

You froze.

Slowly turning your head against the mountain of pillows, you traced the silence across the room. Sitting casually on the sleek, dark leather sofa in the corner of the bedroom was Jungwon.

The image of the formidable, blood-soaked predator from last night was gone, replaced by a domestic sight that felt almost too jarring to comprehend. He wasn't wearing his usual perfectly tailored suits or his imposing underground attire. Instead, he was dressed in a simple, fitted black t-shirt that hugged the broad line of his shoulders, paired with casual grey sweatpants.

A pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, lending his flawlessly sharp features a strikingly astute aura. A silver laptop sat open on his lap. He looked like a billionaire CEO doing exactly what he was supposed to do on a Friday morning—except he had apparently relocated his entire home office into the bedroom just to keep an eye on you.

For a split second, your mind was blissfully empty, peacefully absorbing the domestic warmth.

And then, violently, the memories of last night crashed into your consciousness like a tidal wave.

He leaned in until his cold nose lightly brushed against yours. His cold, flawless lips barely grazing the sensitive corner of your mouth. He pressed a feather-light, freezing kiss directly over the frantic pulse on your neck. Blood rushed to your face so fast you physically felt the heat radiating off your cheeks. A visceral shiver wrecked straight down your spine.

Pure, unadulterated panic took over. With a sharp gasp, you grabbed the edge of the heavy comforter and violently yanked it up, burying your flushed face underneath the fabric like a startled turtle retreating into its shell.

Across the room, Jungwon let out a quiet, amused breath. With his immortal hearing, he could undoubtedly hear your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped hummingbird.

"Good morning," Jungwon’s velvety voice floated across the room, thick with a teasing lilt. "I see the patient is finally awake. And apparently, attempting to suffocate herself with my duvet."

You stayed perfectly still under the blanket, aggressively willing your blush to recede. He knows. He knows exactly what I'm thinking about. When your heart rate finally dropped from imminent cardiac arrest to mildly panicked, you cautiously peeked over the edge of the thick comforter.

You glared at him.

Jungwon didn't look the least bit apologetic for nearly short-circuiting your brain the night before. He merely sat there, resting his chin on his knuckles, watching you over the rim of his glasses with an infuriatingly calm, entertained expression.

"What are you doing over there?" you croaked out, your voice still rough from sleep, doing your best to sound intimidating while hiding behind a barrier of feathers.

Jungwon casually adjusted his glasses, thoroughly unbothered by your glare. "Working."

"Working?" you echoed, narrowing your eyes as a familiar, stubborn defiance overrode your embarrassment. "Because from here, you look a lot less like a busy CEO and a lot more like a pervert who sits in the corner just to watch people sleep."

Jungwon’s eyebrow slowly arched behind his dark frames. The stoic, untouchable leader of the underground vanished, effortlessly replaced by the sarcastic, infuriating man you used to argue with in his office.

A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"A pervert?" Jungwon echoed, his voice dropping into a low, mocking drawl. He closed his laptop with a soft click and set it on the glass coffee table, giving you his undivided attention. "If I were actually a pervert... your clothes wouldn't be nearly as intact as they are right now, would they?"

Your brain flatlined.

...What? Your eyes widened to the size of saucers. You gasped, instantly letting go of the blanket to cross your arms over your chest in a protective X-formation. Pressing your back as far into the headboard as you physically could, you glared blazing daggers at the smirking vampire across the room.

"YOU—!" you sputtered, rendered entirely speechless, your face burning hotter than the magical fire that had nearly killed you yesterday. "I— Excuse me?!"

Jungwon finally broke.

He threw his head back, letting out a rich, breathless laugh that echoed warmly through the massive bedroom. The sight of the immortal boss laughing so freely at your panicked reaction was incredibly disarming. It made his dark eyes crinkle at the corners, softening every lethal edge he possessed.

"I am adding that to the lawsuit!" you threatened loudly, pointing a trembling finger at him. "That is textbook harassment! You can't just say things like that to an injured person!"

"You called me a pervert first," Jungwon defended himself easily, his chest still heaving with leftover laughter. He leaned back against the leather sofa. "I was merely stating a factual observation to defend my honor."

"Your honor is currently sitting in the corner of my bedroom watching me sleep!" you argued back, completely abandoning the fact that you were supposed to be bedridden.

"Correction," Jungwon countered smoothly, tapping his finger against his arm. "My bedroom. In my penthouse. You are currently occupying my bed, which makes me the gracious host, not the intruder."

You opened your mouth to argue, realized he was technically right, and immediately pivoted your attack.

"Technicalities!" you huffed, crossing your arms again. "You have a massive apartment! You literally own the entire top floor of this building. Go work in your study! Or the living room! Why are you sitting in the dark typing like a hacker from a movie?"

Jungwon’s teasing smile slowly faded.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he uncrossed his arms, stood up, and began walking toward the bed.

Your breath hitched. The playful energy in the room shifted into something much heavier, much more suffocating. You instinctively gripped the blanket tighter as he stopped right at the edge of the mattress.

He didn't say a word. He just sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight. Reaching out, his cold, long fingers gently wrapped around your wrists, effortlessly uncrossing your defensive arms and pulling the heavy comforter down just enough so he could see your face clearly.

The proximity made your heart skip a dangerous beat. You looked up at him, ready to throw another sarcastic remark, but the words died in your throat.

Behind the thick frames, Jungwon’s eyes weren't teasing anymore. They were impossibly soft, swirling with a quiet, overwhelming devotion that made the air in your lungs evaporate.

He lifted his hand, his freezing knuckles tenderly brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek.

"Do you know why I'm sitting in that corner?" Jungwon asked, his voice dropping into a soft, raspy whisper that vibrated against your heart.

You slowly shook your head, paralyzed by his touch.

Jungwon’s thumb gently caressed your cheekbone. "Because last night, I had to watch you bleed out in my arms," he confessed quietly, the raw, lingering terror bleeding into his tone. "And even after Madame Kim said you were going to be okay... my mind refused to believe it."

He leaned in just a fraction closer. "I couldn't work in the study. I couldn't sit in the living room," he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your wide eyes again. "I had to sit exactly right there... where I could watch your chest rise and fall with every breath. I needed to hear your heartbeat to convince myself that you were still here."

Your defensive walls shattered into dust.

The vulnerability in his confession washed over you, dissolving the embarrassment and stubbornness you felt just moments ago. He wasn't being a creep. He was a man terrified of losing you, anchoring himself to the sound of your breathing just to maintain his own sanity.

You stared at him, your chest tight with a profound ache.

Hesitantly, you uncurled your fingers. You lifted your hand, your warm palm gently resting over his cold knuckles that were still cupping your cheek.

Jungwon’s breath hitched. He leaned his face into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief, agonizingly tender second.

"I'm here," you whispered, your voice remarkably gentle. "I'm okay, Jungwon."

He let out a slow, ragged exhale. When he opened his eyes again, the affectionate look he gave you was enough to ruin you. He turned his head slightly, pressing a long, warm kiss to the inside of your palm.

"So," Jungwon murmured against your skin, a tiny, fond smile returning to his lips. "Let me be a little overprotective today. Accept my presence on that sofa... or I can come over here and work from the bed to make sure you stay put. Your choice."

The heat rushed right back to your cheeks, but this time, it had nothing to do with anger. You quickly snatched your hand back, sliding down the mattress and pulling the comforter up to your nose.

"Aish," you grumbled, your voice muffled behind the thick fabric. You glared at him, though it lacked any real heat. "You always know exactly what to say to make me stop fighting you. It's incredibly annoying."

Jungwon let out a low, rich chuckle, looking entirely too victorious.

"It’s a gift," he replied smoothly. He stood up from the bed, slipping his hands casually into the pockets of his sweatpants. "Also a mandatory skill for a CEO. Managing highly stubborn employees requires a certain level of tactical manipulation."

You dropped the blanket to your chin, your eyes narrowing. "I am on sick leave! Do not bring HR into this! And for the record, using your injured employee's sick room as your personal office is a blatant boundary violation. I'm charging you rent."

"Put it on my tab," Jungwon countered effortlessly, turning his back to walk toward the sofa. "Right next to the infinite free butterbeers Jake apparently promised you."

Your jaw dropped. "You heard that?!"

"I have immortal hearing. I hear everything," Jungwon reminded you, picking up his glasses and slipping them back on. The sharp, intellectual mask was back, though the fond smile remained perfectly intact. "Including the fact that your heart rate just spiked again."

"I hate you," you muttered, pulling the blanket over your head in absolute defeat.

"No, you don't," his amused voice drifted from the corner of the room, followed by the soft sound of his laptop opening. "Now, go back to sleep. I'll have Jake bring up some breakfast for you soon."

You let out an exaggerated groan from under the covers.

But despite your complaints, as the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of his keyboard resumed, a strange, undeniable warmth bloomed in your chest. The chaotic world outside felt miles away, firmly locked out by the ridiculously handsome, deeply annoying man sitting on the sofa.

Surviving an immortal assassin, you realized, was nothing compared to surviving whatever Jungwon was currently doing to your heart.

About twenty minutes later, a soft double-knock echoed through the bedroom door.

"Come in," Jungwon answered, not looking up from his laptop.

The heavy wooden door swung open, and Jake stepped in. He had traded his ruined, blood-soaked shirt from last night for a comfortable knit sweater. Carrying a sleek silver tray loaded with bowls and glasses, a bright smile spread across his face.

"Room service for the bravest human in the city!" Jake announced cheerfully. "How are you feeling? Still in one piece?"

"Barely," you answered, pushing yourself up slightly against the pillows. Seeing Jake's familiar, warm energy instantly made the room feel brighter. "Thanks for the food, Jake. I'm starving."

"Don't thank him. He almost spilled the broth on the stairs because he has the balancing skills of a toddler."

A second, unfamiliar voice cut through the room. It was deep, sharp, and dripping with an elegant, wealthy kind of annoyance.

You blinked, looking behind Jake.

Another man walked into the bedroom, and the sheer, suffocating aura he radiated made your heart drop into your stomach. You instinctively pulled the comforter up, your mind flashing back to the ambush.

If Jake was a golden retriever and Jungwon was a stoic CEO, this man looked like a literal mafia executioner.

He had piercing eyes, a flawless jawline, and was dressed ridiculously well for a Friday morning—wearing a perfectly pressed, dark silk button-down and tailored trousers. He walked with an aristocratic grace, carrying a small, expensive-looking silver thermos.

You stared at him, your body tensing up.

Who is this?! An assassin?

The intimidating man stopped at the side of your bed. He looked down, his sharp eyes scanning your pale face and the massive bandages wrapping your abdomen with a calculating intensity.

You held your breath, preparing for the worst.

Then, the terrifying executioner let out a long, deeply exasperated sigh that sounded entirely like an overworked mother.

"I wouldn't be in such a foul mood if Jake hadn't dragged me here and made me miss my dinner reservation," the man stated flatly, placing the thermos onto the nightstand with a sharp clack. He looked you in the eye. "Park Jongseong. But everyone calls me Jay. And you look terrible."

Your jaw dropped slightly. The terrifying illusion shattered into a million pieces in record time.

"Uh..." you stammered, thrown off by the bluntness. "Nice to meet you too? And thank you, I literally almost died yesterday."

You paused, your brain catching up to his earlier sentence. You squinted at him, the fear replaced by confusion.

"Wait. Did you say... a dinner reservation?" you asked, pointing a hesitant finger at him. "Do you guys even eat human food? I thought you drank... you know. Blood."

Jay’s sharp eyes narrowed, profoundly offended by your assumption.

"It was an exclusive, underground tasting room," Jay corrected, crossing his arms, his tone dripping with aristocratic superiority. "Premium, ethically-sourced Iberian cattle blood, aerated and served at exactly room temperature in a crystal Bordeaux glass. We are immortals, not savages hiding in caves. I have a highly refined palate."

You stared at him, speechless.

"He goes to a fancy vampire lounge and pretends it's a Michelin-star restaurant," Jake stage-whispered to you, chuckling as he set the tray on your lap. "He complains to the waitstaff if the blood doesn't have 'earthy undertones'."

"Because the aging process matters, Sim Jaeyun!" Jay snapped, glaring daggers at his friend. "Dietary standards are what separate us from feral beasts!"

"Oh my god," you breathed out, rubbing your temples. "You're a blood snob."

"I am an apex predator with basic culinary sense," Jay defended himself haughtily. He pointed a strict finger at the tray. "And speaking of culinary sense, I cooked this. Because if I left it to Jake, you'd be eating instant ramen right now."

You froze, looking down at the tray, then back up at the impeccably dressed vampire.

"Wait," you blinked, your brain short-circuiting again. "Vampires... can cook?"

Jay let out a dramatic scoff, pressing a hand to his chest as if you had just physically wounded him.

"Can we cook?" Jay repeated, looking at you as if you had insulted his ancestry. "You are currently looking at a man who has perfected the culinary arts across three different centuries. I studied under royal chefs in the 1800s. Michelin-star chefs would weep if they tasted my consommé. Do not insult my craft just because my primary diet is liquid."

You were too stunned to speak. You looked down at the steaming, dark herbal soup, a side of steamed vegetables, and a glass of suspiciously green juice.

You wrinkled your nose. "This looks like punishment."

"It's medicine," Jay corrected strictly. "Your body is regenerating from a magical sun-fire burn. You need high-density proteins and iron, not artificial sodium."

"It smells like tree bark," you argued, poking the green juice with a spoon. You looked up at Jake pleadingly. "Jake... you promised me butterbeer."

"You can have sugar when your mortal tissue isn't actively trying to un-fuse itself," Jay deadpanned. "Eat. All of it. If you leave even a drop of that soup, I am going to have a serious problem."

You stared at the extremely intimidating, sharply dressed vampire bullying you into eating your vegetables.

"Are you the mafia enforcer, or the group's mother?" you blurted out.

Jake wheezed, his laughter completely escaping his control.

"He's the mom," Jake gasped out, holding his stomach. "He literally irons Jungwon’s coats and gets violently angry if we use the wrong fork for salad."

"I heard that!" Jay yelled, his composure cracking. "And the salad fork is fundamentally designed differently for a reason! It is shorter to grant leverage over crisp vegetables! We are civilized beings, not barbarians!"

A genuine, breathless laugh escaped your lips. It was a bright, airy sound that filled the massive bedroom. The paralyzing dread of being hunted by rebels felt nonexistent in this room. You looked at the two ancient vampires bickering over utensils and blood vintages, and laughed until your eyes watered.

But suddenly, the rhythmic typing from the corner of the room stopped abruptly.

A loud, deliberate clearing of a throat echoed through the space.

You stopped laughing, turning your head toward the sofa. Jungwon had closed his laptop. He was sitting up straight, his dark eyes narrowed at the three of you. He took off his glasses, tossing them onto the table before slowly standing up.

He didn't look angry, but there was a distinctly tight, unamused line to his jaw as he walked toward the bed.

"Excuse me," Jungwon’s voice cut through the room, smooth but dripping with an unexpected layer of possessiveness. He stopped at your side, crossing his arms over his black t-shirt. "I have been sitting in that corner, being exceptionally charming and attentive all morning, and all I got was you glaring at me from under a blanket."

He gestured to Jake and Jay, who had both suddenly gone very quiet.

"Yet, these two walk in for five minutes, argue about salad forks, and they get that bright, beautiful smile?" Jungwon asked, raising an eyebrow at you. "Who are you smiling for?"

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Are you..." you started, a slow grin spreading across your face. "Wait. Are you jealous right now?"

Jake visibly bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, while Jay suddenly found the ceiling architecture incredibly fascinating. The formidable underground boss was currently acting like a neglected boyfriend.

Jungwon didn't even try to deny it.

He uncrossed his arms, leaning down just enough so his face was level with yours. His bottomless eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring his friends.

"Highly," Jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating octave. The teasing edge was there, but the raw devotion swirling in his eyes was entirely real.

He reached out, his cold fingers gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your flushed cheek.

"Now," Jungwon whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "Eat your soup. Before I kick my very helpful friends out of my bedroom so I can have your full attention again."

Your brain short-circuited. Your face burned a violently bright red, incinerating any witty comeback you might have had.

Beside you, Jake loudly cleared his throat. "Right. Well. We'll just... leave you to your tree bark juice. Enjoy the soup!"

Without another word, Jake practically dragged a grumbling Jay out of the room by the collar of his silk shirt, shutting the heavy wooden door and leaving you alone, once again, with the one vampire who was an absolute hazard to your heart.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the elegant composure Jay had maintained completely dissolved.

"You wrinkled my silk shirt," Jay hissed, aggressively swatting Jake’s hand away. He began meticulously smoothing out the dark fabric, glaring at his friend. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood and concrete dust out of pure Italian silk? You lack absolute refinement, Jaeyun."

"Oh, please," Jake rolled his eyes, walking backward down the dimly lit hallway. The golden-retriever smile was still plastered on his face. "You were about to start a twenty-minute seminar on the historical significance of salad forks while Jungwon was actively trying to flirt. I saved you from getting thrown out the window."

"He wasn't flirting, he was being ridiculously possessive," Jay grumbled, fixing his cuffs. "It’s embarrassing. The most lethal predator in the underground is currently pouting because the girl chose my culinary masterpiece over him."

"I mean, did you see his face?!" Jake burst into another fit of laughter, leaning against the sleek marble wall of the living room. "He looked like he wanted to bite my head off just for making her laugh! I haven't seen him this unhinged in centuries. It’s hilarious."

"It’s a hazard," Jay corrected, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "But fine. I will admit... it is somewhat refreshing to see him act like a functioning being again instead of a brooding statue."

The two vampires shared a brief, knowing look. Seeing Jungwon finally stepping out of his suffocating centuries of grief was a relief they both desperately needed.

But the lighthearted atmosphere in the living room didn't last.

Suddenly, the ambient temperature in the penthouse plummeted. The warm morning light filtering through the massive windows seemed to dim, replaced by a biting chill that instantly made both Jake and Jay straighten up.

The private elevator down the hall let out a soft ding.

The silver doors slid open, and Sunghoon walked out.

The devastatingly handsome Ice Prince looked like he had just walked out of a warzone. His usually pristine leather boots were soaked with dirty, freezing water. His dark clothes were covered in concrete dust, and his knuckles were split open, stained with dried black blood.

The playful energy evaporated from the room.

Jake dropped his smile, his posture snapping into a focused stance. He stepped forward, scanning Sunghoon’s battered state.

"Tell me you brought me Seo-hee's head," Jake demanded, his voice stripped of its warmth, replaced by a cold, deadly serious edge.

Sunghoon stopped in the middle of the living room. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle feathered along his cheek. He didn't meet Jake's eyes.

"I lost her," Sunghoon answered, his freezing baritone vibrating with suppressed rage.

Jake’s breath hitched. "You what?"

"I cornered her in the flooded subway tunnels," Sunghoon explained, the air around his hands crystallizing from his anger. "She was broken. But she brought the rusted support pillars down between us. By the time I tore through the concrete wreckage... she had escaped into the old aqueduct system. The running water completely masked her scent."

"Damn it," Jake cursed, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he began pacing. "Damn it, Sunghoon, this is a disaster."

"She's crippled," Jay pointed out, his eyes narrowing analytically. "You crushed her skull yesterday, Jake, and Sunghoon chased her through the underground. She doesn't have the strength to heal properly without blood."

"That is exactly why it's a disaster," Jake snapped, stopping to look at both of them. "She's backed into a corner. She's desperate, starving, and her ambush at the apothecary completely failed. Seo-hee isn't the type to retreat and lick her wounds. She’s going to retaliate."

Jake looked toward the hallway leading to Jungwon’s bedroom, a heavy dread settling in his chest.

"After all this... she knows we won't let her anywhere near the girl again," Jake continued, his voice dropping into a tense whisper. "Which means whatever she's planning next, it’s going to be a massive, full-scale attack. Something far more sadistic than just a street ambush."

"She knows the girl is Jungwon's ultimate weakness," Jay agreed, his expression hardening. "If she rallies the rest of the rebel faction and targets the penthouse directly, we are going to have a bloodbath on our hands."

A strategic tension suffocated the room. Jake and Jay were already calculating defense perimeters, but Sunghoon remained entirely silent.

He just stared at his bloodstained knuckles, the freezing air swirling around him growing erratic.

"Sunghoon?" Jake called out gently, noticing the spiral his friend was trapped in. "Are you okay?"

Sunghoon slowly looked up. His dark eyes were devoid of the killer instinct he usually carried. Instead, they brimmed with an agonizing exhaustion. He completely ignored the conversation about Seo-hee's impending attack.

"Did Madame Kim save her?" Sunghoon asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Jake and Jay exchanged a confused glance.

"The girl," Sunghoon clarified, his gaze shifting toward the hallway. "Did the sun-fire treatment work? Did her tissue fuse?"

"Yes," Jay answered slowly. "Madame Kim reopened the wounds this morning. The sun-fire is dormant. The girl is going to live."

Sunghoon closed his eyes. A sharp, trembling exhale escaped his lips. It wasn't a sigh of relief. It was the sound of a man who was drowning.

"So the sun-fire can be suppressed," Sunghoon whispered to himself, a bitter irony ripping his heart apart.

He opened his eyes, looking at Jake and Jay with a devastation so profound it made the room feel physically colder.

"My sister," Sunghoon choked out, his voice dropping into a raw plea that broke his impenetrable mask of ice. "Her burns... they're reigniting. The animal blood isn't enough to sustain her healing anymore. She's starting to lose her mind, Jake."

The heavy silence that followed was deafening.

Jake and Jay stood entirely still, the horrific reality of Sunghoon’s burden crashing down on them. While they had been celebrating your survival, Sunghoon had been watching his own little sister slowly burn to ash from the inside out. And the worst part was... they all knew exactly what it would take to save her, and it was the one thing Jungwon's absolute law forbade them to do.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a bizarre, chaotic blur of domesticity.

Shortly after Sunghoon quietly slipped out of the penthouse to continue tracking Seo-hee’s movements, Jake and Jay took over the unofficial duty of keeping you entertained. And they were a comedic disaster together.

Jake spent hours telling ridiculously exaggerated stories about their lives in the 1920s, while Jay aggressively criticized the historical accuracy of Jake's memories while force-feeding you imported fruits. You laughed so hard your sides hurt, but for the first time since you were ambushed, the heavy dread vanished. Surrounded by their chaotic energy, you didn't feel like a fragile target anymore. You felt overwhelmingly safe.

Eventually, Jake and Jay had to leave to handle syndicate business, leaving the massive penthouse completely quiet once again.

Quiet, except for Jungwon.

You laid against the pillows, quietly observing him. The man was a machine. For the past several hours, he had been glued to the leather sofa, his dark eyes fixed on the laptop screen. At one point, he had disappeared to take a shower, only to emerge fifteen minutes later wearing a fresh black t-shirt, his hair damp and slightly messy.

And then, he went right back to typing. Work, shower, work.

The sun was slowly beginning to set, casting a golden-hour glow through the windows, and Jungwon was still working.

"Are you..." you started, breaking the silence. "Are you really just going to keep working like that?"

The rhythmic typing stopped.

Jungwon didn't immediately look up. He stared at the screen for a second longer, visibly pulling himself out of deep, strategic thought. He adjusted his glasses, letting out a soft exhale.

"Yes," Jungwon answered simply, his voice a low rumble.

You blinked. "What are you even working on? You've been staring at that screen for hours. Do underground immortal syndicates have quarterly financial reports? Or are you doing vampire taxes?"

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. He finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours.

"Unfortunately, yes to both," Jungwon replied, resting his elbow on the armrest. "Running an entire underground society requires a significant amount of legal fronts. Real estate, hospitality, import logistics. And the human government is incredibly strict about tax evasion. The IRS is far more daunting than any rogue vampire."

You let out a small laugh. "So, you're the boss of the underground, but you still have to do paperwork?"

"Someone has to," Jungwon sighed, though the corner of his lips twitched upwards. "Jake is banned from touching legal documents after he accidentally bought an entire island in the 90s, and Jay refuses to look at anything that isn't written on premium cardstock."

"That actually makes perfect sense," you noted, nodding solemnly.

Jungwon smiled. It was a slow, handsome smile that completely transformed his face.

He closed his laptop, placing his glasses onto the table before standing up. The room suddenly felt ten times smaller as he walked toward the bed, the clean scent of shower gel and cedarwood wrapping around you.

Instead of standing beside you, Jungwon sat down right on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, making you slide a fraction of an inch closer to him.

He rested one hand casually near your hip, leaning in just enough to invade your personal space, his dark eyes staring right into yours.

"You know," Jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth octave that always made your heart flutter. "You seem awfully interested in my schedule all of a sudden."

"I'm just making conversation," you defended quickly. "Because you were ignoring your patient."

"Was I?" Jungwon raised a single eyebrow, leaning in a fraction closer. A deeply amused smirk danced on his lips. "Or are you just bored? Wait, no... don't tell me. You were getting jealous of a laptop because I wasn't giving you enough attention."

Your brain flatlined.

The smugness in his voice sent a sudden rush of heat straight to your face. You stared at his teasing expression, your mouth parting as you tried to formulate a comeback.

You failed.

Your defensive instincts kicked in. Without a word, you grabbed the comforter and yanked it up over your nose, leaving only your eyes visible. You glared at him from over the blanket—a stubborn glare that lacked any actual intimidation.

Jungwon let out a low laugh that vibrated through the mattress.

"Turtle mode again?" Jungwon teased, his eyes crinkling.

"Shut up," your muffled voice came from under the blanket. "Go back to your taxes. The IRS is waiting."

"Let them wait," Jungwon replied effortlessly.

He reached out, his cold fingers brushing against the edge of the comforter near your cheek. He didn't pull it down, completely respecting your makeshift shield, but his knuckles lightly grazed your skin, sending a jolt of electricity to your chest.

"I think," Jungwon whispered, his gaze softening into something so incredibly fond it made your stomach do somersaults, "I'd much rather give my attention to you right now."

You squeezed your eyes shut, sinking deeper into the pillows, entirely defeated by the syndicate leader.

You fully expected him to laugh, give you one last teasing remark, and walk back to his sofa.

Instead, the mattress shifted again.

You lowered the blanket just an inch, peeking over the fabric. Your eyes widened in shock.

Jungwon wasn't getting up. He had completely kicked off his slippers, and with the casual audacity of a man who literally owned the building, he swung his long legs onto the mattress.

"Wait. What are you doing?" you squeaked out, the blanket instantly dropping to your chin.

"Taking my break," Jungwon answered effortlessly.

Before your brain could process the warning signs, he laid down on his side, right next to you. He reached out, his muscular arm sliding smoothly around your waist—meticulously avoiding the bandages on your abdomen—and effortlessly pulled you flush against his side.

You froze.

Your face was suddenly pressed right against his chest. The intoxicating scent of cedarwood surrounded you. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beneath his black t-shirt. Jungwon let out an exhausted sigh, shifting closer until he could bury his face softly into the crown of your hair.

Your brain went to war with itself.

Option A: Kick him. Yes, a swift, defensive kick to the shins. I should physically shove the formidable boss right off this ridiculously expensive mattress and demand my personal space back.

Option B: Call him a creep again and threaten another lawsuit until he moves.

You took a deep breath, preparing to execute Option A.

But as you inhaled, the warmth of his body enveloped you. Jungwon’s arm wasn't tight or restricting; it was impossibly gentle, anchoring you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. He shifted slightly, his cold nose brushing your hair, and you felt him physically relax. For the first time since the ambush, the heavy tension gripping his shoulders melted away.

Your traitorous body immediately betrayed you.

Your tense muscles dissolved into jelly. The mattress was incredibly soft, and his chest was embarrassingly comfortable. It felt like being wrapped in the safest shield in the universe.

...Option C: Do absolutely nothing because this feels way too nice.

"You are incredibly clingy," you grumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt. You didn't kick him. To your horror, you instinctively rested your cheek flat against his chest.

Jungwon let out a low chuckle that vibrated against your ear. He knew you were all bark and no bite.

"You're the one using me as a pillow," Jungwon murmured, his voice thick with sleep and raw affection. His hand slowly moved up, his long fingers rhythmically tracing circles on your shoulder. "If you really wanted me to leave, you would have kicked me by now."

"I am actively considering it," you threatened weakly, though your eyes were already fluttering shut, hypnotized by the soothing circles.

"I'm terrified," Jungwon smiled against your hair, his voice dropping into a quiet whisper. He pulled you a fraction closer. "Just... let me hold you for a minute. Just a minute."

Your heart did a devastating flip. The vulnerability in his voice destroyed any remaining urge you had to fight him.

You let out a soft sigh, untangling one of your arms from the blanket to slowly wrap it around his waist. You felt Jungwon’s breath hitch the second you hugged him back, before he melted entirely into your touch.

"Fine," you mumbled into his chest, surrendering to the domestic warmth. "But just one minute. And I'm still charging you rent."

"Put it on my tab," Jungwon murmured effortlessly.

For a few minutes, it was undisturbed perfection. The quiet hum of the penthouse, the scent of cedarwood, and the calming rhythm of his heartbeat were practically lulling you to sleep.

You were just about to fully drift off when the hand tracing circles on your shoulder stopped.

Jungwon shifted slightly. You felt his chest vibrate as he let out a thoughtful hum.

"I am still genuinely curious about one thing, though," Jungwon whispered, his voice dropping into a low pout.

You let out a sleepy groan against his chest. "Don't ruin the minute. It was going so well."

"I’m serious," Jungwon continued, his arm tightening around your waist. "Why did you smile so brightly at them earlier?"

Your eyes snapped open.

You slowly pushed yourself up just an inch, breaking the cuddle exactly enough so you could look at his face. You furrowed your eyebrows, shooting him an exasperated, incredulous frown.

"Are you..." you started, blinking in disbelief. "Are you seriously still thinking about that?"

Jungwon didn't flinch. He looked down at you, his beautiful eyes completely serious, though a faint, playful glimmer danced in them.

"I have an eidetic memory," Jungwon defended himself smoothly. "And I sat in that incredibly uncomfortable corner all morning, making sure you were breathing perfectly, and all I received was aggressive glaring from under a blanket. Jake and Jay walk in, argue about a salad fork, and they get this bright, breathtaking smile."

You stared at the centuries-old leader of the underground, who was currently acting like a neglected puppy.

"You are unbelievable," you huffed, though a massive smile was already fighting its way onto your lips. You poked his chest playfully. "They were being ridiculous! Jay practically yelled at Jake over cattle blood vintages. It was funny! Meanwhile, you were just sitting there staring at a laptop like a grumpy, unapproachable CEO!"

"I was providing excellent, top-tier security services," Jungwon countered, catching your poking finger and gently wrapping his warm hand around yours. "I deserve a smile for my hard work."

"You're a mafia boss, not a comedian," you rolled your eyes, completely failing to hide your own smile now.

"I can be funny," Jungwon stated confidently.

"No, you can't. You're sarcastic and mean."

"I'm deeply misunderstood."

You let out a bright, airy laugh, the sound filling the quiet space between you two. Your eyes crinkled into sweet crescent moons as you looked up at him, your previous annoyance melting away into pure fondness.

Jungwon’s breath hitched.

The teasing banter died in his throat. He stared at your smiling face, his dark eyes instantly softening into a pool of overwhelming devotion. He didn't care about Jake or Jay or the rebels outside this penthouse anymore. The only thing that mattered in his existence was the way your eyes lit up when you looked at him.

"There it is," Jungwon whispered, his voice incredibly soft, remarkably fragile.

You blinked, your laugh fading into a shy, flustered smile. "There what is?"

"That smile," Jungwon murmured.

He slowly lifted his free hand, his knuckles gently brushing against your flushed cheek. He looked at you as if you were the most precious, delicate thing he had ever held.

"Do me a favor," Jungwon whispered, his thumb lightly caressing your cheekbone, completely destroying any coherent thought left in your brain. "Don't smile like that for anyone else. Just me."

Your face burned a brilliant shade of red, defenseless against the raw affection in his voice.

Instead of answering, you let out a flustered squeak and immediately dove right back down, burying your violently red face directly into his chest to hide.

Jungwon let out a rich, warm laugh that vibrated against your cheek. He wrapped both of his arms securely around your frame, pulling you close.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jungwon smiled, resting his chin comfortably on top of your head.

You grumbled something incoherent into his t-shirt, but you didn't pull away. You just closed your eyes, letting the fluffy warmth of the moment pull you under, secretly hoping this "one minute" of cuddling would last forever.

When you finally opened your eyes again, the warm sunlight had entirely disappeared. The massive bedroom was now bathed in the soft, silver glow of the city lights and the moon filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The penthouse was completely submerged in a profound, heavy silence.

For a long moment, you didn't move. The terrifying reality of the world outside felt like it belonged to a different universe entirely. You slowly blinked the sleep from your eyes, realizing that the strong arm wrapped around your waist was still there, but the grip had softened into something incredibly gentle.

You carefully tilted your head up.

Jungwon was fast asleep.

You stared at him. The man who had been vibrating with stress and lethal energy just hours ago was completely knocked out. He looked peaceful in the dim lighting. His dark hair was slightly messy, falling across his forehead and brushing the tops of his eyelashes. The intimidating tension that usually gripped his jaw was gone, wiping away centuries of heavy responsibility.

He didn't look like an untouchable boss or an immortal predator right now. He just looked so incredibly human, and breathtakingly exhausted.

Moving as slowly and meticulously as possible, you lifted your hand. Your fingertips barely grazed his cold skin as you gently traced the flawless line of his cheekbone, before softly brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from his forehead. You kept your hand there, your thumb lightly stroking his temple.

The feather-light touch caused Jungwon to stir.

You froze, terrified that you had woken him up.

But his dark eyes remained shut. Instead of waking, Jungwon let out a low, soft sigh. Driven entirely by sleep-heavy instinct, he shifted his weight to seek more of your warmth.

He slid his arm further around your waist, pulling you completely flush against him. But this time, instead of keeping you tucked against his chest, he leaned down and buried his face right into the crook of your neck. His cold nose pressed softly against your collarbone, his dark hair tickling your jaw as his slow, rhythmic breathing evened out directly against your skin.

It was an unfiltered display of how deeply his mind had anchored itself to your presence. The formidable apex predator was currently seeking comfort and safety in you.

Your heart melted into a puddle.

All of the stubbornness, the defensive sarcasm, and the walls you had built up crumbled into dust. A profound wave of fondness washed over your chest. You didn't want to fight him anymore. You didn't care about the absurdity of falling in love with a vampire.

You carefully shifted your body to accommodate his new position. Lifting your arms, you wrapped them gently but securely around his broad shoulders, holding him close. You let one of your hands softly tangle into the dark hair at the nape of his neck, continuously tracing comforting circles against his skin.

Jungwon subconsciously melted into your embrace, his arm tightening around you just a fraction more, as if making sure you were still real.

A small, tender smile graced your lips. You rested your cheek against the top of his head, holding him just as fiercely as he held you, and let yourself fall right back asleep in the safest place you had ever known.

Hours passed. The silver moonlight stretched silently across the bedroom floor, marking the depth of the night.

You didn't know exactly what woke you up. Perhaps it was the sudden dryness in your throat, or a faint, underlying ache in your chest. You blinked your eyes open, the heavy veil of sleep slowly lifting.

Jungwon was still holding you securely, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing was deep and incredibly steady. For a man who had spent the last twenty-four hours vibrating with lethal, panicked energy, this was likely the first real rest he had gotten in days. He looked so peaceful, you couldn't bear the thought of waking him.

Moving with excruciating caution, you gently untangled your fingers from his hair. You slowly shifted your weight, holding your breath as you carefully slipped out of his embrace. Jungwon let out a sleepy hum, his hand instinctively reaching out, but he didn't wake. You quickly tucked the heavy comforter around his shoulders, replacing your warmth, and watched as his breathing immediately evened out again.

You smiled softly, turning around and quietly slipping out of the bedroom.

The sprawling penthouse was entirely dark, bathed only in the cold, blue light of the city bleeding through the massive living room windows. You intended to just walk to the kitchen, get a glass of water, and go right back to the safety of Jungwon's arms.

But you only made it halfway across the marble floor of the living room.

It started as a small, sharp prick in the center of your chest.

You stopped walking, bringing a hand up to rub your sternum, thinking it was just a side effect of the stitches.

But then, the prick turned into a spark. And the spark violently, mercilessly erupted into a blazing inferno.

A sudden, cataclysmic surge of agony ripped through your torso. It felt exactly like swallowing liquid fire. Your eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror as the dormant magic Madame Kim had suppressed suddenly reignited inside your veins.

"Ah—!"

A choked gasp escaped your lips as your knees buckled. You hit the hard marble floor, your hands aggressively clutching your chest. The pain was so blinding that it drove the breath out of your lungs. It felt as if your internal organs were actively turning to ash.

Your vision blurred, dark spots dancing in your eyes. You tried to call out for Jungwon, but your throat tightened. A wet, agonizing cough tore through your chest, and a sickeningly warm liquid forced its way up your throat.

You coughed violently, and thick, dark blood splattered onto the pristine marble floor.

But it wasn't normal blood. Faint, terrifying traces of golden, magical embers flickered within the dark liquid—the pure, concentrated essence of the sun-fire curse trying to burn its way out of your body.

You trembled, gasping for air as another wave of searing pain hit you.

Then, the ambient temperature of the room plummeted.

The sudden, biting drop in temperature made the air around you physically crystallize. Frost began to rapidly creep across the marble floor.

An instant shockwave of trauma ripped through your nervous system. The cold. It felt exactly like the alleyway. It felt exactly like Seo-hee's suffocating, lethal magic right before she crushed you against the brick wall.

You slowly lifted your heavy, tear-filled eyes, your entire body trembling so violently you could barely keep yourself upright.

Standing just a few feet away, entirely cloaked in the shadows of the living room, was Sunghoon—though to you, he was nothing more than a terrifying stranger you had absolutely never seen before.

He was strikingly pale, his sharp features illuminated by the blue moonlight. His dark clothes were covered in concrete dust, and his knuckles were stained with dried, black blood. The aura he radiated was completely lethal—a freezing dread that made your survival instincts scream in absolute panic.

Is he... a rebel? An assassin? Did they breach the penthouse? You tried to push yourself backward, your bloodstained hand slipping on the marble floor as sheer terror took over.

"W-who..." you choked out, your voice a barely audible, broken rasp. Another agonizing cough wracked your frame, sending another splatter of golden-laced blood to the floor. You curled in on yourself, staring at the intimidating man with wide, panicked eyes. "Who... are you...?"

But Sunghoon didn't answer.

He didn't move to attack you, but he didn't help you either. He just stood there, perfectly still like a marble statue. And worst of all, he wasn't looking at your face.

His dark, bottomless eyes were fixated on the blood pooling on the floor beneath you.

The golden, sun-fire magic flickering within your blood reflected perfectly in his cold eyes.

You didn't know the horrific, desperate reality of Sunghoon’s current existence. You didn't know that out there in the dark city, his little sister was slowly losing her mind, her body actively deteriorating from the exact same magical burns currently tearing through your chest. You didn't know that ordinary animal blood could no longer heal her.

And you had no idea that the exact cure she desperately needed—blood that had miraculously fused and survived the sun-fire magic—was currently bleeding right out of you.

Sunghoon’s fists slowly curled at his sides. The air around him grew so cold that the windows of the penthouse began to fog over with thick ice.

A horrifying, deafening war was currently raging behind his blank expression.

If he took your blood... his sister would live. But he would be committing the ultimate betrayal, destroying the one person who had finally brought Jungwon back to life.

The suffocating silence of the penthouse stretched out, amplifying the sound of your ragged, painful breathing and your terrified trembling.

Sunghoon slowly raised his gaze, finally meeting your horrified, tear-filled eyes.

His expression was utterly unreadable, a devastating mask of pure, lethal ice.

To Be Continued ᯓ★

A/N:

Hi everyone! 🤍

First and foremost, I want to say a massive thank you to every single one of you who has been so incredibly patient waiting for this update of In Your Time. I know it took a little while, but I wanted to make sure I gave you all my absolute best. Consider this very long, emotionally packed chapter as my way of paying you back for all the time you spent waiting!

I really poured my entire heart and soul into writing this one. I truly hope all the feelings and emotions I tried to convey manage to reach the hearts of everyone who has endlessly supported me and this story.

Thank you for always being my biggest motivation and for showering this story with so much love. You guys are the absolute best! HEHEHE.

Please enjoy the chapter, prepare your hearts, and let me know what you think in the comments!

With lots of love,

GENESIS.

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, half-listening to someone talk about their semester abroad, nodding at intervals that you hoped approximated attentiveness, when Riki materialized beside you with that uncanny way he had of simply appearing in a space like he'd always been there. He smelled like cologne and cold air, having just come in from the balcony, and his hair was slightly windswept in a way that made him look like he'd been styled by the universe itself.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep standing up," he said, leaning his hip against the counter next to you. 

"I'm awake," you said. "I'm very awake. I'm so awake that I'm bored of being awake."

He laughed, the laugh that crinkled his eyes and showed his teeth and made you feel like you'd won something you hadn't even known was a competition. "Okay, well, that's the problem then. You need something to do." He glanced around the kitchen, someone was mixing something in a green cup, two people were arguing about music by the blender, a girl was taking a selfie with the cookie jar on the counter for reasons unknown to science, and then he tilted his head toward the back door. "Come outside with me. It's quieter."

You followed him. You'd follow him anywhere, which was a thought you pushed down so fast it practically bruised.

The backyard was small and dark, lit only by the amber glow of a porch light and the cherry-end of a joint being passed between two guys sitting on the steps. Riki greeted them with a chin jerk, and they shuffled over to make room. He sat, and you sat beside him, close enough that your knee pressed against his thigh. The night air was cool against your arms, and you regretted not bringing a jacket, but the warmth radiating off his side was enough to take the edge off.

One of the guys, who just so happened to be your seatmate’s crush, who’s name started with either a Ju or a Jo, passed the joint to Riki, who took it between his fingers with a practiced ease that made your chest do a somersault for reasons unrelated to the smoke. 

He drew, held, exhaled through his nose, and the smoke curled upward like it was trying to escape the atmosphere. 

Then he glanced at you, the joint held loosely between his index and middle finger, and raised an eyebrow.

"You wanna try?"

Your mouth went dry. You'd never smoked before, not cigarettes, not anything. You'd been the kid who sat cross-legged on the floor during D.A.R.E. presentations and took the pamphlets home to your mom. You were so straight-edged you were practically a ruler.

And yet—

"I wouldn't even know how," you admitted, and you hated how small your voice sounded, how uncertain, like you were confessing to something shameful.

Riki's expression didn't change, no mockery, no surprise, just that steady, dark-eyed gaze that made you feel like the only person in a twenty-kilometer radius. "That's fine," he said simply. "I'll show you."

He turned toward you, and his free hand came up to cup the side of your face. Resting there, his palm warm against your jaw, his thumb grazing the hinge of it. 

"Breathe in slow," he said, his voice low and close. "Don't hold it too long your first time. And don't cough into the joint—just aim past it." He brought the joint to your lips, and you parted them, and you inhaled.

It was like breathing in a campfire. The smoke hit the back of your throat like something alive and furious, and you immediately gagged, turning your head to the side to hack into your elbow while Riki's hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, anchoring you.

"Easy, easy," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against the nape of your neck. "You're okay. Just breathe. Through your nose."

You wheezed. Your eyes were watering. The two guys on the steps were laughing, but not meanly. It was the kind of laugh that said they'd been exactly where you were, once. You blinked hard, sniffling, and Riki was still holding the back of your neck like you were something precious and fragile that he was afraid might shatter.

"That was terrible," you rasped.

"Yup, the first hit usually is," he said, and his mouth was doing that thing where it was trying not to smile but failing miserably, the corner of it quirking up in a way that made you want to bite him. "You want to try again?"

You did. 

You don't know why the fuck you did — stubbornness, maybe, or the desire to seem cool in front of him, or just the simple animal wanting of putting your lips where his fingers had been. 

You leaned in, and he guided the joint to your mouth again, and this time you pulled the smoke in more gently, holding it for a few seconds before letting it drift out.

"Better," he approved, and the warmth in his voice was enough to make your chest tight.

You passed it back. He took another drag. You sat in the dark and the quiet and the smell of smoke and growing things, and you waited to feel something.

It took about fifteen minutes.

It didn't come on like a wave or a rush or any of the poetic things you'd read about. 

It came on like a tide, slow, creeping, pulling the sand out from under your feet so gradually that by the time you realized you were standing in deeper water, the shore was already far away. 

Your heartbeat was loud. Not fast, just loud, like it had moved from your chest to your ears to the inside of your skull and was now echoing around in there like a drum in an empty gymnasium. Your hands felt foreign. You stared at them, turned them over, watched the lamplight play across your knuckles, and thought distantly that they looked like someone else's hands, like props you'd been handed at the door.

"Hey."

Riki's voice cut through the fog. You looked up. He was watching you with an expression you couldn't parse, definitely not worried, but alert, the way he looked right before a chorus hit, like he was reading the shape of something before it arrived.

"Are you okay? Dizzy? Anything?"

"I think," you started, and then stopped, because your tongue felt like it was made of something that tongues should not be made of. Cotton, maybe. Sand. "I think I feel weird."

"Weird how?"

You tried to articulate it. 

Your heart was too loud and your hands were too far away and the ground felt like it was tilting, slowly, like a ship in mild seas, not enough to knock you over but enough to make you want to grip something. 

Also, you were hot, too hot, and your skin was prickling with it, and the edges of your vision were doing something soft and strange, like a photograph left in the sun.

"Everything's too much," you whispered, and then your eyes were stinging, and you were mortified to realize that you were about to cry, which was absurd, because nothing was wrong, nothing was actually wrong, your body was just doing something you didn't understand and you couldn't make it stop and you were scared, you were so scared, and you couldn't say any of that so instead you just sat there with your lips pressed together trying not to let the tears fall.

"Hey, hey, hey." Riki's voice went soft in a way you'd never heard before, not his teasing-you-relentlessly voice, but something underneath all of that, something quiet and sure and private. 

He stubbed out the joint on the step without looking away from you, and then both of his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your head up so you had to look at him.

"You're greening out," he said, and his tone was so calm it was almost funny. "It's okay. It happens. You're not going to be sick, you're just a little too damn high, no? It's going to feel really intense for a bit, like—really fucking intense. And then it's going to pass. I promise. I'm right here."

A tear slipped out, and he caught it with the pad of his thumb, swiping it away like it was nothing, like your tears were his responsibility and he was simply doing his job.

"I'm sorry," you choked. "I didn't mean to—I shouldn't have—"

"Stop." Gentle, but firm. His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, back and forth, back and forth, a rhythm like a lullaby. "You have nothing to apologize for. You tried something new and it was just too much for you, and that’s completely okay. That's not a crime or anything. Don’t worry.”

Your heart was still pounding, still too loud, but the panic was thinning now, like clouds parting, because his hands were on your face and his eyes were on yours and he was so steady, so impossibly steady, like he'd anchored himself to the ground just so you'd have something to hold onto.

"Breathe with me," he said. 

"In—" He inhaled, slow and deliberate, and you copied him, pulling air in until your lungs were full. "—and out." He exhaled, and you exhaled, and the world tilted a little less. "Again. In—"

You breathed together. In and out, in and out, his hands steady on your face, his dark eyes holding yours the way a lighthouse holds a shoreline, slow and easy.  

Your heartbeat slowed. The ground leveled. Your hands started to feel like yours again.

"There you go," he murmured. "Good. You're doing so good."

He didn't let go of your face. You didn't want him to. You leaned into his palms like a cat leaning into a touch, and he let you, shifting one hand to the back of your head, cradling it, his fingers sliding into your hair and scratching gently at your scalp in a way that sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with being high.

"I feel like some stupid ass idiot," you mumbled against his wrist.

"You feel like someone who's never done this before and did too much their first time," he corrected. "Which is what you are. And that's fine."

The two guys from the steps had gone back inside at some point, and the yard was quiet save for the muffled thump of bass through the walls and the singing of crickets in the dark. 

Riki's arm slid around your shoulders, and he pulled you into his side, and you went willingly, collapsing against him like a puppet with its strings cut. 

He was warm, solid, and he smelled like smoke and his cologne and something underneath that was just him, just warmth and boy, and you pressed your face into his shoulder and breathed.

"Still feeling weird?" he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your cheek.

"A little." A pause. "Less."

His hand was on your arm now, fingertips tracing idle patterns — circles, spirals, shapes that might have been letters, along the inside of your forearm. The touch was feather-light, almost absent-minded, and it was doing something to your nervous system that you didn't have the vocabulary to describe. 

Every place he touched felt like a small sun, warm and bright and alive, and the anxiety that had been clawing at the edges of your mind melted away under the gentle insistence of his fingers on your skin.

"Tell me what you're feeling," he said.

"Floaty," you said. "And warm. And like..." You hesitated. "Like I want you to keep doing that forever."

His hand stilled for just a second, and then resumed its wandering, tracing up your arm to your shoulder, across the back of your neck, down your spine. 

"Of course, I can do that," he said, and his voice was rough in a way you hadn't heard before, rough and soft at the same time, like sandpaper wrapped in silk.

You shifted against him, tilting your head up, and he looked down at you, and the porch light caught his features at an angle that made him look like a painting, all shadows and angles and that impossible jawline that probably had its own fanclub. 

His eyes were warm and he was looking at you like you were something worth looking at, and the high was still humming through your veins but it was different now, not scary but soft, like floating in warm water, and everything felt gauzy and golden.

His hand came up to your face again. 

Not cupping — just the backs of his fingers, trailing along your cheekbone, down the bridge of your nose, across the bow of your upper lip. Touching you like he was memorizing the architecture of your face, like he was reading you in braille, like you were a text he wanted to study until he knew every word by heart.

"You're okay now?" he asked again.

"I'm okay," you said, and meant it.

He smiled. It was small, just the faintest upturn at the corner of his mouth, but it reached his eyes, crinkling them, and it was so tender it almost hurt to look at. 

Then he leaned down, and his lips pressed gently against your forehead, warm, dry, lingering, and he held there for a long moment, long enough for you to feel the shape of his mouth against your skin, long enough for the kiss to mean something, long enough for you to catalog it and file it away in the part of your brain where you kept the things you'd think about at 3 a.m. when you couldn't sleep.

When he pulled back, his forehead was almost touching yours, and his breath was warm on your face. He smelled like smoke and mint and something sweet underneath, and his fingers were still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand.

"Next time," he said quietly, "I'll make sure you take less. And I'll stay right next to you the whole time."

"Next time?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He squeezed your hand. "You think I'm letting you do this with anyone else?"

The words landed somewhere between your ribs and refused to budge. 

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and the crickets sang, and the bass thumped, and the world was still a little tilted and a little too bright and a little too much, but you were warm, you were safe, Riki was holding your hand, and he had kissed your forehead and he had said "next time" like it was a promise, like it was a given, like of course there would be a next time, because he wasn't going anywhere.

You rested your head against his shoulder again, and his arm tightened around you.

"You're still a little out of it," he observed, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Mm," you agreed. "But in a good way now."

"In a good way," he confirmed. And then, quieter, almost to himself, like he wasn't sure you could hear him but maybe hoping you could: "Good. That's good. That's exactly how you should feel."

A breeze rolled through the yard, cool against your bare arms, and you shivered. Without a word, Riki shifted, tugging the hem of his jacket out from where he'd been sitting on it, and draped it over your shoulders. 

It was warm from his body heat and it smelled like him, and you pulled it tighter around yourself and pressed your nose to the collar and breathed, and he watched you do it with an expression that you couldn't see but could feel, warm and careful and something else.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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💿 ࿐ . . opera house by cigarettes after sex

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

His heart tugs when he sees you curled up on the couch. You've fallen asleep waiting for him again. Credits roll on a movie playing on a low volume. The shadows on your face are sharp compared to your softened features. Your brow loose, lips relaxed in that content frown you make when you're deep in REM. It's an expression he's found himself jealous of at times. You sleep so easily— hardly any nightmares compared to the ones that scar him more often than they don't. But stronger than that jealousy is a relief for your sense of safety.

He can't bring himself to wake you. It's late, and he knows your sleep starts to become more irregular when he's away. He can’t bear to take any more from you. Even as he thinks so, he can hear your stern voice fighting with him. You're not being selfish for wanting comfort, Leon.

Easier to say than to feel. He's still learning.

The plush blanket has slipped slightly off of you in your sleep. He pulls it back over your waist and tucks it in again. Your socks poke out of the bottom of the cocoon. You always keep your place cold for him, because he runs warm. Part of him wonders if it's just an excuse to be closer to him. He smiles at the thought as he lays a kiss on your head. A small hum rumbles from your throat in your sleep, as if even when unconscious, you can’t help but voice your happiness at the affection.

Leon pulls himself from you and trudges to the bathroom to clean himself up. He doesn't take his time. He ensures the very basics happen. The muck from his body, his soul, spins down the drain as he washes. The scent of your body wash replaces the sweat, the horror. He loses count of the amount of sighs of relief that the hot water pounding at his sore back gives him.

He throws his clothes in the washer. Brushes his teeth. Now three acts of the most minimum care he can take without passing out from exhaustion.

Once he's dressed in sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, he doesn't crawl into bed. The cold sheets are unwelcoming. Crisply made, as if you had yet to touch them since you'd woken this morning. If you’d even slept in them at all. Leon thinks it's a ridiculous idea to curl up in that ghost of you, when you're warm and real in the next room. His already aching back be damned.

He returns to the living room. Your face is still relaxed, deep in sleep. Your cheek squished against a soft pillow, arm shoved underneath and hanging limply off the couch cushion. It's undeniably cute, and for the first time in days he feels a sense of peace. Happiness, even. There's no monsters here. Just you in an old shirt of his, glowing in the light of the TV screen.

He kneels on the floor and places another whisper of a kiss on your forehead, waiting a few seconds to see if you happen to stir. It's barely an attempt to wake you; sleep has its hold on you. He doesn't fight it.

He still longs to be close to you. To replace the cold fingers from abandoned facilities with your warmth. 

The sofa is really only built for the both of you when you're half on top of each other. He refuses to even attempt to wiggle his way in there right now. Maybe if it was a night after a week of him being at home, when he knows you've slept well, he’d do so. When everything is lighthearted, and you'd put on a faux pout when he wakes you from your slumber. And you’d cuddle into him anyway, clearly more comfortable with him squeezed onto the crowded furniture with you.

Leon retrieves the other pillow on the couch from next to your socked feet. He's a little too envious of the one you're currently hugging. For now, its twin will do. He scoots the coffee table further from the couch to make space for his tired body. The cheap laminate is cold, but he's slept on worse. He muses that he'd probably be able to get a full eight hours on a bed of spikes as long as you're next to him.

It's a ridiculous sight, his massive form settling down on the floor next to you like a golden retriever waiting by your side. Meanwhile, you're cozy as ever in the plush cushions above him. 

For Leon, it's more than enough. knowing you're safe and sound.

He takes one last risk, one that almost seems like higher stakes than the hell of work he's just been through. To reach up and rest his palm on top of your hand. It’s well worth the reward. His fingers curl at your wrist to feel your steady pulse. The rhythm slows his own heart to a leisurely pace. He studies the rise and fall of your shoulders, his own syncing alongside it without even trying. Sleep drags his eyelids shut before he knows it, and just like that, Leon Kennedy is domesticated once again.

it wasn't uncommon for leon's days to revolve around getting his dick wet. and this particular mid-afternoon found him parked between your thighs, your legs draped lazily over his broad shoulders.

leon's busy tongue works its magic between your legs, his skilled mouth lavishing your most sacred spots with worship as he devours you whole. lost in a haze of pleasure, you couldn't begin to fathom how many minutes, hours, or even days he's had you spread out like this for him, your world narrowing down to the feel of his scruffy chin grazing your inner thighs and his insatiably curious lips seeking out every inch of your sweetest flesh.

perhaps it's still morning, or could the sun be high overhead casting a warm glow through the windows? time's become irrelevant when he's at work dismantling your resolve, reducing you to nothing more than a trembling mess of sensation begging for release.

you can't even begin to tally up the number of fingers he's got buried inside you, stretching your walls and coaxing out every drop of pleasure. all you know for certain is that it feels impossibly good.

those same large hands knead the globes of your ass, pulling you further open for his eager tongue. his other hand sneaks between your thighs, stroking and teasing over the hypersensitive skin until your back arches sharply off the couch in a silent plea for more.

you sighed and tangled your hands in his dirty blonde hair, urging his face deeper into your heat as he worked his way into you. leon made a mental note, his tongue flicking out to taste you anew: the spot where your thigh crests hit his chin when you're missionary, now, the dip where your knee bends, and the subtle groove that promises your clitoris...these geography lessons kept him occupied as you writhed against his lips and tongue with an impassioned 'ah'.

“fuuuck,” he growls against your soaked cunt, the vibrations almost enough to send you careening over the edge right then and there.

leaning into you further, he dragged his nose up your slit, savoring the musky taste before giving your clit a playful nip. he’s rewarded with a sweet, high-pitched sound that seemed to vibrate straight from your core into his palms pressed firmly against your asscheeks.

he loved the tiny quiver that ran through you each time his tongue or teeth brushed against your sensitive spot, the flush of pink that spread across your pale thighs.

leon hums, the low rumble vibrating against your wet flesh an additional torment you can ill-afford. not that you're trying much, really. your fingers continue to tug at the blonde strands of his hair, urging him deeper.

one fingertip swipes gently against your entrance before delving inside, the delicate invasion sending a shiver up your spine. he curves around your g-spot, relishing the subtle twitch of your inner walls in response. as he withdraws his digit with a lewd slosh, he brought it to his lips, sucking off your essence like a thirsty man rediscovering a favorite colada.

his gaze flicks up to meet yours, seeing how you're struggling to maintain eye contact in result of the overwhelming pleasure crashing through you.

"you like that?" he rasped, voice low and rough from the effort of speaking over the wet, slurping sounds of his ministrations.

the way you tighten around his tongue and the way your back arches told him all he needed to know. and maybe he was a sadist, a twisted little fuck, lapping at your wet slit over and over, denying you that final peak. but seeing the desperate way you clung to his hair, hearing the broken sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips, he couldn't bring himself to hold back, not now that he'd caught a glimpse of the fireworks in your pretty, glassy eyes.

he knows the telltale signs, the little tells that indicate you're teetering on the precipice. and hell if it doesn't make him harder.

but he's far from done with you yet. he gentles his touch, slowing his movements to a teasing pace that keeps you teetering on the brink of another release without quite reaching it. a soothing hum escapes his throat as he drags his thumb up to circle your sensitive clit, the touch so light it might barely register, but the effect is electric.

you're panting hard, gasping out his name like a prayer, a plea, a hymn to the divine sensation he's conjuring within you.

"come on baby, gimme another one," he coaxes, the words muffled by the flesh of your pussy. the words are slurred, almost indistinguishable from the rhythmic groans he's making as he eats you out with single-minded determination.

his own hand slides from your hip to gently part your lips, opening you further in welcome as he delves back in. the muscles in his broad shoulders flex beneath your thighs, the effort of maintaining position between your spread legs clear. but fuck, he's a stubborn one. unwilling to yield, even as the drool that escapes his lower lip drips onto the couch.

fuck, he's a damn masochist, too, because the desperation in your eyes, the way your voice cracks as you beg for release is like a sweet, sweet aphrodisiac to him. his cock throbs, weeping in its confines, eager to join the fray, but no, he holds back.

he's addicted to the view—your sweat-streaked face, flushed and slack, the glassy eyes locked on his, the plush thighs trembling with the effort of staying put.

he doubles down, tongue flattening against your weeping slit as he presses in deep. the squelching noises are so loud in the stillness, his ears echoing with the rhythmic wet blurp-blurp-blurp he's creating. he swirls that long, dexterous muscle around your throbbing clit before plunging back to your tender insides, over and over and over again.

to him, you taste divine, an intoxication of sweat, need and the tangy sharpness of arousal he drinks from greedily. his fingers slide up to press firm and unyielding against the shell of your ear, blocking out the world as he tongue-rapes you with an unrestrained intensity you barely understand but crave so deeply. when he senses your body start to wind down, the thrumming ache receding, he abruptly changes tack.

his fingers play around with your clit, tracing abstract patterns meant to torment and tease. your hips buck reflexively, seeking more even as your body screams for mercy. and fuck, now that he's got that addictive rhythm down, you know you're a goner, fucked six ways from sunday and you'll thank him for it later.

“lee- leon, please—“ your pleas slip out in ragged gasps against the backdrop of his relentless ministrations.

he could play coy, keep driving you to the brink before letting you crest, drawing the sweet, mindless pleasure out even longer. but he so badly wants to see (and feel) your complete surrender to him, his greedy tongue devouring you, his hands bringing you closer and closer.

his balls ache, his cock straining against the zipper, begging for freedom to bury itself deep inside you, to feel your tight, slick heat engulfing him, milking him for all he's worth. but no, not yet, not until you're wrung dry, trembling and sobbing on the edge of oblivion. that's the real prize here, watching you break apart at his mercy, your sweet surrender a reward he craves above all else.

leon's movements become frenzied, his pace a blur of tongue and lips and teeth as he chases that elusive peak, determined to push you over the edge, to hear you scream his name as you come undone on his face.

he's a goddamn addict, and this is his fix, and fuck, it's the best drug in the world.

“come on baby, do it for me…”

he utters against your soaked slit before he curls his tongue into that perfect 'come-hither' formation, seeking out the swollen little bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. one, two, three languid swirls around it, stoking the embers of your arousal until it's a raging inferno capable of incinerating any thought of restraint.

your hips jerk wildly, trying in vain to grind against his relentless tongue or mouth or whatever he's using to torment your oversensitive clit and swollen lips into one glorious, never-ending orgasm.

the pleasure is so overwhelming you barely register the choked-off cry that rips from your throat.

when the aftershocks finally subside, leaving you limp and trembling against the couch, he finally releases you, pulling back to admire his handiwork with a cocky smirk. your thighs still clench weakly, trying to keep him close, but he's not about to complain.

you're half dazed and delirious, and leon’s breathy whispers barely penetrate the haze of lust clouding your mind.

“just one more baby, please?”