Tash

Jeonghan's jaw becomes rigid, and his eyes show a vicious glint.

"Bullshit? Oh, so now I'm bullshitting now too, huh? That's rich coming from you, the one who's entertaining her ex-boyfriend when I'm busting my ass to keep us afloat."

Jeonghan shakes his head in disappointment, his voice dripping with fury. "Did you even think for one damn second how I would feel seeing another man in my house, sitting next to my wife, while I'm out there working my goddamn ass off for your ass? Do you even give a damn?!"

"You are blowing this out of proportion. He came here only to talk about his grandma!"

Jeonghan scoffs, disbelief twisting across his features. He can't believe that you're downplaying this and defending your ex-boyfriend.

"Blowing this out of proportion? You think I'm overreacting?! You're my wife, and another man was here, next to you, in this damn house. And you expect me to what, just shrug it off and say, 'Oh, it's all good, honey, he just came over to talk about his grandma.'?"

Jeonghan’s fists clench so hard his tendons stand out, the strain visible all the way up his forearms as he battles to stay composed.

You let out a weary exhale.

The sound hits him like a slap. His eyes widen, confusion slicing through the fury. Was that a sigh of annoyance? Of giving up? His anger doesn’t fade—it morphs, simmering alongside a new, unwelcome ache.

"Oh, now you sigh?" His voice slices with razor-sharpness. "You expect me to just... accept this? No explanation. No apology. Just a damn sigh like I’m the unreasonable one here."

Silence envelopes the room; he shatters it with a rueful mutter; "... did I really marry someone who can’t even understand why seeing another man with my wife would piss me off?"

Jeonghan freezes when you don’t respond. His anger wavers, replaced by something raw—hurt? Frustration? He steps closer, his voice grating with each syllable.

"You’re just... standing there?" His jaw tightens again. "No words for me at all? Not even ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I won’t do it again’—nothing?"

He exhales sharply through his nose before adding in a rout tone. "Fine. If that’s how you want this to go."

"I'm tired of fighting with you," you admit with drooping shoulders.

Jeonghan's breath hitches. For a second, he looks like you just slapped him again—his anger crumbling into something wounded.

"Tired?" His voice cracks slightly before he steels it again. "You’re tired? You think this is easy for me either? Coming home to find another man in my house, watching my wife defend him over and over—"

He cuts himself off abruptly, running a hand through his strands with an incredulous laugh.

"Yeah. Maybe we should stop fighting." His word concave with a bitter poison to each syllable.

Jeonghan’s shoulders square up with another wave of silence flowing between them. His fists clench, knuckles sharp, before he forces his fingers to uncurl. His lips pry open; his words crawl out low—too calm, the type of calm that feels like standing on thin ice.

"So that’s it? No more words for me? Not even a ‘sorry,’ not even—"

He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose.

He swiftly rotates on his heel and reaches for the door. "Fine. If I’m so damn unreasonable… maybe I should just sleep at the office tonight." His words laces with venom, blanketing the pure hurt beneath them.

Jeonghan grabs his coat from the rack next to the door and slides it on, every motion precisely controlled—waiting for your protest, but it never comes. He looks at you over his shoulder one last time, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes look like he's holding back a lot of emotions. Too many.

"Have a good night," he mutters before opening the door and walking out—the door shutting behind him with a cold finality.

As the hours crawl by, Jeonghan sits in his office chair, staring blankly at the pile of documents on his desk. His mind is still racing over the argument that took place earlier with you. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the scene replaying—another man so close to his wife. His jaw clenches, muscles twitching from how badly he's gritting his teeth. But underneath it all, beneath all the fury and the pain? He just wants you. All of you. Every damn part of you.

"How long are you going to sulk in your office?" You ask, trudging into his office with careful steps.

The sound of your voice makes Jeonghan’s head snap up. His expression is a mix of exhaustion and lingering irritation, but there’s something else—relief? He scoffs, running a hand through his strands, which are already sticking up in every direction.

"Sulking? Oh no, sweetheart," he says with biting sarcasm, "I was just working my ass off to keep us in this ridiculously expensive penthouse while you were at home… what was it again? Talking about grandmas?" His tone drips venom and condescending derision, but the longing for your presence is apparent in his eyes.

"Jeonghan," you breathe out his name with a fragile caress.

Jeonghan stiffens at the way you utter his name—soft and worn out. His wrath falters for a moment. He exhales sharply through his nose before springing up from his chair.

"What?" he snaps, but there's no vehemence left in it—just exhaustion. "You don’t get to call me like that after everything." He steps closer, jaw taut as he glares down at you. "Why are you even here? Did Joshua bore you or something?"

"I'm here for you," you confess softly.

Jeonghan stills. His gaze flicks over you, trying to gauge the sincerity in your words, but everything in his expression swims with vulnerability—he swallows thickly.

"Bullshit." His voice cracks slightly. "You’re just... what? Here because you’re bored? Because you can't sleep? Don't give me that crap."

His eyes dart around the room, fists clench at his sides, battling with himself to trust you. To believe you. And to admit how badly he missed you.

"Look," you let out a fatigued exhale, "I'm sorry."

Jeonghan's expression flickers with a whirlpool of pain, disbelief, and hope. Your apologize shreds his heart in pieces. He takes two long strides towards you, engulfing the remaining inch of space between you both, stopping so close you can feel his warm breath against your skin—and the scent of his cologne wraps around you: deep cedar-wood mingled with hints of smoky amber, touched by a whisper of spicy cardamom. It’s warm, sharp, and distinctively him, making your pulse stutter.

He cups your face in his large hands, his touch a gentle contrast to the tremble in his fingers. "You.... You're sorry?" He mutters, barely above a whisper, searching your eyes for sincerity.

"I am—now stop being so jealous. I never look back," you stammer.

Jeonghan’s grip on your face contracts briefly—afraid you’ll distort into ashes if he lets go. His eyes burn into yours, searching for any hint of deception.

"Never look back?" He repeats in a rough whisper, voice cracking. "Then why the hell was Joshua in my house? Why did you defend him when I—" He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose before leaning down, resting his forehead against yours.

"You don’t get to say shit like that and then act surprised when I lose my damn mind."

"Jeonghan, I knew his grandma before I even knew him.... she let me stay and took care of me when I had nowhere to go. I can't abandon her now that she needs me."

Jeonghan closes his eyes at your admission, his heart hammering. The way you talk about Joshua's grandmother—the way you talk about kindness, loyalty, and duty... It just makes it harder for Jeonghan to stay mad. He exhales through his nose once more, his fingers tracing your jaw. The anger is still there, lingering as a bitter undercurrent—but it's being overshadowed by something else. Something vulnerable.

"Damn it," he mutters through clenched teeth. "You're... You're making this difficult."

Jeonghan's breath hitches when you slam against him in a hug. He stiffens for a moment—loading to believe its authenticity. Then his arms wrap around you so tight it almost hurts, one hand tangling in your hair while the other presses firmly against your lower back.

"You're killing me," he mutters into your hair, his words thick with emotion. "First Joshua... then Yejin... now this?" He pulls back just enough to glare at you—but there’s no vehemence left in it. Just exhaustion and longing.

"Just promise me something." Jeonghan's grip grows taut, his expression hardening as he searches your eyes once more.

"Next time," he drawls, "you call me. You don’t hide shit from me." His thumb brushes over your cheekbone—gentle but firm. "I don’t care if it’s just ‘talking about grandmas.’ I show up too. Or do I need to start scheduling weekly visits with my own ex?"

The threat is hollow—everyone knows Jeonghan would rather burn his eyes than let another woman near him now—but the point stands: He wants all of you. Even when it hurts.

"Tch, trying to one-up as always," you complain, but there's no bite behind your words.

Jeonghan’s lips twitch into a smirk at your complaint. He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours again—this time with deliberate smugness.

"One-up? Baby," he murmurs, "I don’t try to one-up you. I just always win."

He huffs out an almost-laugh at your deadpan look, his arms tightening around you possessively.

"But fine. No more Yejin visits if there's no more Joshua visits in our house." The deliverance of compromise is almost a threat—but the way his thumb strokes your hip betrays how badly he wants this fight over.

"Stop with your stupid comparisons. He has a girlfriend," you inform him gruffly.

Jeonghan’s smirk drops instantly. His grip suffocates your middle—not painfully, but enough to highlight his frustration.

"Oh, now he has a girlfriend?" He repeats with sharp disbelief, "Funny how that detail came up only after I brought him up." His jaw clenches as he leans in closer. "You think I’m an idiot? That just because some guy claims to be taken now, it magically makes me feel better?"

A cynical laugh escapes him. "Tell me something—if our positions were flipped, and another woman was in my house while you were at work... would it matter if she had a boyfriend too?"

"I won't mind it," you bite out. "I'm confident in our relationship. You're the only one who gets jealous so easily." The words come out cleaner than they feel—because deep down, you would mind, but you refuse to hand him that satisfaction.

Jeonghan scoffs at your lousy defense, frustration and jealousy flaring up inside him all over again.

"Confidence," he repeats with bitter sarcasm, his eyes narrowing. "You say that like I have no reason to be jealous. You say that as if every man you encounter wouldn’t kill to be with you. Don't act like I'm the only one who wants you, like you're not the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the damn room. Of course, I'm jealous. It's called being human."

"Alright, alright; we get it that I'm a catch," you boast smugly.

Jeonghan's jaw ticks again at your nonchalant response. You're definitely trying to rail him up on purpose. His possessiveness leaks through his tight grip.

"Damn right you are. You’re more than just a catch; you're mine. Mine to hold, mine to protect—and mine to be jealous over." He growls out the word as if trying to make a point with it.

"Jeonghannnn~ can we stop fighting?"

Jeonghan's breath hitches at the way you whine his name. He softens instantly—anger melting into something warmer, and more tender. His grip loosens as he pulls back just enough to inspect your face.

"Tch," he clicks his tongue but leans down to press a rough kiss to your temple. "Fine. But only because you asked so damn sweetly."

His arms wrap around you again—this time with worn out solace. "Just don't call Joshua over again without me knowing first."

"Fine," you cave in.

Jeonghan exhales quietly as the tension in his body finally deflates. He lets his eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of you in his arms—warm, familiar, and safe. He buries his face in your hair, mumbling against your ear.

"You make me feel so goddamn crazy, you know that?" His words roll out in a mixture of weary and affection, as if he just won a frazzling battle.

"You are crazy."

Jeonghan huffs out a sharp, strained laugh as he lifts his head to level a halfhearted glare at you again.

"And whose fault is that, hmm?" His voice stirs with teasing and fatigue. It's difficult to tell if he's still annoyed, but the fact that you're still here, in his arms, helps. A lot.

"Your own," you stick your tongue out.

Jeonghan's eyes narrow at your playful gesture. He reaches out, catching your tongue between his thumb and forefinger before pinching it lightly with a wolfish smirk.

"Be careful, sweetheart," he scolds haughtily. "Teasing someone with jealousy issues? Not your smartest move." His other hand pulls you flush against him.

"Ouch!"

Jeonghan's smirk curves up more at your reaction. His grip on your tongue remains firm as he leans in, eyes dancing with menace.

"Tch, what's the matter? Can’t handle a little pinch?" The taunt follows a rough chuckle, a hint of challenge in his voice. His other hand purchases onto your hip, holding you even closer against him. A reminder of the consequences of ticking him off.

"Not'fun'y," you slur through your tongue being held hostage.

Jeonghan's lips twitch into a lopsided smirk at your retort. He can never take you seriously like this, not when you look so adorable and cute standing before him. He releases your tongue but remains close in your vicinity, breathing into your skin as he utters in a gruff whisper.

"Oh? Did that hurt, baby?" His thumb brushes over your lip, calloused skin against his smooth touch. It's light, but deliberate—chaffing. "Maybe I should kiss it better then."

"Always takin' advantage of me," you pout.

Jeonghan's smirk widens at your muttered words. The way you pout and whine only makes it harder for him to resist you. His thumb brushes your lip again, tracing the soft curves before he leans in even closer. His lips almost brush yours as he murmurs.

"Not takin' advantage. Taking what's mine."

He engulfs the remaining distance by capturing your mouth in a searing kiss—rough, possessive, and filled with pent-up desire. He pours all of his frustration and longing into it, trying to make you understand how much he had been yearning for you.

Jeonghan pulls you closer as he deepens the kiss; his free hand slides under the hem of your shirt, calloused palm tracing your skin. He groans into your mouth; the sound vibrates gruffly with need. It's apparent that he's been craving this, desperate to be close to you—physically, emotionally, and in any way possible. His fingers dig into your hip, bracing you firmly in place as his lips slant against yours, tongue seeking entry into your mouth in a silent plea for more.

Your stomach slouches with a wave of lust.

The kiss grows more erotic, more desperate, as Jeonghan lets his hands wander, mapping out every inch of you wherever he can reach. His tongue tangles with yours while his hands trace the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and the slope of your neck. It's as if he's starving for your taste, for your scent, and for your body against his. He makes a distinct sound—something halfway between a growl and a moan—before he breaks the kiss, panting against your swollen lips with a string of saliva that glints between you both.

"You drive me damn crazy, you know that?"

"Then go crazy," you puff out.

Jeonghan's eyes hood at your risqué challenge. Your breathless words send a jolt right through his body, igniting a raunchy flare in his abdomen. The way you look—flushed, panting, and so damn sweet—makes it easy for him to obey that command. He tightens his grip on you, lifting you up and carrying you to the nearest surface—the edge of his desk—before pressing himself between your legs.

"Careful what you wish for, sweetheart. You might not like the outcome."

"Oh, I very much might," you give a smug smirk.

Jeonghan's eyes flash with a mix of irritation and amusement at your cocky retort. He pins you against the desk, pressing his body flush against yours as he leans in close to murmur in your ear.

"Cocky little minx." His hands purchase your hips, gripping them with an oppressive force. The way you look beneath him—cocky and brazen—only fuels his desire more.

And you still have the nerve to smirk at him like this.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, princess."

"C'mon, Jeonghan. It's not our first time," you point out, rolling your eyes.

Jeonghan scoffs, his grip squeezes just a fraction—just enough for you to acknowledge it. His expression twists with irritation and being awfully turned on.

"Not our first time?" he repeats with mock offense. "No, sweetheart—our first time was about passion." He leans in more until his lips ghost over yours. "This? This is me proving a damn point."

Without warning, he nips at your bottom lip before pulling back slightly to watch your reaction—his seductive eyes daring you to challenge him again.

"That you get jealous easily?" You utter mirthfully, arching an eyebrow.

Jeonghan's jaw ticks at your taunt. He leans in more, his voice edged with a coarse grumble.

"Easily? No." His fingers dig into the curve of your hips. "Just thoroughly. And right now?" He brushes his lips against yours—close enough but not quite granting you a kiss—before murmuring, "I'm showing you exactly how thorough I can be when someone tests me."

The threat laces with a looming promise as he claims your mouth in a searing kiss once more that evaporates any remaining chance for argument.

The kiss begins tantalizing and deliberate, Jeonghan taking his sweet time to coax your lips open with his own. He bites and nips at them, making sure your attention remains on him before he deepens the kiss, tongue sweeping into your mouth in a possessive claim.

His body flushes against yours, pinning you in place as his hands continue their expedition. They trail up your sides, your hips, the soft skin of your waist—as if he's trying to commit every inch of you to memory. It's rough, greedy, and filled with heat and need.

When Jeonghan breaks the kiss, he doesn't go far—instead; he travels his attention to your neck, lips blazing a trail of sizzling, and rough kisses down its tender flesh. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, leaving faint marks in their wake while his hands slip under your shirt, ravening and demanding as they slide up your stomach.

His voice vibrates with a gnarl against the curve of your collarbone. "Still got something smart to say, princess?"

"Fuck," you let out a melting gasp.

Jeonghan smirks at the way you gasp, his lips curving wickedly against your skin. He likes you like this—breathless, flustered—and he has no intention of holding back. He nips at your collarbone once more, proceeding by soothing the sting with a burning kiss before lifting his head to look at you through a hooded gaze.

"Looks like I finally got you speechless," he gloats raunchily, his fingers still trailing over the bare skin of your stomach. "About damn time."

His hands travel upward, bunching up your shirt around your shoulders. His eyes rake over the newly revealed skin, drinking in the sight with a look of lustful appreciation. The contrast between your soft body and his calloused palms just fuels the fire blazing in his abdomen more.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to shut that damn mouth of yours, princess," he mutters, his breath warm against your skin as he presses a burning kiss beneath your jaw, his teeth scraping against your skin.

You let out a pinched gasp that warps into a moan.

The sound of that gasp goes straight to Jeonghan's head, his grip on you tightening just a fraction as he nips at the lush skin of your jaw. His lips trail downward in a rough line towards your pulse point.

"You sound so damn pretty when you make those noises, sweetheart," he growls against your skin, "like you're made for me. Mine. Not another damn man's."

He punctuates his covetous words with a firm bite at your neck, leaving a small mark in its wake before continuing his journey down. His lips and teeth map out every inch of your skin within his reach, leaving a trail of marks behind like he's marking you as his own. The edge to everything he does just makes it apparent how much he's aching for you—how much he yearns the taste of you on his tongue.

"Don't you ever let another man get his hands or mouth on this goddamn body again," he snarls against your skin.

"Yours," you breathe.

Jeonghan lets out another gnar at your breathy response, as if the word alone was enough to soothe the smoldering jealousy in his chest. His lips race over your skin, pressing hot, rough kisses against your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—everywhere he can reach.

"Damn right," he mutters in agreement, his voice scratchy. "Mine. All mine. Say it again."

"Yours, yours, yours," you sing out your anthem, your brain turning mushy with need for much more that only he can offer.

Jeonghan’s breath hitches at your desperate chant, his grip clasps firmly, feeling the way your body quavers beneath him. The sound of you saying those words over and over—like a damn plea—just makes something primal in him snap.

"Fuck," he groans before capturing your lips again in another searing kiss, this one deeper and ravenous than before. His hands slide down to grip the backs of your thighs, pushing you back further onto his desk as he presses himself flush against you. "Say it one more time."

"I'm only yours," you oblige.

The moment the words escape your lips, Jeonghan's restraint evaporates. His kisses turn more frantic, more desperate, his body pressing you back against the desk as he claims your mouth with an intensity that borders on feverish. His hands roam your body with urgent hunger, as if he's trying to commit every curve, every dip, and every inch of you into his memory with each additional detail, every research.

"You're mine. Mine, mine," he murmurs against your skin, his words bouncing rocky. "My damn princess, my goddamn woman. No one else's."

Jeonghan’s entire body strains at your breathy moan, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he pulls back to glare down at you—eyes slutty with a mix of lust and something menacingly close to obsession.

"Louder," he demands in a coarse whisper, "Let the whole damn building know who you belong to." His teeth graze over your neck again before adding a taunt, "Unless you're too scared they'll hear?"

"I'm not—fuck—Jeonghan, please!"

Jeonghan's breath hitches at the desperate edge in your voice. The way you squirm against him, the way you say his name like a delicious plea—just enough to make his mind go feral.

"Please what, princess?" he rasps, his teeth scraping against the curve of your throat. His hands slide up your thighs towards underneath your clothes, fingers digging into your soft flesh with an oppressive force. "Use your words."

"Please take me," you plea pathetically.

The moment the words escape your mouth, Jeonghan's self-control snaps. The last remnants of sanity and restraint fly out the window, and he's reduced to nothing but raw desire and the need to claim you as his and his alone. His eyes glint with more lust, his hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, and he lets out a slutty confession, "That's all you had to say, sweetheart."

He claims your lips in another searing kiss filled with all teeth and tongue, his body pressing you even more firmly against the desk. His left hand trails up to hook under the back of your thigh as his other fingers begin fiddling with your blouse's buttons.

"Wrap your legs around me," he mutters against your mouth, his voice fused with need. "I'm about to remind you exactly who you belong to."

Your legs obey before you can even ponder over it, enveloping snug around his waist and pulling him down closer. Jeonghan grumbles against your lips as he feels you lock around him—the way you cling to him like you're starving for his touch just fuels him more.

"Good girl," he whispers, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your jaw. "Now hold on tight, princess. You're in for one hell of a ride."

You let out a muffled moan against his mouth.

His hands are quick to discard your clothing, sending them flying across his office. Your face burns, sitting nude and all worked up on his desk only for his eyes to please.

Jeonghan pulls back just far enough to look at you spread out on his desk—all flushed, panting, naked, and completely at his mercy. The sight makes his head spin, his breath catching in his chest at the sheer perfection of a masterpiece that you are. For a moment, all he can do is stare—drinking in the sight of you as if he can't believe you're really his.

"You're gorgeous," he whispers hoarsely, "so damn beautiful like this."

Your blush darkens, feeling too exposed to his gaze.

Jeonghan's eyes hood at the sight of your blush deepening, his digits flexing where they rest on your hips. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours as he murmurs, "Don't even think about covering yourself up now."

His hands trail upward slowly—deliberately—to trace the curve of your waist before settling under your arms to lift you slightly off the desk. "You wanted this," he reminds you with a rough whisper, "Now let me see every damn inch of what's mine."

Jeonghan's breath hitches as he watches your fingers sneakily attempt to skim down over your own body in a vacuous attempt to get off as you realize he is very much intentionally dragging this out—his own covetous hunger flares at the sight. His hands catch you mid-motion, pinning them to the desk with a coarse grip.

"Oh, no you don't," he snarls, leaning in until his lips breathe against yours again. "I said I would see to it. Not you."

His free hand trails down between you both at a deliberate, lethargic pace—teasing and maddening all at once before brushing a feather touch, a fraction of what you need most.

Your back arches at his touch. You chew your bottom lip—you won't give him satisfaction if he won't give you too.

The sight of you arching against his palm is just about the sexiest thing Jeonghan's ever witnessed. It makes his breath catch, his gaze lustering at your lousy attempt to restrain yourself from handing him the satisfaction of knowing you crave his touch the most. He knows he's playing a feverous game with you right now—but damn he loves it every time you challenge him like this.

"Damn tease," he grunts against your mouth, his digits digging at your hips to keep you pressed against the desk. "You really gonna deny yourself like that just to prove a point?"

"You're dragging this out on purpose," you sulk as your lips fold downward, looking all flushed up. Your desperation is leaking through your words.

Jeonghan lets out an incredulous laugh at your pout—his thumb brushing over the crease between your brows as he studies you with menacing amusement.

"Of course I am," he mutters before nipping at the expense of your jaw. "You think I don’t know what that pretty little face means? What those needy little noises are for?"

His fingers trail down again—agonizingly slow—just to drink in your squirming form beneath him. "I'm gonna make sure every second of this burns into that stubborn brain of yours."

"Is this some sort of your stupid revenge?" You frown.

Of course, Jeonghan wasn't just going to get past the matter of your ex just like that. He's a man who always sets his score straight.

Foolish you—being all strung up by his touch and putty in his hands just to be tortured tantalizingly to feed his grudge.

Jeonghan's smirk turns predatory at your accusation, his fingers stilling where they're teasing you—just to watch the way your breath hitches in exasperation.

"Revenge?" he repeats with mock innocence. "Nah, princess. This is just me making sure my wife never forgets whose ring she wears." His thumb presses down hard against that sweet spot between your thighs—just for a second—before quickly pulling away again.

"You let Joshua in here like it was nothing," he murmurs bristly. "So, now I get to see how long it takes before you start begging me properly."

"Jeonghan, please!"

Jeonghan's entire body steels at the sound of your choked plea, his eyes flashing with something viciously close to madness. The way you utter—so broken, so desperate—is exactly what he craved. He leans in until his lips ghost against yours again, his words dripping into a growl.

"Begging already? And here I thought my stubborn little wife had more self-control." His fingers brush against the bundle of your nerves—but only just enough to provoke, "c'mon, then. Say it louder for me."

Your face burns; you know you're playing right into his hands, but your brain is all fogged up with all that bottled up desire, you couldn't care less about being toyed.

Jeonghan's eyes glint with lust as he watches the prideful part of you crack bit by bit, the stubborn fighter replaced by a pleading mess beneath him. It's exactly what he's been waiting for, his smug demeanor growing even more condescending as he whispers, "There we go, that's my girl. You look perfect like that, all begging and desperate for me."

His digits press a fraction harder against that pearl, giving you just enough to let the edge off by a notch. "Beg me again, sweetheart. Let me hear how badly you need it," he coos.

"Crazy a lot," you admit, not even sure if you're making sense anymore.

Jeonghan smirks foxily at your frustrated admission, his fingers straining just enough to become an obstacle in your way from getting what you want.

"Tch. So demanding," he mutters before finally—finally—giving in and slipping a finger inside of you with one rough thrust. "There. Happy now?" His voice is slutty, laced with amusement as he studies the way your body arches against him instantly.

"Or do I need to make sure my wife remembers her place even harder?"

Your back curves, making you let out a string of colorful profanities.

You feel relieved at getting touched at last, but one finger is far from enough to quench your thirst.

You want him—need him inside you.

The way you arch and curse in desperation for more makes Jeonghan's heart flutter frantically in his chest. He wants nothing more than to give in to that itching need burning through him—but it's just too damn entertaining testing your restraint. Even if it's driving him right to the edge of his own.

"Look at you—so damn needy, and I've only used one finger." He taunts, his words dripping with smug mischief. "Is that all it takes to drive my stubborn little wife this wild? Just a little hint of what I can do to you?"

"You're mean," you complain, your words quivering. Tears sting your eyes from humiliation.

Jeonghan softens a bit at the sight of your tears, his thumb coming up to wipe them away with a gentleness that betrays the raunchy desire in his eyes.

"No tears. I just want you to be good to me, sweetheart. Is that so damn hard?" He coos with a gruff, his finger resuming the slow torture for a moment before pulling away once more. "Beg me properly, princess. Tell me you can be a good girl."

"You already made me beg plenty of times," you protest, sniffing adorably, which makes Jeonghan want to laugh at your cuteness, but it also sends a jolt down his nether region.

Jeonghan's breath stutters at the adorable pout on your face, his restraint wavering as more of your needier side leaks out. He shifts between your legs and utters, "maybe I like the sound of it too much." He leans in to scrape his teeth over your neck. "And don't act like you don't like giving me what I want."

"You're not giving me what I want," you whine.

Jeonghan's smirk turns wolfish at your complaint, his free hand coming up to clip your chin firmly—forcing you to look directly into those lustrous eyes of his.

"Not giving you what you want?" He repeats with mock disbelief, "Sweetheart, I've been edging my damn wife for ten minutes straight just so she'd finally admit how badly she needs me." His thumb brushes over your bottom lip assertively before he leans in—close enough that the heat between you both radiates. "Tell me exactly what it is that I'm not doing. And maybe—just maybe—I'll consider fixing it."

"You're not fucking me," you frown. "Are you really going to leave me all high and dry?"

Jeonghan's eyes flare at your blunt demand, his grip on your hips clutching as he pulls you flush against him—letting you feel just how hard he is for you too.

"High and dry?" he repeats with a grumble. "Baby, if I wanted to leave my wife like that, she wouldn’t be spread out on my desk looking this damn tempting."

A beat passes before he finally caves in—his lips crashing into yours as his hands slide under the back of your thighs and lift without breaking a sweat. "Hold tight. You're about to find out exactly what happens when I stop playing nice."

Without breaking the kiss, he sweeps his arm across the desk to clear away any remaining papers or objects. He sits you back down on the cool wood surface, his large hands clasping your thighs and spreading them wide. You're dripping enough to slide in without more preparation.

"Look at you," he groans against your mouth, "all needy and demanding in my office." His hands trace your hips, pulling you to the edge of the desk. "My wife wants to be fucked properly instead of being teased?"

"Yes, yes," you plea against his lips.

A lazy half-smile spreads across his face as he unbuckles his belt, undoes his pants, and frees his length. He rubs the head against your core, teasing you with just the tip. "Like this?" He dips in briefly before pulling back out. "Or maybe like this?"

This time, he pushes in a bit deeper, observing your open-mouthed face. He pulls back out slowly, his thickness stretching you open before sliding back in a little more. He repeats the routine several times, driving you wild with need as he fucks you at a torturously slow pace on the desk.

"Jeonghan please. I can't take it anymore," you beg as tears prick your eyes once more, tired of being edged for so long. You just want to get fucked thoroughly and properly.

His eyes flash with triumph at your desperate plea, and he finally stops teasing. With one powerful thrust, he buries himself fully inside you, his hands clasping your thighs tightly as he starts to pound into you relentlessly, making the desk shake violently with each harsh thrust. "Like this? Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes, yes," your head rolls back from the sheer pleasure of finally getting it.

Jeonghan locks his arms around your waist, leaning down to bite your neck, his hips moving like a machine as he hits that sugary spot over and over again. "My wife wants to be fucked hard and fast? She wants her husband to give it to her rough and dirty?"

He pulls back just enough to grab your legs, yanking them over his shoulders as he deepens his angle to deliver more precise thrusts. His hips drill into you mercilessly, the room filling with the sounds of slapping skin, your desperate moans and the aroma of sex. "Say it. Tell me exactly how you want it."

"Hard and fast," you pant as your request comes out scratchy.

Jeonghan's eyes glint with lust and possession as he picks up the pace steadily, his body slamming into yours with such vicious force that it makes the desk screech across the floor. He leans down, his lips ghosting against your ear as he whispers, "Hard and fast like my dirty little wife?"

"Just like you," you moan, your nails digging into his back through his cotton shirt.

A growl escapes his throat at your words, making him lose all his control. He fucks you like a man possessed, his body moving with brutal intensity as he gives you exactly what you asked for—hard, fast, and dirty. "Take it," he grits out.

Jeonghan pulls out suddenly, flipping you down onto the desk, pressing your face against the cool wood. He pulls your hair back roughly as he slams back into you from behind, his hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans. "Shh," he whispers harshly against your ear.

He begins to pound into you from behind, his hand still covering your mouth as he fucks you thoroughly, just like how you wanted it. The new angle makes stars dance behind your eyes, and all you can do is nothing but whimper against his hand as he uses you coarsely for his own pleasure.

His hips snap forward fiercely, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He's completely lost in the moment, his hand tightening in your hair as he fucks you like a wild animal. The desk shakes violently beneath you, papers scattering everywhere as he takes you brutally from behind.

He abruptly frees his hand from your mouth, wrapping it around your throat as he leans over your back. His teeth dig into your shoulder, marking you as he pistons his hips forward in short, brutal thrusts. "Come on my cock," he demands hoarsely, his digits squeezing your throat gently.

His words send you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your inner walls clamp down hard around him as you scream his name, your entire body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his hips stuttering against yours as he buries himself deep and fills you with his hot release. "Fuck yes."

He collapses on top of you, his heavy breathing hot against your sweat-soaked neck. His still-hard cock remains buried inside you as he feebly removes his hand from your throat, running his fingers soothingly along your jaw instead. "Good girl."

Jeonghan slowly pulls out of you, his semen leaking down your thighs as he helps you sit up. He plants a tender kiss on your forehead before grabbing some tissues to clean you up gently. Once done, he pulls up his pants and then helps you down from the desk onto shaky legs. "Are you okay?"

You nod, trying to catch your breath.

He smiles softly at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "You wanted it hard and fast, and I gave it to you exactly how you asked." Jeonghan says, checking your neck gently where he bit down hard during your orgasm.

Your pouting face makes him chuckle, knowing full well that he had deliberately edged you multiple times to draw out your pleasure before he gave you what you craved. "That was the point, my sweet wife. I wanted you soaking wet and begging for my release when you finally came," he leans down to whisper slutty against your ear.

You roll your eyes, making him laugh.

Once he makes sure both of you are clean, he straightens up, buttoning up his shirt properly. Jeonghan reaches out to smooth down your hair and helps you dress, brush away the wrinkles of your clothing, and making sure you look presentable again. "There we go."

"Stop burrowing your head in the office, and sulking your jealous ass off. Come home now," you complain with a pout after a beat of silence.

Jeonghan softens at your pouting face and at your attempt to get him to come home instead of sulking in his office. He steps closer to you, running his fingers soothingly along your jaw. "I'm coming home now." His lips plant a gentle kiss to your lips.

He follows you out of the office, locking up and turning off the lights, and walks silently by your side, occasionally reaching out to gently touch your waist or shoulder as you both make your way home together hand in hand.

Author's Note:

Jeonghan to Joshua the moment he stepped inside:

Y'all need this cleansing:

If you have come this far then...

ORANTE PARTIES ARE PERHAPS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINCESS.

The castle's grand ballroom has been transformed into a glittering display of excess, the crystal chandeliers reflecting torchlight and dappled shadows across polished marble floors, the heavy velvet drapery covering the walls in hues of crimson and midnight blue - all of it tailored to make the inside of the room feel like something from another world.

You hate every inch of it. You hate the weight of your gown and its scratchy material, you hate how you can feel the bone stitching of the corset digging into your ribs, you hate the brittle laughter and the clink of crystal goblets, the venomous whispers behind delicate gossamer fans. Most of all, you hate the way every eye in the room seems to track your every movement, measuring you, judging you, waiting for the perfect princess to make a single mistake so they can talk about it with practiced smiles.

A bard stands at the center of the hall, his fingers dancing over the strings of a lute as he sings a soulful ballad of lovers lost in the heat of one another, of stolen touches and a kind of passion you'll never understand. You wonder what it might be like to experience something like that, to be touched by someone who wants you so badly they risk everything, to have hands on your skin that aren't bound by protocol and propriety. To do something dangerous and sinful, to have someone hold you the way those lovers in the song held each other, with urgency and desire instead of duty.

You'll never be that, of course. You are forever bound to this kingdom where the entire world is your stage, where you must remain untouched and controlled, and you're constantly expected to perform.

You're not the only one performing tonight, of course. You're halfway through a painfully boring conversation with the Lord of Coin regarding taxes when a burst of laughter cuts through the murmur of the party. Your gaze drifts against your will toward the small crowd forming near the arched windows, and though you can't see the man at the center of their attention, you know he's there.

The court jester's voice drifts toward you, mischief wrapped in pretty velvet clothes and a silly hat. You'd seen him earlier tonight, dressed in his best midnight blue velvet doublet and matching pants, little crystals stitchy to the fabric to make it look like he's lost in a midnight sky. His eyes had been filled with particularly vicious mischief when they'd landed on you, but your father had whisked you away to greet the Lady of Harvest before the fiend could slink your way.

Jeonghan is a fiend. You are perhaps the only person at court who thinks behind the practiced smiles, card tricks and juggling that there's something far more dangerous, but you've never been able to convince anyone of it. And why should anyone agree with you? Jeonghan is favored among the court for his wit, rhymes and tricks, thrilling the men and charming the women as he slides through each party like smoke, taking the shape of whatever his audience desires most.

A fresh wave of laughter erupts from his audience, brighter and more genuine than anything else you’ve heard tonight. It makes your skin itch and you turn away from the crowd, focusing back on the conversation at hand and determined not to let Jeonghan ruin your night like he does at most parties, determined to vex you and make you feel affronted and flushed and-

No. 

You shove him from your mind as the conversation drags on while you sip spiced wine from your glass. As the Lord of Coin talks, you wonder what it would be like to leave this room. To go get somewhere lost in the city below. To fall into the bed of someone who would touch you like the lovers in the bard’s song, someone who smells like sandalwood and smoke and whose smile is sharp and familiar.

For now, you stay put and keep your eyes on the lord in front of you, ignoring the growing laughter coming from Jeonghan's corner. You hate that he enthralls them so - hate that even though you’re suspicious of him, he charms you in his own way, worming into your thoughts on lonely days, leading your mind astray to wonder how it is he does those tricks of his.

Your father appears suddenly, the Lord of Coin fumbling over whatever he was saying about inflation as the king puts a hand on your shoulder, grinning jovially. "Lord Hastings, forgive me, but I'm here to steal my daughter and spoil her with the fun part of the night!"

"Of course, Your Majesty!" Lord Hasting bows. "Thank you for the conversation, Your Highness."

"The gratitude is all mine, Lord Hastings," you nod, letting your father spin you away as dread knots in your stomach.

The crowd near the arched windows opens up as you approach, the members of the court bowing as you and your father approach the entertainment. Torchlight flickers on their faces, showing how flushed with delight they are as they watch the spectacle in front of them. Jeonghan stands in the middle of the, his midnight doublet fitting him perfectly as the crystals sparkle with his every movement.

Though the jester hat might look silly on anyone else, Jeonghan makes it look fashionable. His long, dark hair frames his angelic face, all sharp cheekbones and carefully sloped nose. His dark eyes find yours immediately, flashing as he grins. Your heart skips a little but you remain uneffected, staring at him as he juggles three daggers for the crowd as they ooo and ahhh at him.

You watch as the blades flash in the torchlight, each one caught cleanly while people gasp and clap. A lady nearby giggles behind her fan just as Jeonghan makes the daggers disappear into his sleeves with a quick motion. The crowd claps as he grins and bows politely, his dark eyes finding you again.

Irritation simmers, your gaze locking onto his and holding it. While everyone seems impressed, your instincts scream danger, wolf in fool’s clothing. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he steps toward you, the smell of his sandalwood and smoke clinging to him.

"Your Highness," he greets smoothly. "You look bored. Let me change that."

You say nothing but your father claps, his laughter booming as Jeonghan starts his performance. Cards fly from his hands in quick patterns and your attention is drawn upward as they flit through the air. He dances away from you and leans toward Lord Jeon, plucking a card from behind his ear before flicking his hand and turning it into a coin. The crowd laughs and claps as you stand there stiffly, watching as he charms his way through the nobles until he comes back toward you.

Jeonghan stops in front of you and holds out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. The crystals on his double clink together as you stare at him, your stomach twisting when he looks up at you through his dark, silky lashes. To anyone else, the look might be reverent, but you see it for what it is - hunger. 

"For the best trick tonight, I need a volunteer," he murmurs. The crowd claps excitedly and when you glance at your father, the king urges you forward, excited. “Your Highness, would you do me the honor?”

Swallowing thickly, you place your hand in Jeonghan's. His skin is warm, sending a spark of heat up your arm as he guides you toward the center of the circle where he spins you in a twirl, the skirts of your dress flaring. The lords and ladies clap, delighted and shouting how beautiful you look, how wonderful their princess is. Jeonghan’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he grins and lets go, eyes glued to you as he circles you like a wolf might its prey.

When he stops, he leans close enough that you can see the silver threading in his collar and the way his sleeves are tailored to allow free movement, probably full of pockets for all of his cards and daggers and other baubles he uses for his performances. He's close enough that the sandalwood and spice makes your lashes flutter, making you think of something dark - not at all the cheery jester he claims to be.

"Try not to look so afraid," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him. "The court might think you're afraid of a simple card trick."

"I'm not afraid," you snap.

"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"

You grimace. Ever the observationalist, seeing far more than anyone ever dares to give him credit for.

"Do your trick, jester," you growl.

Jeonghan grins as he produces a deck of cards from one of his sleeves, fanning them out again. "Choose any card but don't show me, love."

Ignoring the casual way he uses a pet name entirely unfit for his station, you select a card from the middle of the deck and when you flip it, you see the seven of swords. You angle it away from him, eyes darting between him and the card. His eyes watch you closely, the heat of them making you fight off a shiver.

"Show the crowd, I'll look away. Cross my heart and hope to die."

You roll your eyes when he turns his back to you. The crowd leans in as you flip the card, showcasing the front to them all. They all nod excitedly, tittering behind hands and fans until you flip the card back around, holding it close to your chest and away from Jeonghan.

"Good," he says when he turns back around, tucking the deck away in one of his sleeves. "Put the card against your palm, card face down."

You follow his instructions, holding your palm out with the card face down to conceal the seven of swords. Jeonghan reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as he presses his palm on top of yours, the card firmly kept between both of your hands. You hate the way your skin responds to the contact, the way the sudden awareness of him prickles up your arm.

"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.

"Hardly."

"Clever." He guides your pressed palms upward so that you're both holding the card between you, each of your hands pressing forward with equal force. "Good girl. Keep your hand steady."

A snarl works its way to your lips at the pet name, but before you can snap at him for the impropriety, Jeonghan shuffles closer and the crowd goes quiet. You realize how far away they seem, the sound dull like it's on the other side of a bubble. Jeonghan is close though - so close you have to tilt your chin up to look up at him, his eyes glittering as they watch you.

"You're quite good at playing a dutiful princess," he notes.

"You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" His eyes search yours, and there's something sharp in his gaze, something that cuts through the fool's mask he wears. "I know you watch everything. I know you see more than you let on. I know you're the only person in this room who looks at me and wonders what I'm really doing here."

Your heart pounds harder, the rhythm so forceful you're certain he can see it in the pulse at your throat. He's far too close and far too observant for a mere jester. The air between your palms feels charged, almost electric, and you're acutely aware of every inch of space he occupies. You want to step back, to put distance between you and whatever game he's playing, but the crowd is watching and so is the king. So you look onward, staring at him as he smirks.

"Breathe," Jeonghan says, softer now, and there's something almost gentle in his tone that makes it worse somehow. "You're holding your breath, love."

“Stop calling me that.”

"Nervous?"

You glare. "No."

His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."

The word hangs between you, intimate and dangerous. No one else speaks to you like this. No one else would dare, but Jeonghan isn't like the others at court. He refuses to be cowed by your title and your cold shoulder, protected by the silly little performance he puts on, convincing others that he's a fool. It gives him a freedom that feels threatening, and you're the only one who seems to notice.

The hand that isn't pressed against yours moves, tracing a slow circle in the air around where your palms are joined. The movement is hypnotic, and you find yourself following the movement, watching as he repeats the motion a few times. For a moment, you feel a little hazy, eyes fluttering as your thoughts grow foggy. Then, your mind sharpens again, Jeonghan’s intense gaze coming into focus. 

"Picture your card," he instructs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Imagine exactly what it looks like - the edges, the images. The way it's shaped. The colors used, the details of the card face."

You think of the seven of swords, trying to focus on the image of it, trying to use it as an anchor against the way your pulse races. It's difficult to do so with the warmth radiating from his palm and the way his breath stirs the air between you. He's close enough that you can count every one of his eyelashes and see the way his dark eyes catch the light from the chandeliers overhead.

As you try and picture the curling red numbers on the card and blue paint of the swords, you let your eyes flit over his sleeves. His hands. His pockets. You try to work out what exactly the charade is, ready to catch him in his trickery. You always try, and you always fail, never quite able to pin down the source of the performance.

"You're thinking about the card," he says, dropping his voice again so only you can hear. "But you're also thinking about how I'm doing this. Trying to work it out. Trying to catch me." You don't answer, feeling the heat hit your chest and cheeks as you flush under being caught. Jeonghan smirks, nodding. "You also don’t like being caught. Are you afraid of what I'll see when I look at you?"

"You see nothing, jester."

"Untrue." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "I see someone who's hungry to be wanted. Someone who wants to be touched like those lovers in the ballad the bard was singing, with heat and urgency and desperate desire. Someone who wishes there was a person bold enough to touch her the way a princess is never supposed to be touched. To want her not because of the crown but despite it." His eyes glint with something darker. "And I see someone who looks at me and knows exactly what I am. A wolf in fool’s clothing, right?”

You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate that Jeonghan is right and that he sees through you as easily as you see through him. There's a part of you that's always craved this kind of understanding, someone who could look past the crown and what lies beneath, but not like this. Not from him.

Being known by Jeonghan feels like standing naked before a predator, and the worst part is that you're not entirely certain you want to cover yourself. Your chest tightens with the contradiction of it, the simultaneous ache to be truly seen and the primal need to hide from his gaze. 

"Now," Jeonghan says, and his voice drops again, intimate and teasing. "I'm going to find your card without ever touching the deck again. Without you saying a word." He leans in, just slightly, and you can feel the whisper of his breath against your temple, warm and deliberate. Your skin tingles where it touches. "Would you like to know how?"

You can't answer. Your throat has gone tight, and you're frozen there, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange, unwanted pull that keeps you rooted in place.

"I'm going to read your mind," he murmurs, and his lips are so close to your ear now that you feel each word as much as hear it. "I'm going to look into those careful, guarded eyes and see exactly what else you're hiding."

Your hands are shaking now, both of them, and you know he can see it. The crowd can probably see it too, but they likely think it's part of the act, part of the performance. They don't know that your heart is hammering so hard it hurts, that every nerve in your body is screaming at you to move, to step back, to break whatever spell he's weaving.

"It's the seven of swords," Jeonghan says, and his voice is soft enough to raise the hair on your arms.

Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself, before you can school your expression into something more controlled. The reaction is instinctive, damning, and you see the exact moment he registers it. See the satisfaction that flickers across his face.

"There it is," he murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. "That's what I wanted to see."

Suddenly he steps back, and the loss of his proximity should be a relief but instead feels like an absence. His hand that was mirroring yours drops away to reveal that the card that was pressed between your palms is no longer there. You frown, mouth falling open slightly as he reaches toward your face. You go still as his fingers brush the edge of your jaw, feather-light and deliberate. It's barely contact at all, the barest whisper of his fingertips against you, but you feel it everywhere.

When he pulls his hand away, he's holding a card between two fingers, flicking it to show you the seven of swords. The crowd erupts in applause and delighted exclamations, the sound washing over you while you stare at him. You want to know how he did it, to know what you missed. Had his whispers distracted you from when he placed it there? Was it a trick of the light?

"Your Highness," Jeonghan says, and his voice is pitched for the crowd now, all performance and charm. He bows deeply, flourishing the card. "Thank you for your assistance."

When his eyes meet yours again, they tell a different story. They say he knows exactly what effect he's had on you. That he planned it, wanted it, enjoyed watching you unravel. It makes you step back, putting necessary distance between you as your heart hammers, your pulse deceiving you.

You excuse yourself as soon as the opportunity presents itself, your father turning to another lord as he laughs about something and the crowd pressing around Jeonghan, cutting him off from you. No one notices when you slip away from the gathered nobles, picking up the skirts of your dress as you rush for the exit, skin overheating.

Cool night air washes over you as you step into the gardens and away from all the noise and eyes. The sound of the ballroom has long since faded behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain somewhere deeper in the garden. You inhale deeply, letting the scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine fill your lungs, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.

The gardens are empty. Everyone is inside, drinking and dancing and watching Jeonghan perform his tricks. Out here, there's only moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow. The paths wind between tall hedges and rose bushes, their blooms pale in the darkness. Your footsteps are quiet on the stone walkway as you move deeper into the maze, away from the ballroom, away from the noise and the eyes and the suffocating weight of your crown.

You walk without direction, letting your feet carry you past marble statues and flowering vines that climb the garden walls. The moonlight catches on the petals of white roses, making them glow like ghosts. Everything is still and quiet, peaceful in a way the ballroom could never be.

Out here, you can think. Out here, you can try to make sense of what just happened.

Except you can't make sense of it. Can't explain why Jeonghan's proximity affected you so deeply, why his whispered words felt like they were carving themselves into your skin, why the loss of his touch left you aching in ways you don't want to examine. You barely know him. You don't trust him. And yet-

"Running away, Your Highness?"

You spin around, heart leaping into your throat to see Jeonghan standing in the middle of the path behind you as though he's materialized from the shadows themselves. His little hat is nowhere to be found, dressed only in the velvet outfit with crystals glittering like stars. The moonlight above catches in his dark hair, turning it silver at the edges. His eyes gleam, and you become hyperaware of the unnatural quiet of his presence.

"I needed air," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Mm." Jeonghan takes a step closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Or you needed to escape me."

You don't answer - can't answer, because he's right and you both know it. He moves closer still, slow and deliberate, and you suddenly feel like he's a wolf giving the sheep time to run if it wanted to. You don't run, your feet planted to the stone path even as your pulse hammers in your throat, even as every instinct screams that you should walk away.

"You know," Jeonghan says conversationally, stopping just within arm's reach, "most people can't wait to be near me. They laugh at my jokes, beg for my tricks, hang on my every word." His head tilts slightly, studying you. "But you? You look at me like I'm something dangerous."

"You are dangerous," you say before you can stop yourself. “Even if I can’t prove it.”

His smile is slow and devastating. "Yes. I am."

The admission should frighten you. Instead, it sends heat curling through your belly, making your breath catch in your chest. He's standing close enough now that you can see the way the moonlight plays across his features. He's beautiful, with a sharp jawline and elegant nose, the curve of his mouth full and dangerous, the kind of beauty that bards say is dangerous, luring people into the spider’s web.

"But that's not why you ran," Jeonghan continues.

"It's not?"

He shakes his head. "You ran because of what I said in there. Because I saw through you, and you didn't like it."

"You don't know anything about me."

He takes another step, and now he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, can see the way his gaze travels deliberately over your face, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

"I already proved that isn't true, love."

Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, spreading through your entire body. "You're far too presumptuous and entirely impromper."

"I'm observant."His eyes meet yours, and there's something raw in them now, something that makes your stomach flip. "And I know you felt it too. In the ballroom, when I was close to you. The way your breath changed. The way you leaned toward me even as you tried to pull away. The way you're looking at me right now, like you can't decide if you want to run or-"

"Or what, jester?" You demand, huffing. "If you know me so well, just say it."

Jeonghan's smile turns predatory. "Or if you want to stay right here and let me show you what you desire, no matter how improper it is."

Your heart is pounding so hard you're certain he can hear it. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" He takes one more step, closing the distance until you can feel his breath against your lips, until you're backed against the rough bark of a tree you didn't realize was behind you. "I'm not afraid of your crown, love. I'm not afraid of what anyone would say or do. I'm not afraid of you."

The words send a thrill down your spine that you absolutely should not feel. His hand comes up, not touching you but hovering just beside your face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your cheek. You grit your teeth, refusing to lean into the hand the way you want to, refusing to give him the satisfaction again tonight.

"Why risk it, then?" You ask. "Only a fool would."

"I am a fool," he agrees. "Let me show you how foolish I am. Let me show you what it's like to be touched and desired. Let me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment I've met you and how I want to make you come undone. Let me make you lose all that polished control you loathe so much."

You should say no. Should push him away. Should remember every reason this is a terrible idea. But your body isn't listening to your mind, and you find yourself leaning toward him, drawing by the magnetic pull you've been fighting all evening.

"What do you say," he asks, hand coming to cradle your face and tilt it upward until you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do you want your desires answered?"

You lick your lips and his eyes track the movement, pupils expanding. Swallowing dryly, you give the shallowest nod, damning yourself to desire, to the feeling of being wanted and seen.

It's all he needs. Jeonghan's eyes darken, and then his mouth is on yours and the world narrows to just the heat of his lips, the press of his body as he crowds you back against the tree, the rough bark catching on the fabric of your gown. He kisses you like he's starving for it, deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

You gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or reverent or careful, but instead it’s consuming, devastating, the kind of kiss that you never knew existed.

He tastes like wine and something darker, something that makes you want more even as your lungs burn for air. His teeth catch your lower lip and you whimper, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his costume.

"I've wanted this for so long," Jeonghan murmurs against your mouth, then trails his lips down your jaw to your throat. "Wanted you. Do you know how difficult it was to keep my hands to myself during that trick? To stand so close and not touch you the way I really wanted to?"

His teeth graze your pulse point and you can't stop the sound that escapes you, half gasp, half moan. He makes a satisfied noise low in his throat, then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, gathering the heavy fabric of your gown and pulling it up as you pant against the tree, your head digging into the bark.

"Tell me to stop," he says, but his fingers are already tracing the inside of your thigh, moving higher. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me all my chasing and teasing and prodding is for nothing and that I should leave."

“I can’t.”

"Fuck," Jeonghan breathes against your throat, and the crude word from his elegant mouth sends another wave of heat through you.

His fingers find the edge of your undergarments and he pulls them aside with deliberate slowness, exposing you to the cool night air. When his fingers press against you directly, finding you already slick, you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The gardens are secluded and shadowed, but not so far from the ballroom that sound wouldn't carry.

"Don't," Jeonghan says, his free hand coming up to pull your lip from between your teeth. "I want to hear you. Want to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Want to hear every sound you make when I touch you like this."

His fingers slip between your slick folds and you do cry out then, unable to stop yourself. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his costume, and he groans like your pleasure is his own. You feel a shiver go through him and you realize he’s just as affected by you as you are by him and it makes the heat even worse, the knowledge that he wants you this badly turning your blood to fire.

"So wet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you with maddening slowness. "So perfect. Is this what you were thinking about during the bard's song? Someone touching you like this? Making you fall apart?"

You can't answer. Can't form words. All you can do is gasp as his fingers circle your clit with devastating precision, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. Your legs turn molten and Jeonghan pins you against the tree with his hips, sliding one of his knees between your legs to keep you pried open for his hand. 

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"Yes," you manage, the word coming out broken. "Yes, I was thinking about being touched."

His fingers press harder, moving in tight circles that make your vision blur. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you can feel how wet you are, your entrance clenching around nothing as his fingers trace laze circles where you need him most, your hips twitching.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises. "Going to make you come so hard you see stars.

He slides one finger inside you and you cry out, your back arching off the tree. He's watching your face with an intensity that should make you self-conscious, but you're too far gone to care, too lost in the sensation of his finger moving inside you, curling just right, finding spots that make you shake.

It feels so good - better than you imagined, even. Jeonghan is precise, leaning forward to leave bite marks and kitten licks up and down your neck as he works you slowly, finger pressing against your front wall in a way that sends you squirming against him. Your breath comes out in short, quick gasps, sweat gathering at the back of your neck as he fucks you with his finger, the wet press of his hand maddening.

"Look at you," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this. So desperate. I want to see you fall apart. Want to see your face when you come."

He adds a second finger and you whimper, your hands sliding from his shoulders to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and when he curls his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit, you nearly sob, rolling your hips forward into his hand, thighs trembling as you clench down on his fingers.

"You're so tight," Jeonghan continues, his voice a dark purr in your ear. "So perfect around my fingers. I can feel how close you are. Can feel you clenching around me. Do you want to come, love? Do you want me to make you fall apart right here in the garden where anyone could find us?"

The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through you, making you clench harder around his fingers. You nod desperately, squeezing your eyes shut as your cunt throbs around his fingers and you writhe against the tree. 

"You like that," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Like the danger of it. Like knowing that you're supposed to be in there playing princess while you're out here letting the court jester play with this pretty pussy."

His words are filthy and crude, and they shouldn't affect you the way they do, but combined with the movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you feel overwhelmed and strung out, the feeling low in your stomach coiling and coiling and coiling until you're babbling and squirming and squeezing your eyes shut.

"Please," you gasp, and you're not even sure what you're begging for.

"I know what you need." His fingers move faster, harder, curling inside you with devastating precision. "You need to let go. Need to stop thinking and just feel. Need someone to take control so you don't have to be perfect for once in your life."

His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless patterns, and you can feel the pleasure building to an impossible peak. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in desperate gasps. Jeonghan invades your senses - the smell of him, the heat of him, the way his teeth scrape against your neck, the way his hair tickles against your skin.

"You're mine right now," Jeonghan growls. "Not a princess. Not a performance. Just mine. Say it."

"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours."

"Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel it. Let me watch you fall apart."

His fingers curl one more time, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb works your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, unable to stop yourself, your body convulsing against the tree as pleasure floods through you. You clench around his hand, throbbing as your body shakes until you feel like you can't breathe.

Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and gasping and oversensitive. He's murmuring praise in your ear now - how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he wants to do this again and again until you can't remember your own name - and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you're drunk off of him alone.

Finally, the waves subside and Jeonghan withdraws his hand slowly. You feel the loss of him like an ache, your legs still trembling and barely holding you up. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch through hazy eyes as he licks them clean, tasting you. The sight sends another pulse of heat through you despite your exhaustion.

"Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Even better than I imagined."

Reality begins to seep back in slowly. The cool night air on your heated skin. The distant sounds of the party still going on inside. The rough bark of the tree against your back. What you've just done, and who you've done it with.

You should feel ashamed. Should feel horrified. Should be scrambling to fix your dress and run back to the safety of the ballroom. You don't. You feel satisfied and boneless and strangely alive all at once, like you've finally done something that feels real instead of the pretty performance.

When you look up at Jeonghan, you see him watching you, his expression unreadable in the shadow of the tree. The breeze makes the leaves dance, kissing your cooling skin as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek with surprising gentleness.

"Regrets?" He asks, voices soft as the smoke that clings to him.

You should say yes and that this was a mistake, that it can never happen again and that you need to return to the ballroom and pretend this never happened. You should remind him that this is improper and unacceptable. Yet instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering.

"No," you admit. "No regrets."

Something like satisfaction shifts in his gaze, and he leans in and kisses you again. This time it's different - softer and slower, less consuming and more like he's savoring the taste and feel of your lips against his. You kiss him back, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the crystals click against your skin as his heart pounds beneath your palms.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again, and your mind is spinning with questions you're not sure you want answered.

"How did you do it?" you ask suddenly.

Jeonghan tilts his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Do what?"

"The card trick. In the ballroom."

His smile widens, and there's something dangerous in it now."I already told you. I read your mind."

You shake your head, confusion and disbelief warring inside you. "That would make you something magical. Not just a jester with clever tricks."

"Yes," Jeonghan agrees, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "It would."

The implication of his words hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches, your mind racing through everything you know about him, everything you've seen, the way he seems to move through the world like something other. Like something more.

He's grinning now, watching the realization dawn across your face, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, more possessive, like he's claiming you. Like he knows exactly what he's revealed and doesn't care. When he pulls back, his lips are still close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth.

You drove past the last few storefronts, through rows of homes and wide open fields until you reached the guest house. It looked much like the other houses in the neighborhood—simple and unassuming, save for the bright red roof and the wooden signpost by the gate.

The gates were open, so you let yourself in, taking a moment to soak in the quiet surroundings. The house had a traditional Korean setup, with a low table outside, a shed of large clay crocks (probably holding kimchi or fermented soybean paste), an outdoor cooking area, and other signs of daily life scattered around.

Then, the front door swung open, and a petite elderly woman stepped onto the porch, dressed in a floral blouse and loose pants. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, her sharp eyes scanning you before she broke into a warm smile.

“You must be the city girl,” she said, hands on her hips. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked at her bluntness but caught the teasing glint in her eyes. You smiled apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry. Something came up, so I had to delay for a day. Is the room still available?”

“Of course! We don’t get many guests here. Haven’t had a single one this year until you.” She waved you inside. “Come. I don’t usually take in long-term guests, but I liked the way you spoke on the phone. You seemed polite.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in, wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. Something was cooking in the kitchen, filling the space with a savory aroma.

“You must be starving. Lunch is almost ready,” she called from the kitchen.

“Thank you. I’ll just grab my things from the car,” you said, pointing toward the door.

She nodded. “Ah, right. Let me help you with that.”

“No, it’s alright—”

“Hannie!” she called out, ignoring you. “Come out and help our guest with her luggage.”

A moment later, a figure appeared at the doorway. Tall, dark soft-looking hair trimmed just above the shoulders framed her delicate features—a straight nose, lips, and sharp, striking eyes with long lashes that would make anyone jealous.

There was something boyish in the way she moved. Her stride was quick and heavy, her clothes were loose and simple. A plaid button-down over a plain white t-shirt,  and pair of dark sweatpants. Not exactly the dainty look you might’ve expected from someone with a face like that, but it suited her.

“Hannie,” the elderly woman called again, motioning to the car outside.

She only hummed in response before stepping down from the porch and heading straight for your trunk. You followed after her, popping the trunk open just as she reached it.

“Thank you,” you said. “I can get the heavier ones,” you offered, out of habit more than anything.

Hannie barely spared you a glance before hauling out your largest suitcase like it weighed nothing. “It’s fine.”

You blinked. Okay, strong girl.

A small duffel bag dangled from her other hand as she turned back toward the house, moving easily despite the weight. You had to admit, you were a little relieved to know there was another girl your age in the house. You’d expected to spend most of your time with elderly folks—nice as they were, they didn’t quite offer the same kind of connection. But with Hannie here, at least you’d have someone to talk to.

Shutting the trunk, you grabbed the rest of your bags and followed her inside.

The first three days passed uneventfully. You quickly became familiar with the routine in the house: the sounds of cooking from the kitchen, the fluttering of old curtains in the breeze, and the occasional gathering of the elderly ladies just outside the gates of the guest house. You had been expecting peace, but this was something else entirely—a rare kind of mundanity, where time seemed to stretch and slow down. You loved it more than you had anticipated.

Hannie, the granddaughter of the house, was always present in some way but never fully there. She rarely spoke, her gaze slipping past you instead of meeting your eyes, and she was gone for long stretches of the day. You sometimes wondered where she went—perhaps to town, perhaps somewhere even quieter than here—but it wasn’t a question you felt the need to ask. It didn’t seem like she would answer, anyway.

When you did cross paths, the interactions were brief. A polite nod from her, a quick greeting from you. Occasionally, you’d catch her in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove, or stepping onto the porch with a towel slung over her shoulder, hair damp from a shower. Once, when you mumbled a sleepy “good morning” while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you thought you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward before she disappeared out the door.

You assumed she was just a little shy. Maybe reserved. That was fine with you. It was oddly nice having another girl around who didn’t expect constant conversation.

The guest house owner—Gram, as she liked to be called—was warm and thoughtful, though she saw your lack of movement as odd. She often encouraged you to explore, to go into town, to at least take a walk.

“Most people get restless after a day or two,” she said one morning, watching you sip your tea at the low table outside. “You, though, you act like you’ve been waiting your whole life to sit still.”

You grinned. “Honestly, Gram? I have.”

She clicked her tongue, unconvinced. “Hannie, why don’t you take her into town today? Show her around. The store won’t burn down without you for a day.”

At the mention of her name, Hannie, who had been quietly peeling fruit by the water pump, finally glanced at you. Her expression was unreadable, but her head tilted ever so slightly, as if sizing you up. Then, just as quickly, she shrugged. “Sure.”

It wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic invitation, and you didn’t want to force anything. “Thanks, Gram, but I promise, I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself.”

Gram sighed, shaking her head. “If you say so. But if you change your mind, just tell Han.”

You nodded, and across the table, Hannie met your gaze again, her lips pressing into something like a faint smile before she went back to peeling.

Still, Gram refused to let you be completely idle. Every day, she gave you a small task—flipping sun-dried herbs at noon, covering them before sunset. It wasn’t much, but it made you feel like a part of the household rather than just a passing guest.

Hannie never commented on your meandering presence in the house. Sometimes, she’d walk past you on the way out, sometimes you’d catch sight of her returning in the late afternoon, looking effortlessly graceful yet somehow boyish in the way she moved. 

As the days passed, little things about Hannie started catching your attention—details that didn’t quite match the soft-spoken, delicate image you’d formed of her at first. Her voice, though quiet, had a low, steady timbre. Occasionally, she’d roll her shoulders or rub the back of her neck in a way that felt oddly... rugged. There was something in the way she leaned against doorframes too, hands stuffed in her pockets, with a relaxed posture. And yet, she still looked as graceful as ever, dark hair soft against her skin, her features almost too pretty. 

The contrast was interesting, but you didn’t think much of it—so what if she was a little rough around the edges? Plenty of girls had tomboyish sides.

Strong, you thought idly one afternoon, watching her haul in a sack of something from outside. Strong for someone so pretty.

But you didn’t dwell on it. More than anything, it was just nice having another girl around. She wasn’t unfriendly, but she wasn’t exactly inviting either. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, it suited the peacefulness of the guest house. You weren’t looking for company, and Hannie didn’t seem eager to offer it. But of course, living together would make people grow closer.

One morning, you found yourself at the kitchen table, lazily flipping through a magazine Gram had left lying around. Hannie stood by the sink, rinsing a handful of freshly picked persimmons.

“Do you eat these?” she asked.

You looked up. It was the first time she’d spoken to you without it being a response to something you said first. “I like them, but I never really had them fresh like that,” you admitted.

She grabbed a towel and started drying one. “They taste better chilled.”

“Oh?” You watched as she set a few aside and placed the rest in the fridge. “So you like them cold?”

She shrugged, placing one on the table in front of you. “Try it later.”

After that, you noticed other little things.

When you forgot your slippers outside one evening, you found them neatly placed by the door the next morning. The first time you struggled to lift one of Gram’s large water jugs, Hannie walked past, muttered, “You’ll hurt your back,” and hoisted it up with ease before you could protest.

“Thanks,” you said, surprised.

Gradually, your paths started crossing more. If she was already outside when you went to dry the herbs, she’d sit nearby, scrolling through her phone while you worked. If you ended up in the kitchen at the same time, she’d slide you a cup of whatever she was drinking without a word.

The conversations stretched a little longer, too. One weekend morning, you found her on the porch, sitting quietly under the sun. Without thinking, you sat beside her, stretching your legs out and basking in the sunshine.

“Gram says you haven’t gone to the beach yet,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s been trying to get me out of the house since day one.”

Hannie smirked slightly, eyes still on the road. “She’s not used to people who like sitting still.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

You talked about the weather, the best place to buy snacks in town, how the local stray cats had more attitude than city ones. They weren’t deep conversations, but they were comfortable.

Hannie still wasn’t overly talkative, but she started meeting your eyes more, responding with more than just a nod. And sometimes, when she thought you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch a small, amused smile on her lips.

It wasn’t much, but you were getting used to each other.

On a cool Saturday afternoon, you sat cross-legged at the low wooden table outside, with a basket of vegetables sitting between you and Hannie. Gram had roped the both of you into helping with dinner, which, in her words, “would taste better with young hands working on it.”

You didn’t mind. It gave you something to do.

Hannie, across from you, was peeling potatoes efficiently. You, on the other hand, were going slower, carefully stripping the skin from each one with a small knife.

“How long have you been staying here?” you asked.

Hannie didn’t look up from her task. “I live here.”

“Like, since birth?”

“Maybe,” she said, lips twitching.

You gave her a flat look. “That’s not a real answer.”

She considered for a second before finally saying, “I wasn’t born here, but I grew up here. I left a few years ago, but I came back.”

You nodded, filing that away. “Where did you go?”

She flipped a potato in her hand. “Seoul.”

“You lived there?”

“For a bit.”

“You’re very specific,” you said dryly.

She smirked. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Of course. I have to know who I’m living with.”

“Mm.” She switched to peeling carrots. “Your turn, then. I have to know who I’m living with, too. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

You rolled a potato in your hands. “Depends on the question.”

Hannie shot you an amused glance but didn’t push. “Why’d you come here?”

You shrugged. “I wanted a change of pace.”

She peeled another strip from the carrot. “That’s a vague answer.”

“The specifics are boring,” you said through gritted teeth, unwilling to divulge anything.

She let out a small huff of laughter. “Fair enough.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, just continuing your work. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, and you were realizing once again why they called this guest house The Sunset House. The smell of something simmering in the kitchen drifted through the air.

“What do you do all day, anyway?” you asked, breaking the comfortable quiet. “I always see you coming and going, but you never say where you’re headed.”

Hannie hummed. “I go to work at the grocery shop.”

You nodded. “So you’re not just freeloading off your Grandma, then?” you teased.

She snorted. “I have my own money and I know how to work for my meals.”

“Okay, but I have a real question,” you said, squinting at her. “What’s your skincare routine?”

Hannie blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “My what?”

“You have really nice skin,” you said matter-of-factly. “Like, it’s annoyingly flawless. I need to know what you’re using.”

She chuckled. “I just use whatever’s around.”

You frowned. “Liar.”

“It’s the truth,” she said, looking far too entertained.

“No fancy routine? No expensive products?”

“Nope.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but she just kept peeling, smug as ever. You huffed. “This is so unfair. Your skin is prettier than mine and I have like, a ten-step skincare routine.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

You grabbed a potato and chucked it at her arm. She caught it easily, shaking her head with a grin.

The conversation continued, flowing from one topic to another with no real direction—just small questions, half-answers, and the occasional amused remark. It wasn’t deep, but it didn’t need to be.

By the time you finished, the basket of peeled vegetables was full, the sun had lowered into a deep orange, and you had learned just enough about Hannie to know there was still more to figure out.

It was hard to ignore the nagging thought in your head ever since you arrived in town. While you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that you deserved this break from your turbulent city life, the anxiety that you should be doing something more productive lingered in the back of your mind. 

It was probably because your mind and body were so used to being on high alert all the time, functioning at full capacity every day for the last several years that you start getting anxious when you’re not doing anything and just relaxing. You could feel an odd sense of suspicion, nagging at the back of your mind like, “Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

Watering Gram’s garden plants was enough to push away all these thoughts, though.

As you stood under the gentle heat of the morning sun, you maneuvered the hose expertly, a result of doing the chore every day for the last few weeks. You let out a slow breath, feeling oddly content with the simplicity of it.

“Are you planning to drown my plants?”

You startled slightly as Gram’s voice rang out. Turning, you found her watching you with a hand on her hip. “Come here,” she said, beckoning you over to the low wooden table. “I have a better use for those hands.”

You shut off the water and wandered over, only to be greeted with a rice cake shoved into your hand. “Would you like to come to the beach today?” she asked.

“The beach?”

“There’s a new teacher at the daycare center. Seola, a very lovely lady. She arranged a picnic with the elderly and the children.” Gram gave you a pointed look as she patted your hand. “You should come. You need to socialize with someone your age before you forget how to hold a conversation.”

Before you could respond, Hannie stepped out onto the porch in her usual shirt-over-tee combo and denim jeans, brushing her hair back with her hand, she slung a bag over her shoulder, acknowledging you with a brief nod before passing by.

“Gram, I’m off,” he said.

“Alright, see you later,” Gram replied. She waved him off before giving you another look. “Han will be there too, so you don’t have to worry about being around people you don’t know.”

Not that you needed much convincing. You had already planned to explore town today anyway. You finally had enough of the idle days, and you were now ready to see and experience the quaint charm of this small town.

So at noon, just before lunchtime, you drove to the beachside with Gram, the car packed with the food she had heartily prepared all morning.

The beach was lively with old and young voices, laughter, conversation, and the sound of waves rolling against the shore. You helped Gram set up the food, spreading it out on the picnic blankets as she introduced you to the small group already gathered there—a few elderly folks, some parents, and a handful of kids darting around with beach toys and shells. It felt like stepping into a family reunion, where everyone knew each other and shared years of memories you could only imagine.

Gram introduced you as a temporary resident. “She’ll be here for six months,” she explained, smiling as curious eyes turned your way. “Let’s all be nice to her. She’s from the big city.”

“Ah, so that’s why you look so pale,” an older woman teased, squinting at you. “You need some sun on you, dear.”

“She should eat more, too,” another one chimed in, eyeing you like she was already planning to pile food onto your plate.

“You’ll love it here,” one of the older women assured you. “Life moves slow, but there’s always something to do if you know where to look.”

Another joined in with a chuckle. “A bit of gossip now and then, a trip to the market, a walk by the coast… it doesn’t take much to stay busy here!”

They were warm, welcoming, and funny, and their playful remarks had the same lightheartedness as Gram’s. You found yourself smiling more than expected, caught up in their conversation as they asked about your stay. You also met Seola, the new daycare teacher who moved to town just two months ago. She was the same age as you were, and you felt a sense of kinship with her as someone who came from the big city yourself.

At one point, a little boy ran up to you out of nowhere, his face bright with excitement as he held out a shell. “Look! This is the best one I found today!”

You knelt down, taking the shell from his hands to admire it. “Wow, this is a good one,” you said, humoring his enthusiasm. He beamed, launching into a detailed explanation of why it was superior to all the others. You nodded along, half-listening—until something just past his shoulder caught your eye.

Out by the water, Hannie emerged from the waves, hands pushing through his soaked hair, slicking it back from his face. Droplets clung to his skin, sliding down sharp cheekbones and along the lines of his jaw. You blinked, something about the sight snagging on a thought you couldn’t quite place.

Then she stepped fully onto the shore, reached for the hem of her wet shirt, and pulled it over her head. And your mind went blank.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes registered the defined shoulders, the abs, the arms that clearly belonged to someone used to physical labor. The sunlight played across his skin, highlighting every line and shadow. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare.

Hannie wasn’t just a little masculine. Hannie wasn’t just oddly strong. Hannie… was a man.

Your breath caught in your throat, and an unexpected heat rose to your cheeks. The boy in front of you was still talking, but you couldn’t hear a word of it anymore.

How could you have missed this? It was as if every little sign from the past several days were suddenly lining up like pieces of a puzzle. The deeper voice, the way he carried himself, the fact that he had never once actually referred to himself as a girl. And then there were the times Gram had mentioned her grandson—the one you thought you’d never met, yet had been living with all along. He had never corrected you. And you? You had been so sure—so certain you knew exactly who you were living with.

As you stood there, still absorbing the shock, two teenage girls approached you excitedly.

“What’s it like living with Jeonghan?” one of them asked, practically bouncing on her toes.

“Who?” The name threw you off entirely.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” the other girl chimed in, as if it were obvious. “You’re staying at Gram’s guest house, right? Isn’t he amazing? He’s like the pride of our town.”

Jeonghan. The name sounded foreign to you, yet as you watched him crouch down to help one of the kids collect shells, it suddenly seemed to fit him perfectly. 

“I thought his name was Hannie?” you asked, though the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how foolish they sounded. Hannie—it wasn’t his name. Just a nickname, something his grandmother must have been affectionately calling him.

The girls giggled, exchanging amused glances. “That’s just what the grandmas call him.”

One of them leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing a juicy secret. “He’s kind of famous, you know? We run a fan page for him—it’s almost at 100k followers.”

“He gets a ton of idol trainee offers. Some people even come all the way here just to see him,” the other added. “But he always turned them down. Now, he works at the store downtown. Everyone loves him.”

Jeonghan. Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan.

You blinked, still grappling with the idea that the quiet, elusive Hannie was actually Jeonghan, the town’s golden boy. Before you could think of what to say, Gram’s voice called out, interrupting the conversation.

“Lunch is ready! Come here and eat!”

The girls scampered off toward the picnic mat, giggling about something you couldn’t quite catch. You turned to follow, but your thoughts were still spinning.

“Kids! Hannie!” Gram called again, waving him over. “Come on, let’s eat!”

Jeonghan straightened, brushing sand from his hands before jogging up the beach. The sunlight glinted off his skin, drawing your gaze before you could stop yourself. Heat crept up your neck again.

He reached the mat and, without hesitation, plopped down next to you, his damp hair falling casually over his shoulder.

“You’re here too,” he said, smiling at you before grabbing a bottle of water. He seemed completely at ease, oblivious to the turmoil running through your mind.

Lunch was a lively affair, the mat spread under the shade of a large tree, bowls and plates of food passed around as conversations overlapped. The elders were particularly chatty, most of their attention—unsurprisingly—focused on Jeonghan.

“You know, our Hannie here was top of his class in university,” one of the grandmothers boasted, nudging the woman beside her. “Always so clever.”

“And so hardworking,” another added, her tone exaggerated in a way that felt suspiciously rehearsed. “Had all sorts of offers after graduation. He even worked in Seoul for a bit.”

“Really?” Seola, the teacher, perked up with interest, chopsticks pausing midair.

You, however, narrowed your eyes slightly. There was something oddly deliberate about how they were talking about him, as if… as if they were trying to sell him.

Jeonghan, sitting beside you, seemed completely unfazed. He took a sip of water, then casually met your gaze. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

You blinked, realizing that you had been staring. “I was just wondering why they’re talking about you like you’re a prized cow.”

Jeonghan nearly choked on his drink, turning away with a cough. Beside him, one of the elders clapped her hands together, unaware of your remark. “And! He’s very good with children,” she announced, nodding toward the group of kids playing nearby. “They all adore him.”

Seola chuckled. “That’s rare. Most guys aren’t patient enough with kids.”

“Exactly!” The older woman beamed. “That’s why any girl would be lucky to have him.”

Your eyes flickered to Jeonghan, curious as to how he’d react, but he was busy picking the green onions out of his soup. As if this whole matchmaking attempt had nothing to do with him.

You stifled a laugh. “You seem very popular, Jeonghan.”

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, finally looking at you. “Are you convinced?”

“Of what?”

“That I’m a catch.” He tilted his head, the corner of his lips twitching up just slightly.

Your chopsticks hovered over your plate. The way he said it was so casual, but something about his tone—low, smooth, just teasing enough—made your stomach flutter. 

You masked it with an eye-roll. “I don’t know. You don’t seem that impressive to me.”

Gram clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it onto your plate. “Clearly, you need to spend more time with him.”

“Gram?” you questioned, genuinely perplexed by the insinuation in her tone.

The lunch continued in the same direction, the elders throwing more praises, Seola responding with polite interest, and Jeonghan humoring them without ever actually engaging. It was almost funny how unfazed he was—until you caught a few of the older women exchanging glances as if they were mentally taking notes on how both you and Seola were responding.

Oh god. They weren’t just selling Jeonghan. They were matchmaking him.

You needed some air.

As the meal wrapped up, you slipped away from the group, stepping onto the shore where the waves lapped at your feet. The realization of the past hour was still in your mind—not just about the elders’ intentions but also the fact that your whole perception of Jeonghan had shattered today.

And, of course, just as you were attempting to collect yourself, he appeared beside you. “Escaping?”

You glanced at him. “You too?”

“Sort of.” Jeonghan walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, letting the wind ruffle his damp hair. “Figured you’d need company.”

You hesitated before blurting, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a guy?”

Jeonghan stopped mid-step. “What?”

“The whole time, I thought you were a girl, maybe a little masculine or a lesbian, but biologically, a girl. I’ve been calling you ‘Hannie,’ but that’s not even your real name. Your name was Jeonghan. You never corrected me.”

His expression shifted from confusion to pure shock. “Wait.” He turned fully to you, blinking rapidly. “You thought I was a girl?!”

You crossed your arms. “You’re really pretty with equally pretty hair. Your grandma calls you Hannie.”

Jeonghan ran a hand down his face, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Oh my god.”

“I mean, can you blame me?” You gestured vaguely at him. “Look at you.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at himself as if seeing what you saw. Then he exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You smirked. “I think it’s kind of funny.”

Jeonghan shot you a look, smirking. “I bet you do.”

You basked in the comfortable silence as you continued walking. The waves were cool against your feet, and the voices behind you grew distant. Every now and then, you caught Jeonghan glancing at you, as if still processing what you had just confessed.

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. “A girl.”

You grinned. “I’d say I’m sorry, but…”

“But you’re not.”

“Not even a little bit.”

Jeonghan let out a sharp laugh, the kind that came from deep amusement rather than disbelief this time. You got the feeling he wouldn’t let this go anytime soon.

The next morning, Jeonghan was heading downtown for an errand, and Gram suggested you go with him. “You should get out more,” she said, nudging your arm. “Let Han show you around. It’ll be good for you.”

You didn’t see a reason to refuse. The town was still unfamiliar, and a trip to the market sounded more productive than another slow morning at the guest house. Plus, you figured you might as well start your car after letting it sit idle for so long.

Which was how you found yourself in the passenger seat, watching as Jeonghan adjusted the mirrors before smoothly pulling out onto the road. He drove leisurely, one hand resting on the wheel, his other elbow propped against the window.

By the time you reached the market, the streets were busy. Stalls lined the sidewalks, vendors calling out to passersby, with the scent of fresh produce, grilled food, and sweet treats. Jeonghan was greeted warmly at every turn, engaging small talks with vendors who seemed genuinely happy to see him. He was polite, smiling when an elderly woman at a vegetable stand patted his arm and called him “our handsome Jeonghan.”

Then she turned to you. “And who is this?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Have you finally brought a girlfriend home, Hannie?”

Before you could react, Jeonghan laughed. “She’s not, but she wished she was.”

“No, I don’t!” you exclaimed.

“No need to be shy, dear,” the vendor said, grinning. “If I were a few decades younger, I’d wish I was his girlfriend too.”

You groaned while Jeonghan bit back a laugh, handing over the money before gently steering you away.

“I can’t believe you have fans in every age group,” you scoffed.

“Well, it’s a small town,” he replied, chuckling.

After finishing the errand, Jeonghan led you to a small café tucked between two shops. The place had a cozy charm—wooden tables, hanging plants, and an old vinyl player in the corner playing soft jazz.

A man behind the counter beamed when she saw him. “Jeonghan! It’s been a while.”

“Hi, Joon. I’ll have the usual,” he greeted, then turned to you. “You?”

You looked up at the menu hanging overhead, wondering what to order or if you wanted coffee at all.

Joon’s gaze flicked to you. “This must be the pretty guest Gram was talking about.”

You glanced at him, curious. Jeonghan waved a hand. “Yeah. She doesn’t get out much. I’m showing her around town.”

“You should come more often. We make the best coffee in town,” Joon said proudly. “Not that there are any other coffee shops around,” he added, chuckling. “What can I get you?”

“Uh, I’ll have what he’s having,” you said, smiling politely at him.

“Coming right up!”

Jeonghan led you to a vacant table by the window. “You come here often?” you asked.

“Now and then.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from you, resting his forearm against the table. “The owner, Joon’s mom, used to sneak me free pastries when I was a kid. I feel obligated to keep giving her business.”

Your lips quirked up. “Bribed into loyalty. Classic.”

He just laughed, watching you for a moment before asking, “What do you think of the town so far?”

You thought about it and then shrugged. “It’s charming and peaceful. Everyone seems to know each other. It’s kind of nice.”

He hummed, stirring his drink lazily. “It has its charms.”

“Well, they seem to adore you,” you noted.

He shrugged. “I’m very likeable,” he said smugly, making you laugh.

Minutes later, Joon set two iced drinks on your table before slipping away. You took a sip and raised a brow. “Oh, this is sweet. Vanilla latte?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Decaf. You don’t like sweet?”

“I do,” you admitted. “But I didn’t peg you as the type.”

Jeonghan took a sip of his own drink. “And what type did you peg me as?”

You tilted your head, pretending to analyze him. “Black coffee. No sugar. Maybe a shot of espresso if you’re feeling adventurous.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Do I look like I hate myself?”

You laughed. “No, but,” you shrugged, making him smirk.

“I’ll have you know I like nice things. Why would I suffer through bitter coffee when I could enjoy this?” He lifted his drink in emphasis.

You smirked. “So you have a sweet tooth.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Do you care what about I think of you?” you asked back, narrowing your eyes playfully.

Jeonghan just took his drink and looked out of the window, ignoring your question entirely. You didn’t press, enjoying the coffee instead and the nice ambience of the cafe.

Before heading home, Jeonghan made one last stop at the grocery store. It was bigger than you expected, with stocked shelves and a steady flow of customers.

“You work here?” you asked as you followed him inside.

He nodded. “I own it. Well, not really. It was my grandpa’s. After he passed, someone had to take over.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause. “Is that why you came back?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He picked up a basket, taking his time as he strolled past the produce section. “You could say that,” he said eventually. “I came back because Gram would be lonely by herself. She’s old now, someone has to be here and make sure she’s alright.”

You glanced at him, noting how his expression didn’t change, but something about his voice softened.

“She still works at the pear farm,” he added, shaking his head fondly. “She said she’d go crazy if she had nothing to do, so someone has to be around to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.”

Hearing that made you feel like you understood them both a little more. The quiet life they had here, the small routines that kept them moving forward—it all made sense now. You became more curious about them, but you didn’t want to pry, so instead of asking, you just took what he told you and left it at that.

As you trailed behind him, your gaze landed on the skincare aisle. “Alright, spill. Which one is it?”

Jeonghan followed your line of sight, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still on this?”

“You’re ridiculously pretty,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair that I find out how.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, then reached out, grabbed a random product, and handed it to you. “Here.”

You examined the label. “This is a body wash.”

“Exactly.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re lying.”

He smirked. “You’ll never know.”

“And if I sneak into your bathroom later?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, then smirked before saying, “I guess I'll see you there, then. I take really long showers at night, you see.”

You blinked rapidly, surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation. Clearing your throat, you put the bottle back and turned away. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

The days that followed were more eventful than the previous ones. You still helped Gram around the guesthouse, still found time to sit outside with her in the afternoons, listening to the occasional stories she decided to share. But now, there was something different about your days—Jeonghan.

He wasn’t just around anymore. He was in your space, in your routine, slipping into your life as if he had always been there. Like how he took it upon himself to be your unofficial tour guide, showing up outside the guesthouse just as you were about to head out.

“Where are you going?” he’d ask.

“I’m not sure, but I’m going around town again today,” you’d say, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

His eyes would glint with amusement. “You’ll get lost.”

“No, I won’t.”

But you always did. Turning one too many corners in the winding streets, ending up somewhere you hadn’t planned. And somehow, Jeonghan was always there, lounging by a store or leaning against a wall like he’d been waiting for you the whole time.

“You have a terrible sense of direction,” he’d say, grinning.

“And you have too much free time,” you’d shoot back, but you never minded when he fell into step beside you.

He took you everywhere. To the best lookout point in town, where the cliffs met the endless blue of the sea. To the hills, where wildflowers bloomed in untamed clusters, swaying lazily under the afternoon sun. To the pear farm, where you met Gram’s friends—hardworking women who took one look at you and started teasing.

“She’s the one staying at the guesthouse?” one of them asked Jeonghan, squinting at you. “You’re showing her around, aren’t you?”

“Something like that,” Jeonghan replied, glancing your way with a smirk.

“Ah, what a handsome pair,” the woman sighed dramatically. “You look great together. You’d make the most beautiful babies.”

You choked on your own breath while Jeonghan just laughed, handing you a pear like nothing happened.

There was also the day he dragged you onto a boat. It wasn’t planned. You had only gone to the dock to look around, but Jeonghan had other ideas.

“Ever been boating?” he asked.

You eyed him warily. “No.”

“Great.” That was your only warning before he pulled you toward a small boat, casually untying it from the dock.

“Wait—what if I get seasick?” you protested.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ll find out when we get there,” he chuckled, offering a hand to help you board the boat.

You hesitated, but you took his hand anyway. He had never done anything to disappoint you so far, so you trusted him. And despite your initial wariness, you had to admit—it was nice. The air was crisp, the water was calm, the reefs below were beautiful, and the silence between you was comforting.

At one point, Jeonghan leaned back against the edge, stretching his arms. “You like it here, don’t you?”

You glanced at him. “I do.”

He smirked. “I’d bet fifty bucks you never leave.”

You scoffed. “Never leaving is a stretch. Maybe I’d never want to, but I will anyway because I have to.”

Jeonghan flashed a mischievous smile as if you had just challenged him. “A hundred, then. You will never want to leave, and you never will.”

You rolled your eyes. “Now you’re making me want to leave just so I can take your money.”

“Are you gonna play or not?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t need it.”

Jeonghan sighed nonchalantly. “Fine. But I know I’m right.”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between stolen pears and getting lost in town, between late afternoon coffees and spontaneous boat rides, you had started to enjoy his company. And maybe he had started to enjoy yours, too.

That afternoon, as you and Jeonghan strolled back home, he glanced at you and asked, “You free tonight?”

You arched a brow. “Why?”

“It’s Joon’s birthday,” he said. “He’s having a small party at the café. Just us and some friends. He invited you too.”

You hesitated. “He did?”

Jeonghan smirked. “He mentioned it the other day. You probably forgot.”

You did remember Joon casually saying something about it, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A small celebration at the café didn’t sound bad, and truthfully, you weren’t opposed to seeing other people your age, too. Most of the people you’d seen around were old enough to be your grandparents.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll come.”

“Good. We can go together.”

Later that evening, you followed Jeonghan to the café, which was livelier than usual. Warm lights glowed from the ceilings, the scent of coffee still permeating the air though none of it was being served now. All you could see on the table were bottles of soju and beer, spicy and fried food, and a cake sitting at the center.

The small space had been rearranged to fit a gathering, with a handful of tables pushed together. A few people were already there, chatting, laughing, clinking glasses. Most of them seemed around your age, and it didn’t take long to notice that many of them were couples.

“Jeonghannie hyung!” Joon’s voice rang out the moment you stepped inside. He grinned, wiping his hands on a towel before pulling him into a quick hug. Then he turned to you. “And look who actually came. Finally.”

You scoffed. “Happy birthday, Joon. And I do go outside, you know.”

“Only because Jeonghan drags you everywhere,” he teased, earning a snicker from Jeonghan himself. “Come in. Let me introduce you.”

You met a few of Jeonghan’s friends. You barely remembered their names, but it didn’t take long to notice that most of them had grown up together—and many had ended up marrying each other. Seola was also there, curled up beside a guy, her arm draped lazily over his.

“You made it,” she said, smiling when she saw you.

“I did.” You nodded toward the guy beside her. “Boyfriend?”

She nodded. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “Joon said he invited you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show.”

You shrugged. “Figured I should experience the town’s nightlife at least once.”

Seola laughed. “This is about as lively as it gets.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “So, you and Jeonghan, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not this again.”

“What? You don’t like him?”

“He’s fine, but he annoys me a lot.”

She laughed. “That’s how you know he likes you.”

Before you could protest, Joon clapped his hands together. “Alright, drinks are on me tonight. Eat, drink, have fun!”

“Happy birthday, Joon!”

The evening unraveled in a blur. There was food, laughter, and lots of conversation. At some point, someone turned on music, and people started to sway along. Jeonghan stuck to your side for most of the night, occasionally teasing you, occasionally offering you bites of his cake as if you didn’t have your own. You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until a few guests started nodding off in their seats, the conversations had grown louder, and the laughter became more unrestrained over the clinking of bottles and half-finished drinks.

Joon was already passed out on the table by the time you and Jeonghan decided to leave. His friends—still rowdy despite the late hour—bid you both a noisy farewell, slurring words and waving exaggeratedly as they walked you out the café doors.

The night air greeted you like a sigh of relief, cool against your warmed skin. You stretched your arms above your head, exhaling contentedly. “It’s nice out.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the two of you strolled down the quiet village road. “Yeah. I should thank you for coming tonight. Because of you, I wasn’t assigned to take care of Joon. He gets drunk so quickly and I have to clean up after him most of the time.”

You laughed, tilting your head toward him. “You’re welcome? I guess? I thought he could hold his liquor because he kept insisting he could outdrink everyone.”

“Well, he’s also the best liar among all of my friends too, so…” he replied, making you chuckle. The alcohol had settled pleasantly in your system, making it easy to laugh at whatever nonsense he spewed.

“You held your liquor pretty well,” he remarked, side-eyeing you with a smirk.

You grinned. “I have a high tolerance.”

“Almost as high as mine.”

“Almost?” You scoffed. “I was drinking at your pace all night, and I’m still standing. Do you see me stumbling into ditches or tripping over my own feet?”

Jeonghan smirked, challenging. “Well, not yet.”

You gasped, feigning offence. Eager to prove him wrong, you stepped ahead, turning to walk backward easily. Arms spread wide, you gave him a smug grin. “Look at that. Not tripping.”

That made him laugh and shake his head fondly as he beckoned you back to his side. “Alright, fine. You can walk.”

“I’m not even drunk at all,” you said, falling into step beside him.

“Yeah? How’s your balance?” he asked just before bumping his shoulder into yours, playful, teasing.

You almost tripped over yourself, but regained your balance in time. Scoffing, you nudged him back. He nudged harder, almost making you lose your footing again. Huffing, you shoved him, but he didn’t budge. Before you could react, Jeonghan caught you by the shoulders, pulling you flush against him. 

The sudden closeness sent a jolt through you—not from surprise, but from the unmistakable heat of his body against yours.

And you didn’t pull away.

Maybe it was the alcohol making you more uninhibited, or maybe you simply wanted this too. You weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to think about it too much.

Neither of you spoke,as you both continued walking. His hands remained firm on your shoulders, like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. And you basked in the warmth of it, not even noticing that you were gradually leaning closer against him.

But then a sharp bark split through the silence, making you flinch and pull away from him. A dog stood behind a fence nearby, watching you both with wary eyes, still growling slightly. You held your breath, staring back at it. Then it barked once more, and you squealed.

“Run,” said Jeonghan, but you were already bolting.

The two of you raced through the empty streets, feet pounding against the road, breathless laughter echoing into the night. He nearly overtook you, but you darted ahead at the last second, reaching the guesthouse gate just before he did.

Panting, you turned to gloat—only to freeze when you realized how close he had stopped. Face-to-face, no, face-to-chest with Jeonghan, who was also catching his breath. You stood there, chest rising and falling, staring at each other in the dim glow of the streetlamp. 

He looked ethereal under the yellow light, his hair slightly tousled from the wind, his lips parted as he exhaled. There was something almost dreamlike about the way he gazed at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, as if he were seeing something in you he hadn’t before.

The cool night air did nothing to ease the heat creeping up your skin. You were still drunk, or maybe just lightheaded from the run, but it was hard to focus on anything except how close he was—how easily he could reach for you if he wanted to.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

Maybe you were. But you were also a little drunk. And he was very, very handsome.

So you said it. “You’re so handsome.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d told him that, but this time, he didn’t laugh like he usually did. Instead, he stared at you with a soft expression on his face. Then, slowly, his eyes dipped lower, stopping on your lips. You did the same, your eyes landing on his plump lips, so pretty, so inviting.

For the first time, the thought crossed your mind.

What would it feel like to kiss him?

Would he be slow about it, teasing? Would he pull you in lazily, like it wasn’t anything special? Or would it be something else—something that would leave you breathless and light-headed?

“We should get inside,” he said, eyes still fixed on your lips.

You nodded. But neither of you moved. He didn’t touch you, but you felt it anyway—the intensity of his gaze, the way he stared at your lips.

Would he kiss you if you leaned in first? The thought was dangerous. But you couldn’t help it, not when he looked at you like that, like he was thinking the same thing.

Jeonghan exhaled deeply, like he had just come to a decision. He took a slow step toward you to close the distance and your entire body awoke with anticipation. Just as he was about to reach for your face, the gate rattled loudly.

Both of you jumped as it swung open, revealing a very awake, very confused Gram. “What are you two doing standing there?” she asked, peering at you both suspiciously.

Jeonghan, ever the smooth talker, recovered first. “We were just about to go inside, Gram.”

Gram squinted at him before clicking her tongue. “If you’re gonna flirt with our guest, at least do it inside where it’s warm.”

Your face heated instantly. “We weren’t—”

“Mm-hmm,” she cut you off, unimpressed. “Come on in, it’s late.”

She turned, leaving the gate open for you to follow. You swallowed, glancing back at Jeonghan who was watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Then, with a slight smirk, he gestured toward the door.

“After you,” he murmured.

You weren’t entirely sure what had just happened between you. But you had a feeling it wasn’t nothing.

You had barely finished setting down Gram’s breakfast tray when she sighed and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I swear, I feel fine,” she insisted, but the slight rasp in her voice and the warm touch of her skin told a different story.

“Gram, you have a fever.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “A slight fever never kills anyone.”

“Should I take you to a clinic?” you asked, but she shook her head.

“No need. I just need some rest,” she said, patting your hand. At that moment, Gram’s friends arrived with hearty chatter and warm smiles.

“How are you feeling?” one of them asked, squinting at Gram sprawled on the couch.

“I’m fine, but I’m worried about Hannie. He’s at the farm handling the inventory today, but it’s too much for one person,” Gram said, sighing almost too dramatically.

“Oh no, the poor boy,” said another who turned to you with a suspicious grin on her lips. “You should go help him.”

Another grandma agreed. “Oh, my. Yes, dear. You should.”

You hesitated. “I don’t wanna leave Gram alone—”

“She won’t be alone. We’re here,” said another, already nudging you out of the way.

“Go on, dear. Fret not.  We’ll take care of her. We’ll make her soup.”

“She’ll be fine. You think we don’t know how to take care of one of our own?”

You hesitated, looking back at Gram, but she only chuckled weakly. “Go on. You’ll be more useful there than fussing over me.”

So you went. Jeonghan looked genuinely surprised when you arrived at the farm. He was sitting on a crate with a clipboard in one hand and a pen on the other. He took one look at you and cocked his head.

“Hi. What are you doing here? How’s Gram?”

“She’s fine her friends came over. She sent me here to help,” you said, brushing past him. “Said you had too much to do alone.”

Jeonghan snorted. “Did she now?” He leaned back, arms crossed. “Was it her or the other women?”

You frowned. “Um, all of them? Why does it matter?”

He smirked. “You’ve been tricked.”

“Tricked?”

“They’ve been trying to marry me off for years. This is exactly the kind of thing they’d do. Trick a poor, unsuspecting woman into spending time alone with me."

“Excuse me?” You blinked, thrown off. “And you just… let them?”

“They mean well. Just desperate to see me settled. Been at it for about four years now. And there’s not much I can do.” He shrugged, tapping the pen against the clipboard. “Besides, it doesn’t happen often. There aren’t that many women around my age who are still single. So when someone new shows up, they start getting ideas. Poor Seola kept getting baited on her first week here.”

That sent a rush of heat up your neck. You looked away, pretending to inspect the baskets of pears stacked nearby. “Well, sorry to disappoint them, but I’m only here to help.”

“Right,” he said, his voice laced with something teasing. “Strictly business.”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “Strictly business.”

“You’re not here thinking about how you almost kissed me a few nights ago.”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, indignant. You pointed a finger at him. “You almost kissed—” then pointed the finger at your chest— “me. Get your facts straight!”

Jeonghan chuckled but didn’t push it further. Instead, he handed you a clipboard and gestured toward the stacks of wooden crates. “If you insist on helping, you can double-check these counts while I finish up the rest.”

You huffed but took the clipboard anyway, moving toward the crates while he returned to his own work. The quiet stretched between you—not uncomfortable, but filled with a hyper-awareness that had been there for days now, ever since that one drunken moment outside the guest house.

You focused on counting and scribbling notes, but every so often, you caught glimpses of Jeonghan moving nearby. He worked with efficiency, sleeves rolled up, hands deftly sorting through the inventory. The sunlight filtering through the trees left patterns over his skin, making him look almost too picturesque for a man just organizing pears.

At one point, you were so absorbed in pretending not to be aware of him that you lost your footing, nearly stumbling over a crate. Jeonghan glanced up from where he was standing, just as you had steadied yourself.

“Careful,” he said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want Gram’s ‘strictly business’ helper to break something.”

You shot him a glare. “I tripped over a crate. Nothing to break here.”

He smirked. “Still, I’d be devastated if you got hurt on my watch. What would the old ladies say? Probably accuse me of mistreating my future wife.”

You groaned. “Can you not bringing that up?”

“Why? Does it bother you?”

Yes. Maybe. A little. You weren’t sure. But instead of answering, you tossed a pear at him. He caught it effortlessly, turning it over in his hand.

“You’re very defensive,” he mused, biting into the pear.

“And you’re very annoying,” you shot back, before returning to your clipboard.

The work continued. He teased you every  now and then and you’d retort but mostly tried to drown him out. By the time you finished your part of the task, you felt the kind of exhaustion that wasn’t just physical.

Jeonghan stretched, rolling out his shoulders. “I think that’s good for today.”

“Great,” you said, setting down your clipboard. “Then I’ll—”

Before you could finish, rain started falling. It was so sudden that you both stood there for a second, blinking up at the sky as the cool droplets hit your skin. Soon, you realized it wasn’t stopping, and Jeonghan nudged your arm.

“Run to the warehouse,” he said, pointing to the warehouse which looked so far away. “Go,” he repeated, and you started running.

You reached it in no time, but not without getting soaked. Inside, the space was dry, the scent of cardboard boxes and ripened pears filling the air. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking off the water clinging to your skin. Jeonghan leaned against the doorway, watching the rain with furrowed brows.

He glanced at you a few moments later. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, rubbing your arms. “The weather was so nice today. I didn’t think it would rain.”

“Well, the weather likes to be unpredictable sometimes,” he said, gaze drifting over you before he reached for something on a nearby shelf—a folded blanket. He tossed it over your shoulders without a word.

You blinked. “Where did that come from?”

“Emergency stash,” he said simply. “Most of the workers here are old women. They prepare for anything and everything.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling it tighter around yourself.

Jeonghan just hummed, still watching the rain. And for a while, neither of you spoke. The world outside was misty and gray, but in here, it was warm and quiet. The warehouse was fairly large, but the space between you felt small. And it may be because the place was packed with endless crates of pears and shelves of pear products.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that before he turned toward you fully, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“You really don’t mind being here, do you?” he mused.

You frowned. “Well, I didn’t but if I had known it would rain, I wouldn’t have come up here at all.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant in this town. At the guesthouse. Helping out on some pear farm.”

You thought about it, about the slow mornings, the sense of peace you’d been trying to chase, the way you’d felt so much more at ease these days.

“I don’t mind,” you admitted, leaning back against the wall. “It’s… nice. No deadlines to chase. No stuck-up superiors breathing down my neck. No endless stack of workload to bury my face in.” You sighed in relief, smiling absentmindedly. “It’s really nice.”

“What happened?” he asked, joining you in your corner. “Back in the city?”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged. “I’m just taking a break from corporate life.”

“I see,” he replied, unconvinced but knew better than press for answers you weren’t ready to share.

The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the roof of the warehouse and soaking the ground outside. You could hear the soft trickle of water running off the edges of the roof, pooling into the dirt. The crates of pears sat forgotten outside, and you wondered if they’d be fine, though seeing Jeonghan not worrying about it made you assume they would be.

You noticed how Jeonghan shivered slightly, damp clothes clinging to his skin. “Cold?” you asked.

He shook his head, but you could tell he was lying. You scooted closer to him and draped the blanket over his shoulder, too. It was then that you realized that it was a small blanket, just enough to wrap around you but too small for the two of you.

Jeonghan chuckled. “Thanks, but I don’t think this is helping.”

“Right?” you replied, chuckling.

He shifted slightly, lifting one arm and draping it over your shoulder. You hesitated at first, but you let him pull you closer, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. He rubbed your arm with his hand, squeezing gently in an attempt to fight the cold against your skin. It worked, though not well enough.

“How long do you think this rain will last?” you asked, slowly leaning against his chest.

Jeonghan hummed, and you felt his chest vibrate. “Not too long, I think. An hour at most. Maybe half.”

“My car is just below the hill. I should have driven it all the way up here,” you sighed, closing your eyes.

“You didn’t know this would happen,” he said, rubbing your shoulder. “Did you see my pickup down there? I didn’t drive up, too.”

You chuckled, pulling away to look at him. You were gonna say something, but the way he was looking at you made you hold your breath.

His gaze was steady, searching, as if something was fascinating about your face. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just looked, and something about it sent a slow, burning heat in your chest. Your gaze drifted lower. His lips were slightly parted, and you knew—just as you had known that night outside the guesthouse—that this was going to happen.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One moment, there was space between you; the next, Jeonghan was leaning in, and your fingers had curled against the fabric of his shirt. His lips met yours. A slow, quick peck. Barely a kiss at all—just a taste. But then you exhaled, and he was kissing you again, properly this time.

Soft and lingering like he was savoring the moment, like he had thought about it and now that it was happening, he didn’t want to rush. His lips were warm, even with the cold outside. You responded without thinking, tilting your head, pressing closer. Your fingers tightened in his shirt. He hummed against your lips, low and pleased, his other hand finding the small of your back and pressing you closer. The blanket slipped from your shoulders, but you barely noticed.

Jeonghan angled his head, his hand sliding up to your jaw, thumb stroking just under your ear. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing you into parting for him. A quiet sound escaped you, something between a sigh and a gasp, and that was all it took for him to press you back against wall, his body flush against yours.

The heat between you burned hotter than the cold rain. His hands roamed, brushing over the curve of your hips, slipping under the hem of your shirt to find the warmth of your skin. You gasped against his mouth at the sensation, fingers tightening in his shirt.

He took that as encouragement. His lips left yours only to trail lower, to your jaw, and down to your neck. You shivered—not from the cold, but from the way he touched you. Your own hands moved, pushing beneath his damp shirt, palms pressing against his stomach. He let out a quiet, surprised laugh before he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier.

The rain outside blurred into nothing. It was just him. His lips, his hands, the heat of him against you. But then, he stopped, pulling away just enough to look at you. His fingers flexed against your waist, as if holding himself back. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply as he asked, “Is this okay?”

The words sent a jolt through you, cutting through the haze of heat and desire clouding your thoughts. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and for the first time since kissing him, you could hear the rain again—the steady downpour, the distant rumble of thunder.

Reality came crashing in, making you pull back slightly with a shaky breath. Your hands gripping his shirt loosened. His gaze searched yours, unreadable but patient. He was waiting.

“I…” You swallowed, looking away. “We shouldn’t.”

There was a second of silence, Jeonghan’s hand leaving your waist and reaching up to tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then he planted a soft kiss on your forehead and said, “Okay.”

You weren’t sure if the cold you felt now was from the rain or from something else entirely. But it was gone as soon as he pulled you into a hug.

“But we can do this, right?”

You chuckled lightly, closing your eyes and basking in his warmth. “Yeah,” you replied, wrapping your arms around him too. “Yeah, we can.”

You tossed and turned all night, replaying every moment at the warehouse. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he touched you with veneration, the addicting heat that had consumed you. All of it.

It was just the heat of the moment, you told yourself. Just a fleeting lapse of judgment, nothing more. But the longer you lay there, the more you realized you were lying.

You wanted it. You liked it. And you liked Jeonghan.

It wasn’t just your imagination. You didn’t imagine the way your heart raced when he kissed you. You didn’t imagine the sparks of pleasure dancing on your skin when he touched you. You didn’t imagine the way you melted in his arms when he held you close until the rain stopped.

You were still trying to come to terms with it when you heard faint voices outside. Curious, you pushed yourself up and peered through the window.

Outside, it was the early hours of dawn. In the dim dawn light, Jeonghan stood with Gram by the shed, lifting the lids off large clay crocks. Even though you couldn’t hear them, it wasn’t hard to guess what they were doing—Gram was transferring kimchi into a large container, with Jeonghan helping her.

As if sensing your gaze, he suddenly glanced up and caught you watching. You froze when his gaze met yours. But Jeonghan just smiled and raised a hand in a lazy wave, which you returned sheepishly.

Then he sent kisses your way, gestured that it was still too early, and mouthed that you should go back to sleep. Clearly, he had no idea you hadn’t slept a wink yet.

You huffed but nodded anyway, and just as you pulled back from the window, you heard Gram say something. Jeonghan turned to her, his head tilting in mock innocence, and you could imagine her scolding him for slacking off. Smiling to yourself, you shut your window and crawled back into bed.

As expected, you woke up late the next morning. It was almost noon, but it was the weekend, so you knew Jeonghan and Gram would be home all day. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Gram told you over lunch that he had gone to the city to visit his parents. You only nodded in response, pretending it didn’t affect you. But as the day stretched on, you found yourself missing him.

Which was stupid.

He was just a guy—a good-looking guy, yes, but that didn’t mean anything. Good-looking guys had a way of making you think you liked them when you really didn’t. Besides, liking Jeonghan wasn’t part of the plan. You had come here for peace and quiet—to breathe and to heal, not to get swept up in whatever this was.

So you spent the day distracting yourself—helping Gram in the kitchen, reading in the shade, taking a walk along the shore. Anything to push thoughts of him away. The more you did, the more you convinced yourself that you didn’t like him that much.

You weren’t that attached to him. You didn’t care that he wasn’t around, didn’t notice the way the day felt quieter without him. You weren’t thinking about the way he always leaned too close when he talked or how he made even the dullest moments entertaining.

Would he be back today? Tomorrow? Would he have texted you if you had exchanged numbers?

Stop it. This wasn’t you. You didn’t get flustered over a guy. You didn’t sit around waiting like some lovesick idiot. You were better than this.

You were fine. Your thoughts kept circling back to him, but you were fine. You just needed to reset. Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’d be back to normal.

So you sat outside on the porch after dinner, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him. You were just enjoying the evening air after a hearty meal. You weren’t glancing at the road every few minutes. You weren’t hoping he’d arrive before you ran out of reasons to stay outside.

Then, as if answering an unspoken wish, Jeonghan’s pickup came rolling into view, kicking up dust along the quiet road. The second you saw it, the day seemed brighter, and your heart felt lighter, warmer.

Oh. 

So this was it. This was what it felt like to really like someone.

Jeonghan parked his truck and hopped out, already smiling from ear to ear as he walked over to where you were sitting on the porch. “Waiting for me?” he asked, opening his arms as if he was waiting for you to jump into them.

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. “No. I’m just getting some air.”

Jeonghan raised his brows. “You could’ve just lied and said you were. You’re hurting my feelings here.”

“I— what?”

He sighed, pouting. “I’m hurt because you’d been on my mind all day, and I couldn’t wait to come home and see you again.”

You blinked, suddenly feeling too warm despite the cool night air. The way he said it so smoothly, so easily, like it was just a simple fact, left you scrambling for a response. But nothing came.

Neither of you spoke.

Instead, you just stood there, staring at each other in the warm porch light. He didn’t even try to laugh it off or take it back so your heart thudded a little harder, unsure what to make of this.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Gram stepped out. “Hannie, you’re back so soon,” she greeted, eyeing him up and down. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“I did,” he answered, stepping back slightly. “I picked up something to eat on my way here.”

Gram huffed. “You should get some rest, then. You must be tired. Why didn’t you just spend the night at your parents’ house? Driving back and forth like that—” She gave him a knowing look, voice lilting with mischief. “It almost seems like you were excited to come home for some reason.”

You caught the implication immediately. Jeonghan did too, if the way he smirked was any indication.

“You’re right, Gram,” he said without missing a beat. Then, with a glance at you, he added, “Actually, I was wondering if I could take the reason out for a stroll.”

Gram barely spared him a glance as she waved a hand dismissively. “Do whatever you want.” She turned back toward the house, muttering, “Young people these days. So forward. Too liberated.”

And just like that, she was gone. You, however, were still standing there, completely dumbfounded.

You turned to Jeonghan, who was watching you with an all-too-pleased expression. He tilted his head toward the road.

“So? You coming?”

You walked in silence for the first few minutes. You were expecting Jeonghan to start the conversation because, obviously, he should be the one making conversation. There were plenty of things he could start with, like clarifying what he meant when he implied that you were the reason he chose to come home right away despite the long drive.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he finally asked, leaning down slightly to peek at your face.

You turned away. “No. What would I even say to you?”

Jeonghan straightened up, huffing. “I practically spelled it out for you, and you have nothing to say?”

You stopped in your tracks, exhaling sharply as you ran a hand over your nape. “Okay, what the hell is this? How about communicating clearly and more openly like grown adults  instead of whatever this is?”

Jeonghan turned fully to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was light when he said, “I like you.”

For a second, your mind went completely blank. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then let out a breath. “Are you sure?”

His brows furrowed. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean—” You gestured vaguely. “It’s not just because of yesterday? Maybe it’s a momentary lapse of judgment. We kissed, and there was…” You hesitated to say it. “...a moment, and now you think you like me because of it.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, then asked, “Are you drunk?”

“No.” You shot him a look. “Jeonghan, I’m serious.”

He chuckled, but when he spoke again, he was serious. “No, it’s not just because of yesterday. I don’t pull something like that on just anyone. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“Why?”

He grimaced, like he couldn’t believe you had to ask. “What do you mean why? Because I do. You’re pretty and nice. You’re smart. You’re good with kids, good with elders.” His voice was steady, without hesitation. “I’m not in love with you or anything. Not yet, at least. I just think you’re… amazing. And honestly, I wasn’t planning to act on it.”

You frowned. “Then why are you?”

“Because,” he said, watching you closely, “I think you like me too.”

Your pulse quickened. “No, I don’t,” you lied, shamelessly.

Jeonghan’s was menacingly confident. “Yes, you do.”

You rolled your eyes and walked ahead, heading straight for the beach. He followed closely behind, undeterred. “Come on, I’m being honest here.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?” you asked, not even glancing back.

“Nothing. Just—” He caught up to you and slipped his hand into yours. “At least tell me you heard what I said.”

“I did.”

“So? What do you think?”

You sighed, pulling your hand back. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

And truly, you hadn’t. You liked him too, yes. But what to do about it? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did you want a relationship with him? Were you going to act on your feelings or pretend none of this ever happened? You haven’t decided yet.

That didn’t seem to discourage him, though. If anything, his smile turned triumphant. “So you’re gonna think about it?”

“Even if I do, there’s no guarantee that—”

“It’s alright,” he cut you off, grinning. “I know I can change your mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re making me want to reject you just to spite you.”

Jeonghan laughed, his head tipping back as he did. “You can try, but you wouldn’t want to.”

That made you laugh, too, though you weren’t sure if it was because it was funny or because he was right. Either way, it didn’t matter. You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “You’re really confident, huh?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “It’s not confidence. I just know I’m right.”

You scoffed, lightly kicking sand at him. He dodged with a laugh, but you caught the way he was still looking at you—like he already knew what you’d decide.

You weren’t sure exactly when Jeonghan decided to start his little mission, but once he did, it became impossible to ignore. Maybe it was when he started showing up more often, always finding excuses to be around you. Maybe it was when he started helping you without being asked—fixing the latch on your door when it got stuck, carrying things before you could, slipping you an extra slice of fruit without a word.

Or maybe it was when he stopped being subtle about it.

“You’re really going all out with this, aren’t you?” you asked him one afternoon when he took the heavy bag of groceries from your hands. One moment, you were struggling with the weight, and the next, he was lifting it effortlessly—like he’d been waiting for the chance.

“This isn’t even half of it.” He flashed you a smile. “Date me for real, and I’ll show you what all-out really means.”

At first, it was playful, something you could brush off. Jeonghan was naturally charming; he knew exactly what to say and how to say it to fluster you.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I might get the wrong idea,” he’d tease whenever you so much as glanced his way.

But then there were moments when the teasing fell away, leaving something else in its place.

One evening, after a long day, you sat on the porch, stretching your legs and watching the sky change from gold to deep blue. Jeonghan appeared beside you, holding two cups of tea. He handed you one without a word, then sat down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” he said, propping himself on his hands. “Gram told me you liked this kind.”

You turned to look at him, but he was already watching you. The usual mischief in his eyes had softened into something else. You looked away first.

But if his actions weren’t enough, he made sure everyone else knew he liked you, too.

It wasn’t over the top—no grand declarations or dramatic gestures. Jeonghan was smoother than that. He let people assume what they wanted and simply confirmed it with a smile. He wove it so naturally into conversations that it left no room for argument.

“You’re a good boy, Jeonghan,” a man at the market told him one day. “I should introduce you to my niece. She’s a lovely girl—smart, well-mannered—”

Jeonghan barely let him finish before shaking his head. “Ah, that won’t be necessary,” he said, glancing at you. “I already have someone I like.”

The man’s gaze flickered between you both before he let out a knowing laugh. “Oh, I see. You two make a nice couple.”

Before you could open your mouth to correct him, Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “I know, right? But she’s making me work for it.”

“Well, keep at it then.”

You groaned, moving to another stall before he could make it worse. But it didn’t stop there. As you browsed through vegetables, another vendor—a woman in her forties—raised an eyebrow at you. “You two seem close,” she said knowingly. “Are you finally together?”

Jeonghan sighed again, this time heavier, as if burdened. “Not yet. She’s making me suffer.”

You turned to glare at him. “Oh my god, stop saying that.”

The vendor laughed. “Smart girl. Make him work for it, dear.”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

At the market, the vendors chuckled and nodded approvingly when he sighed about how hard he was working to win you over. At the café, the barista raised an eyebrow when Jeonghan ordered your drink before you could even say it.

“He’s already ordering for you,” she mused, sliding the cup across the counter. “Boyfriend privileges?”

Jeonghan took the cup and handed it to you without missing a beat. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

You swatted his arm. “Why do you keep telling everyone that?”

“What? It’s true.” He looked at the barista. “She is making me work for it.”

The barista laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a good shot.”

“Exactly.” He flashed her a grin before steering you toward a table.

Then there were the aunties. The older women in town had a habit of doting on Jeonghan whenever they saw him, always fussing over how handsome he was, how polite. And, naturally, they always tried to set him up with their nieces or granddaughters.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right, Hannie?” one of them asked one afternoon as you both helped carry groceries to her house.

“No, but I’m trying,” Jeonghan replied.

The auntie’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, dear, you should consider it. He’s a catch.”

Jeonghan turned to you, smirking. “Hear that? I’m a catch.”

You rolled your eyes and walked off, pretending not to hear the rest of their conversation.

But despite all his teasing, despite how easy he made it seem, you could tell he meant it. The way he always lingered close, the way he took things from your hands without asking so you wouldn’t have to carry them, the way he looked at you—warm, steady, reassuring. He wasn’t playing around.

Soon, three months had passed and the town’s founding anniversary festival came. The celebration took place at the townhall by the beach, with tables stretched across the clearing. The scent of grilled fish and food blended with the salty breeze, and children ran barefoot across the sand, shrieking as they chased each other. It was the kind of gathering that felt timeless, a tradition that was part of the town itself.

You watched from the shade of a large tree, with a cup of cold barley tea in your hands. The scene before you was lively, familiar now, yet something inside you was restless.

Jeonghan was at the center of it all.

You weren’t sure when you lost track of him, but now, across the clearing, you spotted him with a group of aunties fussing over him. One of them reached up to pinch his cheek, scolding him for not eating enough, and he only laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder and promising to come by for dinner next week. Not far from them, a group of kids tugged at his sleeves, demanding that he join their game. He let them drag him off with a grin, playfully ruffling a boy’s hair as they ran.

He was so at home here. And a strange feeling twisted in your chest as you took it all in—the way people naturally gravitated toward him, the way he moved through the crowd like he belonged, because he did. He had a place here, something his, something permanent.

And you… you were just passing through. A guest in their steady everyday life.

Strong breeze rustled the trees overhead, and you exhaled, as if trying to shake the thoughts away. It shouldn’t matter. You knew from the start that this was temporary, that eventually, you’d have to leave. Which was why the idea of starting something with him felt so selfish.

Across the clearing, Jeonghan’s gaze caught yours and the smile that tore across his lips made your heart melt. You smiled back as he chased the kids away and started jogging toward you.

“Why do you look like that?” he asked as soon as he was sat next to you.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He carefully grabbed the cup from your hand and took a sip. “Like you’re about to cry.”

You huffed, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeonghan crouched beside you, resting his forearms on his knees, watching you carefully. “You’re thinking too hard about something,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” You looked away, but he reached out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re a bad liar.”

You sighed. “It’s just… it’s really nice here,” you admitted, gesturing toward the gathering. “You’re really part of this town, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Of course. I grew up here.”

“Exactly.” You let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “You belong here, Jeonghan. This is your home. And I’m just a guest.”

He studied you for a second, then said, “Is that what this is about?”

You shook your head, but it was unconvincing, even to yourself. Jeonghan exhaled, then reached up, lightly flicking your forehead. 

You winced. “Ow—what was that for?”

“For being stupid.” He rested his chin on his hand. “You think just because I’ve lived here longer, that means I belong here more than you?”

“You do, though,” you muttered.

“Maybe.” His gaze softened. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because wasn’t that the problem? No matter how much you loved this town, it wasn’t yours. And if you started something with him, would it really be fair, knowing you’d have to leave eventually?

Jeonghan must have sensed your hesitation because his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I can’t help it,” you chuckled.

“It’s okay.” He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Just don’t talk yourself out of liking me.”

Shaking your head with a grin, you said, “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he replied, still holding your hand, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin.

You were staring at each other when someone called your name. “Enough with the eyes! Come help us with the lanterns,” one of the women called, waving you over to where a group of ladies sat beneath a pavilion.

Jeonghan rose to his feet, patting his knees as he said, “Go on, then.” 

But before you could pull away, he leaned in to press a quick peck to your cheek. Your skin burned as a chorus of delighted gasps and giggles erupted from the women.

“Oh my,” someone cooed.

You turned to glare at Jeonghan but he was already walking away with a satisfied grin. “I’ll see you later,” he said casually, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just done that in broad daylight, in front of an entire audience.

You inhaled sharply, willing your face to cool before reluctantly stepping toward the pavilion. It didn’t help that all eyes were on you, their smirks making it painfully clear that you were about to be teased the moment you step under that shade.

“Oh, look at her,” one of them teased, nudging another. “Her face is all red.”

“About time, don’t you think?” another woman drawled, folding the paper carefully over the frame. “They’ve been at it for weeks now. It’s a wonder why they’re not dating yet.”

“You’re not?” asked one, turning to you with curious eyes.

You blinked, chuckling awkwardly as you sat down. “No. We’re not.” 

You glanced around at the lanterns in progress, carefully folded and held together with thin wooden frames. “So how does this work?” you asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Ah, you’ve never done this before?” one of them asked, already making space in front of you. “Here. let me show you.”

“Flying lanterns are part of the festival. Every year, we make these, light them up at night and send them out to sea,” another explained, demonstrating how to fasten the frame together. “Most people make wishes on them before letting them go.”

You nodded, watching her hands. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Some people write their wishes down, but most just send them off and let fate handle the rest.”

The conversation wandered after that. The women shared stories about past festivals, about childhood memories, about their work, their families. Some had left the town for a time but eventually returned. Others had never left at all and found both their purpose and their love in this small town.

“Isn’t it funny how life works?” one of them mused. “Some of us spend years wanting to leave, only to realize later that there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.”

A few nodded in agreement, their expressions wistful. You listened quietly, fingers tracing the smooth paper of your lantern. 

You never thought about staying, not once. This town had been an escape, a peaceful pause in your fast-paced life. But somehow, it kept drawing you in. You used to feel like a visitor passing through, but then there were mornings spent sipping tea with Gram, evenings watching the fishermen return with their catch, and nights when laughter—yours and Jeonghan’s—echoed through the town. Eventually, it got to a point where when you looked up, the sky was no longer unfamiliar. The people here weren’t strangers anymore.

And Jeonghan…

“You know,” another woman started, glancing at you with a knowing smile, “there’s a popular myth about these lanterns.”

That got your attention. “A myth?”

“It’s probably just that, a myth with no truth to it,” she said lightly, her hands expertly tying a knot, “but it’s been passed down longer than anyone can remember. They say that you can make wishes when you send out a lantern, but if you send one with your lover, it’s a wish to stay together forever.”

You smiled, finding it unsurprisingly typical but interesting nonetheless. “That’s… romantic.”

“That’s why couples always do it together,” another woman added, grinning. “It’s tradition.”

The first woman turned to you again. “Has Jeonghan asked you to send one with him yet?”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Then again, you should have expected the conversation to take this turn. Before you could answer, another woman let out a laugh. “Of course he has! He wouldn’t miss the chance.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing there was no way out of this. If you admitted that Jeonghan hadn’t asked, they’d tease him mercilessly. If you denied everything outright, they wouldn’t believe you. So instead, you focused on your lantern, pretending to be engrossed in aligning the edges.

The women continued chatting around you, discussing the upcoming lantern release, while your thoughts drifted.

Jeonghan hadn’t asked you to send one with him. Would he?

And if he did… would you say yes?

You waited for him to ask. Maybe it was foolish, but as the day stretched into the night and festivalgoers started making their way to the beach with lanterns in hand, you kept expecting Jeonghan to turn to you and say something. An invitation, even a playful one—anything that would suggest he wanted to go together.

But he never did. And somehow, you still ended up going with him. Not that you were expecting to go with someone else.

There was a mini talent show by the beach, with townsfolk participating by singing or dancing. Jeonghan had simply taken your hand and led you away from the main stage, settling on a low stone wall far from the noise of the crowd. From where you sat, the music was still within reach but the space around you was quiet.

He left to get food and returned not too long after, making you raise an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

Jeonghan handed you a skewer with a smirk. “Don’t ask, just eat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you still took the food. You talked over the hearty food. He complained about how long the lines were, you accused him of cutting them. He neither confirmed nor denied it, only smiled in that way that said maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

At some point, his gaze drifted to the lantern resting beside you.

“Did you make that?”

You hummed, nodding. “Where’s yours?”

He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. “I don’t need one.”

You glanced at him. “Why not?” You instinctively pushed the lanter away from him. “You are not taking mine.” 

He frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to send one together?”

You stared at him, heat creeping up your cheeks. “W–What are you talking about?”

Jeonghan smirked teasingly. “So you already know the myth?”

You blinked but didn’t say anything. He turned his head toward you. “You’re not gonna make me go light one alone, will you?”

You scoffed. “Is this how you’re gonna ask me to light one with you? Surely you can do better.”

“Asking is for people who don’t get what they want.”

You let out an incredulous laugh and rolled your eyes. “Have fun lighting one by yourself then.”

He hummed, seemingly satisfied. For a moment, the conversation paused, the music from a young girl singing a ballad echoing through the cool night air. The warm glow of festival lights flickered over Jeonghan’s features as he watched you eat quietly and watch the show.

Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “What would you wish for?”

That made you glance at him, looking away just as quickly when you saw the fond look in his eyes. You cleared your throat. “I don’t know. Peace, maybe.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Like world peace? That’s so generic.”

“No. Peace in my own life,” you corrected, scoffing.

He hummed. “That’s not what most people wish for.”

“Yeah? What do most people wish for?”

He leaned back on his hands again, gazing toward the dark sea. “Love, money… fame?” He smirked. “A kiss under the fireworks.”

You chuckled. “That last one sounds oddly specific.”

“Does it?” His tone was light, but his eyes flickered back to you, holding yours for a second too long.

You looked away first, exhaling. “I think peace is a good wish.”

Jeonghan didn’t reply right away. “Is that why you left the city?” he asked eventually.

There it was, the question about your life and choices. Somehow, it didn’t feel as jarring as the previous times he tried to bring it up. Maybe because you wanted to tell him this time.

You pressed your lips together before answering. “I got fired for exposing a senior executive who sexually harassed one of my coworkers. Long story short, the company protected him and I got fired. I sued for wrongful termination but my own lawyer told me to back down, said the fight wasn’t worth it. They were too big and I was too small.”

Jeonghan’s expression hardened slightly. “So you gave up?”

“I didn’t at first,” you murmured. “But they made sure no one else would hire me. There spread rumors about me. That I leak information to rival companies. None of it was true, but in my field, something like leaking information is a big deal. It was enough to ruin me.”

Jeonghan didn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “It was. But I had no choice so I took the settlement and left. I just… wanted to be somewhere far away. I needed a temporary escape.”

“Temporary?” he echoed.

You glanced at him, only to find him still watching you intently.

You hesitated, fingers curling around the wooden frame of the lantern. You thought about the town, about the people who had unknowingly made space for you in their world. About Jeonghan who had secured a place for himself in your heart. And about you who had slowly started to belong here.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think I’m starting to change my mind.”

Jeonghan didn’t speak, just watched you, his gaze steady in the lantern-lit dark. Then he leaned in, slowly. You weren’t sure if you moved too, only that suddenly he was too close, his eyes flickering to your lips. His fingers brushed over yours on the cool concrete, squeezing as he continued leaning closer.

And just when your lips were about to meet, a loud boom echoed the air, and the sky erupted into colors.

You were startled, glancing at the sky as fireworks exploded in bursts of gold and red, reflecting in your eyes. Beside you, Jeonghan chuckled. “You wished for a kiss under the fireworks, didn’t you?”

You burst out laughing. “Shut up.”

He grinned, jumping down the ledge and nodding toward the crowd gathering by the beach. “Let’s go. They’re starting.”

You scrambled to grab your lantern and get down the wall. But Jeonghan was already lifting you by the waist and setting you carefully on your feet. Then with your fingers intertwined, he led you down the sandy path to the beach where people were starting to light their lanterns.

And for the first time since arriving in this town, staying sounded like a really good idea.

The drive up to the pear farm was quiet, but not in a way that felt empty or awkward. Jeonghan’s hand was warm against yours, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the back of your palm as he steered with his other hand.

When the lanterns started floating into the sky, he had leaned down to whisper, “The view is better from up the hill.” 

And before you could even respond, he was already tugging you toward his truck, grinning like he knew you wouldn’t say no. And you didn’t.

Now, sitting on the rooftop of the warehouse, you could see what he meant. From here, the town stretched below, the coastline shimmering with lanterns drifting over the sea like golden fireflies. It was breathtaking.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It was much quieter than the festival down below. Up here, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. Jeonghan sat close, one arm over your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady and soothing. You turned your head, wanting to say something, only to find that he was already watching you.

He smiled. “I really, really, like you. You have no idea.”

“Well,” you breathed, smiling back at him. “I really, really, like you too.”

He smirked. “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Boy, bye,” you muttered, moving to stand up but he stopped you.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, looking nowhere near sorry at all. “Don’t go.”

His fingers brushed over your cheek, light at first, as if waiting for you to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you nuzzled into the warmth of his hand. The slight furrow of his brows and the affection in his eyes stirred something inside you, igniting some kind of courage that made you reach for his cheek and lean forward to press a soft kiss on his lips.

A quick one. Fleeting but it left a tingling sensation on your lips, itching for more. Something flickered in Jeonghan’s eyes before his lips crashed into yours in a slow, searching kiss. It wasn’t hurried or desperate, just deep, lingering, like neither of you wanted to let go. So you didn’t let go.

Jeonghan kissed you like he had all the time in the world. His lips moved over yours in a way that made your breath hitch, slow and thorough, like he was memorizing you, savoring the shape of your mouth, the way you sighed against his lips.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging onto him as warmth spread through you. He made a quiet sound when you pulled him closer, one hand slipping down to your waist, the other threading through your hair to tip your head back. The angle deepened the kiss and sent a shiver through you when his tongue pushed into your mouth.

You caught your breath when he pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours, his thumb tracing your jaw. Then, just as easily, his lips were back on yours, softer this time but just as insistent.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, only that at some point, you found yourself stepping down from the rooftop, hand in hand with him. The warehouse door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing the dim interior where weeks ago, something had almost happened between you. This time though, you weren’t stopping.

Jeonghan glanced at you with an inquiring look in his eyes, as if asking for a confirmation to continue. But you had already made up your mind. You reached for him, and he caught you in his arms with a breathless laugh. Then his lips were on yours again.

His hands slid down your back, pressing you flush against him. The warmth of his body, and the firmness of his touch was intoxicating. His lips trailed along your jaw, down the line of your throat, lingering at the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

“We can still stop if you’re not sure about this,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing.

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, already half undone from when you’d tugged at it earlier. “Stopping is the last thing in my mind right now.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His lips were on you again, hungrier this time, as if something had snapped inside him. The restraint he had so carefully held onto unraveled with every touch, every kiss. Your back met the cool surface of a stack of crates, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, the way he pressed into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

His hands slid higher, slipping beneath the tight band of your bra. The heat of his palm cupped your breast, sending a new wave of warmth through you. His lips left yours to trail lower, nipping at the hollow of your throat before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Your back arched into him before you even realized, his hands tightening at your waist in response.

“Jeonghan,” you breathed before you could stop it.

He hummed in response, the sound deep and approving. His fingers brushed along your ribs, teasing the hem of your dress upward, giving you plenty of time to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you tugged at his shirt and yanked it from his shoulders.

You could barely see him in the dim light, but you could still make out the smooth lines of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, his smooth long hair slightly disheveled from your hands running through it.

Without a word, he lifted you off your feet and kissed you again. Your legs wrapped around his torso, arms around his neck as he walked further into the warehouse and set you down an empty worktable. 

The cold surface of the worktable sent a shiver through you, but Jeonghan’s hands were warm as they slid along your thighs, pushing them apart just enough to step between them. His gaze darkened as he took you in, his fingers trailing on the bare skin beneath your dress before he pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost absentmindedly, like he was too distracted by you to realize he’d said it aloud. 

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another slow, lingering kiss as his hands worked the clasp of your bra. The second it slipped from your shoulders, he palmed your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in circles. A whimper escaped you, your back arching into him.

He lowered his head, lips parting just before he wrapped them around your nipple, sucking slowly and deeply. The warmth of his mouth sent a sharp jolt of heat through your nerves, pooling low in your stomach. 

“Jeonghan,” you gasped, thighs tightening around his waist as he switched to the other, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before closing his lips around it and sucking again. He groaned, like he was savoring the taste of you, like he couldn’t get enough.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips, pressing you firmly against him and there was no mistaking the hard press of his erection through his jeans. The realization sent another wave of heat through you, and you bucked against him without thinking.

He grunted and pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, half-lidded eyes directed at you. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he murmured, voice rough.

You kissed him, messy and eager, before smirking against his lips. “Well, wouldn’t you love it if I did?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he breathed before laying you down the table with urgency.

Your skin prickled with anticipation as you watched him unbuckle his belt. His fingers worked quickly, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough, freeing himself from the restraints of his clothes.

Your lips parted at the sight of him—hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. You felt yourself clench at nothing as he leaned over you again, hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against the damp fabric between your legs. The friction made you whimper, your thighs trembling around him.

“So sensitive,” he groaned, rolling his hips against yours, dragging himself along your clothed sex. “So soaked too.”

“Please do something about it,” you whispered, tilting your head back as his mouth found your throat, sucking at the supple skin, leaving behind a delightful sting that you knew you’d still see tomorrow.

His hands slipped into the waistband of your underwear, hooking his fingers in the fabric and dragging them down in one swift motion. The cool air against your bare skin made you shiver, but Jeonghan was quick to settle between your legs again, his fingers tracing teasingly up your inner thigh.

He paused, gaze flicking up to yours, searching. You knew what he was asking. pulling him down, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “I need you,” you whispered in his ear.

Jeonghan groaned into your mouth, pressing you deeper into the table as his hands roamed your skin. His fingers trailed lower, brushing against your inner thigh before sliding between your legs. A sharp gasp left you at the first stroke of his fingers. You didn’t bother pretending to be shy, not when he was rubbing delightfully against your clit, not when your hips bucked into his touch on instinct.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled back. You were just about ready to protest but your voice disappeared the second he dropped to his knees.

His hands gripped your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table. He looked up at you, eyes dark with something ravenous.

“Oh—” before you could form a word, his mouth was on you.

The first swipe of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you. “Jeonghan—” His name broke off into a gasp as he sucked your clit.

He hummed, satisfied, as he settled between your thighs like he belonged there, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still—though that did little to stop the way your legs trembled around him. Then, without warning, he buried his tongue inside you, licking deep, slow, dragging obscene noises from your lips.

Your hands flew to his hair, clutching and pulling when the pleasure became too much, only for him to groan in approval, his grip tightening on you. The sounds—his mouth, your gasps, the heat—filled the empty warehouse, making your tummy coil tighter and tighter with every movement of his tongue.

“Jeonghan,” you whimpered, thighs squeezing around his head. “I’m—”

“I know.” His voice was hoarse, breathless, and he didn’t stop—if anything, he doubled down, sucking harder, fingers replacing his tongue, thrusting deep, curling just right until the knot in your stomach came undone.

Your body arched off the table, waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you breathless, dazed, trembling beneath him.

Jeonghan kissed his way back up your body. He lingered at your boobs, then at you collarbone and your neck, his breath warm as he whispered against your skin, “You’re beautiful like this.”

You barely had the voice to respond, still trembling from the way he’d unraveled you so effortlessly. But when his lips met yours again, you tasted yourself on his tongue, and something about that sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. His forehead rested against yours, his lips brushing yours with every breath. 

“Please tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and unsteady. Not because he didn’t know it, but because he needed to hear it.

You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I want you, Jeonghan.”

His hand slid down your thigh, lifting it higher against his waist as he positioned himself with you, moving slowly. His lips found yours again, swallowing your gasp as he pushed himself in, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delightful way.

He groaned softly into your mouth, his fingers intertwining with yours beside your head as he pushed deeper, until there was no space left between you. He didn’t move right away, just held you, let you feel him, let you adjust to the feeling of him buried inside you.

“You okay?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You nodded, breath shaky, overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you—like you were something to be cherished, something to be loved.

Then he started to move slowly, deeply, like he was practicing the clench, like he never wanted to forget the way you felt around him. He kissed you between every thrust, your lips, your cheek, your jaw, anywhere he could reach—his hands never leaving yours.

“You’re trembling.”

You were. From his hands, his mouth, his manhood and the intoxicating euphoria that clouded your head and left you gasping, arching into him, chasing every movement, every moment.

And when he finally whispered your name like a prayer, you knew you were completely, utterly lost in him.

Neither of you said much on the ride home, still giddy about what had just happened but too shy to talk about it. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, as he hummed quietly with the music from the stereo. The cool night air slipped in through the open window, carrying the faint echoes of the festival, but here, in the car, it was just the two of you.

The guest house was dark when you arrived, Gram still out enjoying the festival somewhere. You half expected Jeonghan to go back to his room, but you knew he’d follow you inside yours.

“Wanna shower together?” he asked, hugging your from behind and kissing the side of your head.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I think I’ll go by myself.”

“Oh, come on. Just say yes,” he whined, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Please?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Fine.” He was quick to tug you down the hall and into the bathroom. 

In the bathroom, steam floated in the air as warm water cascaded over your shoulders. Jeonghan stood behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He reached for the soap, lathering it between his palms before smoothing it over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch more soothing than teasing. 

His fingers traced along your spine, his lips brushing over the back of your neck before he whispered, “Don’t get turned on. We’re just taking a bath.”

You smacked his chest, laughing as you took the soap from his hand. “Turn around.”

Like an obedient puppy, he did as he was told and you lathered the soap against his back. For a long moment, you just stood there, quietly helping each other wash up.

As you were running your fingers into his hair, Jeonghan said, “You keep touching me like that, and we’re never getting out of here.”

You scoffed. “Take your mind out of the gutter.”

He grabbed your wrists gently, making you pause. “Okay, I hope you know that’s too much to ask when you’re standing here naked with me.”

“Oh my god, you’re the insatiable type, aren’t you?” you asked, shaking your head as you wriggled your hands free from his grip.

Jeonghan only grinned. “Baby, every man with a working penis is insatiable.”

You scoffed, flicking water at him. “That’s so insightful. Thanks,” you said with a deadpan expression.

He smirked. “I like to think I’m a man of wisdom.”

“You’re a menace. That’s what you are.”

“Yeah? And yet, here you are. Naked again. With me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Obviously, I have bad judgment.”

“Mm. Bad judgment is agreeing to shower with me and expecting nothing to happen.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Admit it. You wanted to see this again,” he added, gesturing to his body.

You shoved him under the water, laughing as you said. “Yeah, whatever.”

“See?” He slicked his hair back, giving you a triumphant look. “I always knew you liked me too much,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before stepping back under the spray.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he reached for the loofah, running it down your arm with care. For all his teasing, he took his time with you, washing your skin with gently strokes, like he enjoyed the act itself, not just the excuse to touch you.

At some point, his fingers found yours under the water, linking them together. You looked up to find him watching you. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The silence, the warmth, the feeling of standing here with him in the warm light of the bathroom, it was enough.

Steam was still in the air as you stood side by side in front of the bathroom mirror, you wrapped in a towel and him shirtless with gray sweatpants. You reached for your moisturizer while Jeonghan lazily brushed his teeth, watching you through the mirror.

“I saw a house for sale near the pear farm the other day,” you said casually, dabbing the product on your skin.

Jeonghan hummed, dipping his head down the sink to rinse his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “It’s nice. Small, but cozy. Has a garden.”

“I know that one. Nice house. The owners moved abroad with their daughter.” He wiped his mouth with a towel. 

“Do you know how much they’re selling it for?”

He capped his toothbrush and turned to face you fully. “It should be affordable. Real estate isn’t too expensive around here. Why? You interested?”

“Maybe,” you replied, shrugging.

He made a thoughtful sound, turning back to the mirror. “I won’t move in with you unless you marry me first.”

You snorted. “Don’t we technically live together already?”

“This is a guest house. That’s different,” he countered. “Buying a house is serious. I like you a lot, but I won’t spend money on a house unless we’re official official.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to him. “I have my own money, you know?”

“So?”

“So? I’ll buy the house myself.”

Jeonghan nodded. “Yeah, I admire strong and independent women, but no. Not moving in with you unless you put a ring on it,” he said playfully, wiggling his fingers.

You shook your head, packing your skincare products back in your pouch. “I didn’t say I was gonna live there with you.”

“Oh?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Well, then if you’re living in that house, I should at least get a key.”

He turned to wash his hands, but halfway through, he froze. The bathroom went quiet except for the steady trickle of water against porcelain. Slowly, he turned back to you, his brows furrowing in realization.

“Wait a minute…”

You didn’t say anything, just shrugged. His eyes widened, and he straightened, covering his mouth in mock shock. “You’re staying?”

“I’m considering it.” You walked out of the bathroom, and as expected, Jeonghan was right behind you. “There’s a few things I can do if I settle down here. I could open a shop or something. Take up teaching or do marketing consults for the pear farm. I don’t see why not.”

You turned to find him still standing there, hand over his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Seriously?” you deadpanned.

He ignored you, blinking a few times before asking again, “You’re staying?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. I’m—”

Before you could say anything else, Jeonghan pulled you into a tight hug. He let out a breathy laugh against your hair, one hand sliding up to the nape of your neck.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him too. You hadn’t expected it to be such a simple decision. When you first arrived, you told yourself this was just temporary, a place to breathe before figuring out where to go next. But now, the thought of leaving felt impossible. The town had settled into your bones. The people, the warmth, the way the sea stretched endlessly against the sky—it had all become a part of you. And of course, admittedly one of the main reasons of your stay, Jeonghan.

Maybe you’d known for a while. Maybe you’d been staying long before you admitted it to yourself. Maybe your doubts were just the shadows of a past self trying to resist the peace you had found here.

You hugged him a little tighter, pressing your face into his shoulder. Jeonghan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips lifting into a mischievous smile.

“Let’s get married before you change your mind.”

You scoffed, patting his chest. “Okay, slow down, cowboy.”

And just like that, you were walking into a new phase in your life. Something slower, more mundane but steadier, and uneventful in the best way. It might have seemed too soon to say, but deep down, you knew you’d never regret choosing this life. 

Choosing him.

So Vernon vows to himself that if he ever gets the opportunity to be an alpha for someone, he would be the one that fits his exacting, rigid standards. That opportunity comes when he meets you.

You’re Seungkwan’s friend, which isn’t surprising. Pretty much anyone Vernon knows, he knows because they are Seungkwan’s friend. Vernon can’t understand how in hell Seungkwan can keep up with such a large friend circle. He knows everybody. But it helps indirectly because Vernon doesn’t go out of his way to meet people, so Seungkwan almost acts like the proxy for his social life.

That’s exactly how he met you.

Vernon almost didn’t go, since it was just supposed to be some kind of game night for Seungkwan’s study group. But Seungkwan insisted, really insisted, and Vernon had bailed on the last two social events Seungkwan asked him to come with, so he had to give in. He’s so glad that he did.

Just the scent of you makes him stiffen, which is very unlike him. Vernon isn’t usually much affected by omegas, hell, his best friend is an omega. But you smell so sweet, in this light and fresh way that almost energises him. Your smile is so bright as you introduce yourself, hair swaying when your head moves, and Vernon’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch. He has to visibly shake his head and blink, quickly introducing himself and shutting up so that he doesn’t act like a fool. You’re so pretty, and your voice is so calming and friendly. Vernon has this deep feeling in his chest that he wants to stay around you. Right by your side.

He hangs out with you twice more after that, all in big groups, but he manages to get near you anyhow. You’re so interesting to him. You talk about your major with a passion he can never muster, a fire in your eyes, your long term plans laid out already. You’re energetic, not as much as Seungkwan, but you know how to match the omega’s energy. And you’re also quieter with Vernon, like you understand that he’s laid back and deals with things differently. Only someone truly empathetic and kind can be like that, and Vernon’s heart soars. You’re so perfect, you’re perfect, and he will be damned if he won’t be the perfect alpha for you.

And so Vernon makes a resolve. He will prove himself. He will be the one for you, to take care of you the way someone with your spirit deserves. And he is absolutely not the kind to just pussyfoot around. So Vernon watches. Vernon observes.

When fall starts bleeding into winter, he notices how you love to be bundled up. The biggest coats and jackets, the most layers of anyone else in the group.

“Cold?” He asks when you show up at the campus gates where everyone agreed to meet so you can go to dinner together. You give him a sheepish smile and nod under your heavy hoodie.

“I get cold very easily.” You admit. “My hands and feet specifically.”

Vernon knows exactly how to fix it.

That night, he rummages through his closet and finds three sets of wool socks. His grandmother knits so many for him and his sister, and keeps sending them. Vernon wears one pair and keeps the rest for later use when his first ones are worn out. He swears by them, because she uses the finest wool for knitting. He contemplates between a navy blue pair and a grey one, ultimately going for the blue. He hopes you will like them.

When he finds you in the hallways the next morning, just before classes, he feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. He’s so nervous, and he worried himself sick last night about whether or not you would accept his gift. He wants to be there for you, to provide for you and understand your needs and take care of you. To be your alpha. This is it, the big moment.

He pulls you aside and away from the prying eyes of other students before slowly pulling out the small bag he put the socks in. You take it curiously, peering inside.

“You said your feet get really cold.” He quickly explains. “These are merino wool. My grandma makes them. They’re very warm, I promise.”

You look so surprised, blinking at the item in your hand. He watches your thumb run over them, feeling how soft they are.

“A-are you sure, Vernon?” You ask. “I was just complaining about the weather, I didn’t really think….”

Vernon immediately nods. He’s so sure. There’s no one else for him except you. You look a little hesitant, Vernon holds his breath, and then finally, you nod.

The air escapes his chest with a loud whoosh, and joy takes his place. He nods, more jerky this time, trying to tamp down his giddy smile.

“Thank you so much.” You look truly touched at the gesture, and that satisfies the alpha inside him. He took care of you, and you accepted his courting gift. You want to give him a chance. And as Vernon looks into your bright, warm eyes, he’s determined to never, ever let you down.

Vernon feels like he’s on cloud nine for the rest of the day, and when he lays in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he’s already planning other ways to convince you that he is the perfect alpha for you. He has watched you intensely (in a non-creepy way), and he knows what habits you have, and how he can enrich your life with his own presence. His top priority is giving you as much love and care as he possibly can. His phone buzzes beside his pillow, breaking him from his thoughts. His heart kicks hard when he realises who the message is from.

[you]: i love the socks vernon thank you so much!

He grins so wide he feels like his cheeks might split. Your response encourages him so much. His alpha hums, settling like a warm weight in his chest. He goes to sleep with that same, stupid grin on his face.

Vernon did believe he was good friends with you, but you warm up to him even more after that. You love to talk and catch up whenever you meet him. You love the cat videos he sends you, and when you realise he likes them, you send them to him as well. He feels particularly giddy when you caption them with something like ‘reminded me of you’. You’re so wonderful, and Vernon can’t help that deep seated catch in his stomach that tells him he is falling in love.

He doesn’t mind.

But Vernon is still courting you, and he takes being an alpha to you very seriously. He goes shopping with his sister for the weekend and picks out one of those thermoses that keep liquids warm for hours, and not the dysfunctional, knock off kind that just look pretty. Sophia thinks it’s too plain, so Vernon frets over that, but he wants this to be practical, something you really need. This is about your comfort, and he won’t compromise on that. It makes Sophia snort.

“I’m surprised you managed to court her. With socks of all things.”

That makes him blink. “She loved them. She uses them all the time.”

Sophia only laughs.

Vernon fills the thermos with your preferred preparation of coffee on Monday and gives it to you when he finds you on a picnic table on campus grounds before your first class.

“It keeps liquid warm for at least 10 hours.” He explains himself. “It’s got thicker insulation, see? I looked it up before I bought it.”

You stare at it. “Vernon, this must have cost a lot-”

He immediately cuts you off. “Don’t worry about the price. I just hope it’s good and you use it.”

You give him a wide smile, biting your bottom lip and avoiding his eyes. Are you feeling shy? Vernon’s alpha soars.

“Thank you.” You mumble. Vernon shakes his head.

“Stop saying thank you.” It’s my job. I want to take care of you.

You only let out a little laugh and nod. Vernon feels the urge to lean over the table and kiss you. It takes everything in him to not do exactly that.

The holidays come and go. Vernon talks to you often, even when you leave the city to spend the days off with your family. You wish him a happy new year, asking him about his resolutions. Vernon’s wants to say ‘to make you my omega’ but he holds back. He doesn’t want to come off too strong and push you away. So he keeps it silently in his chest, and instead asks for yours.

[you]: definitely to hit the gym. i need to get better about being healthy :(

Vernon is already planning.

When he sees you next time, it’s because you come to the dorm room to see Seungkwan. He isn’t there, but Vernon is, so you offer to wait for your friend. Vernon is eager to let you in, patting his bed down and quickly tidying up a bit. He doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob.

(He isn’t. But he also doesn’t want you to think he is.)

“I got you something.” He starts, rummaging through the bag he put your stuff in. You raise an amused eyebrow.

“Again? You really shouldn’t have…”

Vernon shakes it off. “It’s nothing much, I promise.” He walks to you with what he got.

“It’s an athletic band, for when you go to the gym.” He explains. “I wanted you to have your own. And here,” He puts everything in your lap, “electrolyte pouches. This is the good stuff that athletes use. Mingyu told me about them. The convenience store stuff isn’t very healthy.”

Your mouth is agape, and you let out an incredulous laugh. “You really go out of your way, don’t you?”

I do. Vernon wants to say. Because it’s true. He won’t spare any expense, any effort, when it comes to you. He hopes that these attempts show them to you. This is what the courting period is all about. He wants to give you proof that he is well capable of being everything you will ever want and need.

“Thank you.” You whisper. It’s so soft, so laced with warmth, and Vernon’s alpha almost preens. Almost. It’s rare for alphas to react like that, but for Vernon, this is acceptance on another level. He vowed to himself that he would be your biggest support, your only one. And he’s succeeding. He’s well on his way to being your everything, just like how you’re his everything already. He gives himself maybe a couple of more months, then he will officially ask you to be his.

He’s generally a patient guy, but he really can’t wait.

…………………………………

You have a dilemma, and you really don’t know anyone who you can talk to about it except Boo Seungkwan.

Initially, you wanted to hold off on it. You’ve known Vernon for a while now, and you know how genuine he is as a person. He is truly one of the people you trust the most, because he’s so attentive and kind. Your omega likes him too, maybe a little too much, and you always have to remind yourself that he’s just a friend, nothing more. But you can’t help being enamoured by him. He’s so different from how you are, but you gel with him so well. There’s something so charming about him, you can’t help but be sucked in.

But Vernon’s brand of weird might be getting a little…. too weird.

When he first gave you socks that his grandmother knitted, you were shocked, pleasantly so. You were half inclined to refuse, but they were genuinely so soft and Vernon looked like he really wanted you to have them, so you accepted. You did have a cold feet problem, and you complained to him about it. He happened to have a solution in his home, so he got it for you. It was very nice of him.

But then he got you that really expensive thermos. You know it was expensive because you looked it up afterwards, cursing under your breath. You love your friends and would help them any way you can, but this felt like too much. Vernon didn’t care though, adamant on you having it. And you didn’t have the heart to refuse when he kept insisting. And goddamn, it did keep your coffee warm and cozy for hours, so you could happily sip on it for a long time. You still use that thing every day.

Then there was the little stuff, like electrolyte packets and a gym headband, or the muscle patches he got you when you complained about being sore (it wasn’t even that bad, you just like to complain). It seems that no matter what you say, Vernon is always listening, like he wants any opportunity to make your life better. It warms your heart, it makes your omega keen, but Vernon is swimming very close to dangerous waters. All this is doing is making you more and more inclined to him, his thoughtfulness and care makes you want to melt right into him. Because at the end of the day, he’s an alpha, and you want him more and more with every passing day.

As you said, dangerous waters.

Things really take a turn when he shows up at your dorm with toothpaste, the same brand you use on a daily basis. You stare at it.

“Yours was running out last time I was here.” He says, and he’s so nonchalant about it, like friends just notice something like dwindling toothpaste and buy it for you. You’re so flabbergasted that you don’t even think of rejecting it, just thanking him quietly instead. He nods, smiling.

Okay, you need to talk to Seungkwan.

You text Seungkwan about meeting you for lunch at a café outside campus. It’s not too far, but enough that you know you won’t run into any of your mutual friends there. You really don’t want to talk to anyone who won’t help you, and while you’re very social on most days, you’re in no mood to deal with people right now. You ignore the urge to stay home in bed, because you really need to do something about this Vernon situation, so you push yourself to go, despite the resistance in your body.

Seungkwan just thinks it’s a normal catchup meal when he greets you, but when you start to slowly tell him about what Vernon has been doing for the last few months, his jaw just drops more and more, his plate completely forgotten.

“You’re not serious.” He mutters when you finish.

“I am.” You sigh. “And I love it, you know? I do. It makes me feel….. some type of way. But that’s why you have to tell him to stop. I can’t keep assuming that he’s doing it for some other reason. My heart can’t take it.”

You feel intense emotions rise up in you, and you have to swallow them down. It surprises you a little, how heated and charged you feel, but you push the thought out of your mind, trying to focus. Seungkwan’s face is pinched in thought, but you can see in real time as it smooths in realisation.

“Oh my god, wait.”

You watch him curiously. “What?”

But Seungkwan doesn’t say, shaking his head. Then, he goes back to his food.

“I’ll talk to him, okay?”

You’re a little confused at the weird reaction, but you nod. You’re already feeling a little tired, even though you haven’t even been out of the house that long. You wish you had just stayed in and put this off for another day.

“Just be nice about it. I don’t want him to feel bad. He’s been doing such kind things for me, I don’t want to come off as ungrateful.”

But Boo Seungkwan has a whole other storm brewing in his head as he waves goodbye to you and heads to his dorm. He thinks he has a pretty good idea about what the hell Vernon has been doing, but he needs to be one hundred percent sure about it first.

Vernon is sitting at his desk, headphones on, when Seungkwan taps him on the shoulder. The alpha turns around. Seungkwan decides not to beat around the bush.

“So I was on a lunch date with Y/N.”

Seungkwan can see the exact moment Vernon’s face lights up. He sighs internally. His suspicions are true.

“How is she?” Vernon asks.

Seungkwan plops himself down on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t you know that? Since she’s your omega?”

Vernon huffs out a laugh. “She’s not my omega yet.”

Yet. “But you are courting her.” He doesn’t frame it as a question.

Vernon nods. Seungkwan wants to groan.

“And it’s going well?”

“It is.”

“Right. Sure. It’s going so well that the omega you are courting doesn’t even know she’s being courted.”

Vernon pauses, blinking at Seungkwan owlishly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Vernon’s mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish. “I don’t understand.”

Seungkwan feels a horrific laugh bubble up in his chest, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches Vernon’s face go through a million emotions, confusion being the predominant one.

“I gave her a courting gift. She accepted.”

“You gave her socks.” Seungkwan deadpans.

Vernon frowns. “She needed them. She told me herself, her feet are always cold.”

Seungkwan groans at that, putting his head in his hands. “Hansol….”

Seungkwan laughs then, but Vernon doesn’t find the situation funny at all. A mild panic is curling in his chest, his mind racing. Did you really not know? Were you really clueless? He hadn’t said it explicitly, sure, but he was certain you got his meaning. He was taking care of you, showing you he could be a good alpha. Was he not clear enough?

Seungkwan’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “A courting gift, especially the first one, has to be something romantic. Like a bracelet or a necklace. Jewellery.”

Vernon puts his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. “I- I just thought it would be better if I gave practical gifts….”

Seungkwan huffs out a laugh. “Practical gifts are great, but fucking toothpaste, man?”

Vernon wants to bash his head into a wall. He looks at Seungkwan with pleading eyes.

“What did she say? Does she not like me?”

Seungkwan shakes his head immediately. “The opposite actually. She thinks you only see her as a friend, and she feels bad about liking you more than that because of how considerate you are.”

Vernon can’t believe his ears. He can’t. You think he’s not interested? He couldn’t have made his interest any clearer. But obviously, he went about it the wrong way, and now you feel shitty because of him. Vernon’s alpha growls, disapproving. He doesn’t like this feeling, knowing that he is responsible for any negative emotion you experience.

He needs to fix this.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop him as he tugs his shoes on, grabbing his phone before he leaves. He’s contemplating on sending you a text that he’s on his way to you, but he remembers the exchange you had with Seungkwan, and he fears that his text might make you spiral. So he just sets off, hoping he can catch you when you’re not too busy so you can talk it out. He always believed he didn’t want to rush you, but if it’s causing miscommunication, then he needs to make his intentions crystal clear.

He reaches your door in record time. You don’t have a dorm mate thankfully, since your last one dropped out and a new one wasn’t appointed to you. This is good, because it means you two can talk openly. He knocks and waits, shifting on his feet. He feels anxious and uncertain, and he prays he hasn’t ruined anything between you two, especially after he tried so hard to make everything go right.

You’re not answering. Vernon tries again, wondering if maybe you have headphones on and can’t hear him. Maybe he should text you that he’s right outside. He’s just contemplating on it when the door swings open.

You have a scowl on your face, lips pulled into a pout as you stick your head out. Cute. Vernon gives you a sheepish smile when recognition dawns on your features.

“Vernon.” Your voice is raspy. He shuffles.

“Sorry. Were you sleeping?”

You blink a few times, rapid movements as if trying to clear your vision. Vernon shifts again, feeling restless. He’s been feeling restless ever since he first knocked on your door. He scents the air instinctively. You smell…. just as you always do. Maybe sweeter? He can’t place it. Something is off, not in a bad way. But he can’t put his finger on it.

“This isn’t a good time.” You say, and your voice is still strained and tired. Vernon’s early anxiety is gone. He feels concern sting at his chest.

“Are you okay?” He has to ask, because a voice inside him is telling him that you’re not. You pause before answering, and it’s a little too long for his taste.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Can we talk in a few days?”

A few days? Vernon’s eyebrows furrow. His nose won’t stop twitching because of the alteration in your scent. He watches you, really watches you, the barely noticeable line of sweat on your hairline, your breathing just slightly more rapid than usual, how you’re gripping the doorframe like it’s holding half your weight. Vernon’s alpha bristles.

“Pre-heat?” He croaks.

You swallow tightly, he can see it with the way your throat bobs. When you don’t deny it, his alpha howls. His fingers twitch. It takes everything in him to not reach for you.

“So, later?” You ask again. He blinks.

“I was courting you.” He blurts. “The gifts. I- I thought I was being clear about it. But I wasn’t. That’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve said it, I should’ve gotten you something prettier or nicer. But I didn’t.”

Your jaw drops at his words. Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds.

“You like me?” Your voice is so tiny, so unsure. Vernon wishes he could rip the heart out of his chest and give it to you to prove that he doesn’t just like you, but that he’s in love with you. But he settles for better words.

“I wanted to show that I could take care of you. That I could be a good alpha and love you the way you deserve.”

Your eyes are bright. Your mouth is slightly open in an ‘O’ shape. You don’t say anything for a long while. Vernon feels despair sink in his head.

“I’m sorry.”

You seem to break from your trance. Your eyebrows draw together. “What are you sorry for?”

Before he can reply, your voice dies and you wince. Vernon feels his chest squeeze, hands reaching out before he can stop himself when he sees your poster hunch forward a little. He hovers uncertainly over you. Being in your space makes your scent get denser, heavier. Vernon grits his teeth hard. His brain feels like it’s short circuiting.

“You should get back inside.” He chokes out. “You shouldn’t be standing up right now. Your cramps will get worse.”

You don’t reply, almost like your mind is fogged. Vernon makes up his mind, very carefully placing his hands on your elbows so he can shuffle both of you backwards into the room.

It smells even more intensely like you inside. Vernon’s eyelids flutter, and he has to stop himself from breathing in deep. He gently guides you to the bed and you follow without much hesitation. You sigh into the pillows once your body relaxes, and Vernon pulls the blanket over you. He notices just then that you’re wearing the navy blue socks he gave you. His heart skips a beat as he leans beside the edge of the bed.

“Do you need anything?” He tries to make a mental list. He’s never really helped an omega with their heat before. When Seungkwan goes into heat, university policy is to leave the dorm and room with someone else for the duration, so he just stays with another friend. But Vernon isn’t a complete idiot, so he thinks. Painkillers, a warm water bottle, sustenance of some kind, something high calorie-

“Just stay here with me.” You pipe up. He freezes.

“I can’t.” He tries to say as placatingly as possible. “Your heat will hit soon.”

You blink up at him, and he notes the thin, shiny layer covering your eyes. “So?”

He stares. “So….. I can’t stay.” Or I will lose my mind.

“Yes, you can. You said you wanted to show me you can take care of me, right?” Your eyelids hang low, eyes only half open as you peer up at him. “So take care of me, alpha.”

Vernon thinks his head is spinning. No, it’s the room. The room is spinning. He is completely still in place, like a statue, because he feels that if he moves, he will sway and topple over. His alpha is howling, a chorus of ‘yes, yes, yes’ that chokes any other thought in his brain. Instead, he clenches his jaw hard and reaches his hand up to rest it carefully on your head. He brushes your hair back slowly. You sigh at his mere touch. You’re heated, already almost burning up.

“Are you sure?” He whispers. “You’re close to heat. You can’t be saying this just because your omega wants an alpha here with you.”

You let out a small laugh. “I’m in pre-heat only. I know what I’m doing. I’ve….. liked you for a while now.”

Vernon can feel how hot the back of his neck is. “Really?”

You nod. He lets out a shaky breath. He can’t believe his ears, almost like someone went in there and scraped all his brains out, leaving his head hollow and light. But his chest is so full that he feels like it will explode.

“Okay.” He says with an air of finality. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. You won’t want for anything. I’m here.”

…………………………….

You don’t really remember much of your pre-heats, generally. Most of the time, you spend it dozing in and out of sleep, eating whatever you’ve stashed in your room beforehand. This one is the same. You’re very sleepy, so you hunker down on your bed and nap as much as you can. The difference this time is that you’re coaxed awake every few hours by an alpha hanging over your bed, helping you sit up and feeding you small bites of warm food instead of your usual packaged stuff.

Vernon leaves whenever you fall asleep, coming back with stuff he picks up from restaurants, all rich and dense food that puts you in a good mood and makes you sleep longer. Two nights after he first showed up, you feel uncomfortable again, so you ask for his hoodie. He doesn’t hesitate for two seconds before he pulls it off and tugs it onto you.

“Better?” He asks as you sink into bed again. You hum in relief. It feels amazing to be surrounded by his scent like this. Your omega settles and your discomfort wanes.

“Much.” You reply. He nods. You watch him putter around, cleaning up plates and looking at how much water you still have. You know that you’re only settling with his hoodie temporarily. As your heat hits, his clothes won’t be enough. You will want him. All of him.

Your face flames at the thought. You really never could’ve imagined that Vernon would want to help you like this. You always assumed he was being a good friend, hence why you wanted Seungkwan to stop him. Because you were getting too attached to him, and you didn’t want to set yourself up for future hurt. Turns out, he was courting you, in some characteristically Vernon way of his. And in a way….. it worked. It made you love him more.

Days pass in your pre-heat haze. When you wake up one day, your back drenched in sweat and your heart racing so fast it makes you pant heavily, you realise you’ve hit your heat. You sit up slowly, struggling to unfold your tense body. Vernon isn’t here, probably out to get more supplies or a change of clothes for himself. Your omega whines. You’re wet between the thighs already. You rub them desperately together. Why is your alpha not back yet?

You’re just psyching yourself up to leave the bed when the door to your dorm swings open and Vernon steps inside, arms weighed by bags. He blinks, surprised to see you awake.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He asks, pushing the door shut with his heel and placing the bags on your study table. You let out a shaky breath.

“Alpha.”

Something in your voice seemingly registers, because his head jerks up. You can feel his nose twitch when you shift, throwing the blanket off your sweaty body. Your scent hits him. You try to shuffle closer to him.

“Need you, please.”

Vernon wastes no time in toeing off his shoes and walking closer to the bed, settling on it and letting you come to him. You crawl into his lap, sighing in relief when your skin meets his. He still hasn’t taken his jacket off, so you tug impatiently at it. He obliges by discarding it, leaving him in a simple shirt and jeans.

You tuck your head against his neck like it’s second nature, like you’ve done it a million times before. You nose at his scent glands, eager to have it invade your senses straight from the source. You feel his hand run comforting circles over your sweaty back.

“You’re drenched.” He murmurs, tugging at your shirt a little where it’s sticking to your skin. You huff.

“‘M hot.”

“Do you want a change of clothes?”

No. I want you to take them off entirely.

You don’t say it, just biting your lip and nosing at his neck more. You know Vernon is here to help with your heat, but you suddenly feel so shy asking him to. God, this was your idea, and you can’t even bring yourself to verbalise it.

When your silence stretches too long, you feel a soft hand on your jaw, nudging your head up. Your eyes meet wide, brown ones.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Just ask, okay? I can’t know unless you tell me.”

He’s right. He’s being so logical and so sweet about it while you’re wallowing. So you nod, mustering up the confidence to peer up at him and say, “I want you.”

Vernon nods. “Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

When he leans down to softly brush his lips to yours, your omega whines. You inhale shakily and press closer, kissing him properly. He takes it so slow, like he’s savoring every second of it, running his hands carefully, reverently, down your sides before sliding under the hem of your shirt. His skin is so cool against your heated body, and it’s a welcome relief. You sigh into his mouth.

Vernon grips just a little tighter, your flesh dimpling under his touch. It makes your body shift forward, your core grazing over his jean-clad thigh. Your breath hitches as pleasure zips up from your core.

That sets a charged, lazy rhythm. Vernon guides the movement of your body with a firm grip on your hips, back and forth, back and forth, your cunt sliding over his thigh. The rough material of his jeans provides delicious friction, while your flimsy shorts might as well not be there. You’re soaked through, and if you looked down, you’re sure you would see a dark patch on his jeans. He seems to not care about the fact that you’re ruining his clothes. He moans into your mouth, tenses his thigh periodically in a way that sends a pleasurable jolt up your spine. Your legs are spread wide apart, your slit open, pressing your most sensitive parts to him. He kisses you senseless as the pressure in your core gets tighter and tighter, your movements more rushed, more sloppy. He bites your bottom lip the exact moment your orgasm hits, washing over your body like a tidal wave, leaving you moaning and shaking, Vernon’s sure grip the only thing holding you steady.

“Good. Good girl.” He whispers into your raw, bitten lips. “Perfect. There you go.”

Your trembling body goes limp against his figure. He holds you there for a bit, letting you come down. You process what just happened. This was not what you expected, though you’re not complaining at all. It was so hot.

You’re shifted backwards slowly. Vernon lays you on the bed and presses a sweet kiss on your cheek, pulling back.

“You really should change clothes now, sweetheart.” He says. You giggle breathlessly and nod.

Vernon finds a fresh pair of shorts and a loose shirt. He helps you change. You really don’t feel hesitant about being naked in front of him. Hell, you just rode his thigh and came all over him. Speaking of, his jeans are ruined, you can see it a mile off. Vernon excuses himself to the bathroom once you’re settled, and when he emerges later, he’s dressed in sweats.

You eat the food he brought, more like he feeds you and you let him. It feels nice, being pampered and taken care of like this. You say as much to him. He lets out an airy laugh and shakes his head.

“That’s what my intention was the entire time.” He confesses. “I wanted to be a good alpha to you. And in my opinion, a good alpha is someone who knows how to take care of his omega. I was trying to prove that.”

You smile, watching him set the empty plate aside and pour you a glass of water.

“I already know you’re a good person, Vernon. You didn’t have to do all that.”

He shakes his head. “There’s a difference between being a good person and a good alpha. You needed to know I would be there through thick and thin, and I could anticipate your needs and make your life easier. To be loved is to be known, isn’t that what they say?”

You stare at him, speechless. Your heart squeezes in your chest, and you try to look for words, anything you can say to tell him how much this means to you, how much he means to you. But you’re tired, and your heat is messing with your head, and you can’t think of anything that will properly get your meaning across. So you put down the glass in your hand and lean forward, laying a kiss on his lips.

You feel him stiffen only briefly, kissing you back when he realises what is happening. You feel his hand cup your cheek tenderly, slotting his lips deeper into yours. You sigh into this kiss, kicking forward to once again settle in his lap like you did previously. It’s almost like instinct. It’s comforting for you, and with the way his free arm curls around you, you know he likes it too.

You don’t know if it’s your heat, or just the fact that it’s Vernon, but the air charges quickly, and the kiss deepens. Your bodies undulate together, small moans and sighs until you can feel a familiar ache in your loins, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Alpha.” You whine into him.

“I’ve got you.” He reassures you, like he always has. The world tilts, and you’re laid back on the mattress, his torso pressing you down deliciously. His mouth doesn’t leave you for a second, nipping and kissing, before his tongue licks into your mouth. Your pussy clenches around nothing.

Fingers dip into the waistband of your pajamas, tugging them off in one smooth motion. Fingers prod at your entrance, and you pull your knees up and apart. You’re already so wet, so ready, that he slides two fingers in immediately with next to no resistance.

“Fuck.” Vernon groans at the exact time you gasp. His fingers curl, pressing and rubbing, looking for that one spot. You moan and jerk.

“You’re so wet. You’re gonna ruin the sheets.”

He pulls back enough to look down at you. You watch in awe as the corner of his lip quirks up with a smirk you have never seen before. He looks so sexy like this, it makes your head spin.

“Soak my hand. Wanna feel it.”

You shriek when he presses into your soft spot, back arching off the bed. He coos, watching you with half lidded eyes, biting his bottom lip. You burn under his gaze, but it feels so good. Your orgasm is building up frighteningly quick, and before you know it, your legs are seizing.

You babble incoherently, trying to warn him, one hand fisting his shirt while the other tugs at the sheets. The knot in your core is so tight, ready to burst any moment, and he says the final words to get you there.

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl. Do what I said. Soak my hand.”

And you do, stars bursting in your vision at the same time that the knot implodes. You can hear how wet the sounds get, sloppy and filthy enough to make you flush. But you’re too preoccupied by how good it feels, washing over your entire body in waves. You know, even before you are fully down, that you are now addicted to this feeling, to him. His scent, heavy and reassuring and endlessly horny, you can tell. And his presence, sure and all encompassing. Your hands, still trembling, reach down, pawing and scratching at his pants.

“Alpha.” You’re surprised you can speak. “Off. Need- need you. Your knot. Please.”

Vernon doesn’t hesitate. With a few precise motions, his pants are pulled off and his shirt follows. You run your hands hungrily over his lean figure. He’s cut. You can trace the muscles, and it makes your mouth water. He’s so hard already, long and veiny and throbbing, and your pussy clenches pathetically. Your hips jerk.

Vernon wraps a hand around his shaft, pumping a few times. You see the precum leak from his tip and dribble down. Your legs twitch when he rubs his mushroom head up and down over your slit, gathering your slick. He groans.

“Look at that. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” You watch him bite his lip. You buck up again. Finally, he guides the head down, teasing your rim for a few seconds before sliding the head inside.

Your jaw goes slack as he slides in, inch by glorious inch, until you feel the base of his pelvis meet your skin. You can feel him throb even inside you, your walls squeezing and releasing over and over to try and get used to the massive intrusion. Above you, Vernon’s face is pinched, and he curses loudly.

“Don’t- please don’t do that.” His voice is strained. “I’m gonna cum too soon.”

You can’t help your breathless giggle, but you try to relax a little around him. You both breathe deeply, and finally, you feel the alpha move.

The pace is stable and reverent from the beginning, like he wants to feel every nook and cranny of your cunt around him. He fucks you like he’s making up for lost time, speeding up and then slowing down, watching his cock disappear inside your needy, sopping pussy and pulling out, the shaft shiny with your juices. Your eyes roll up at the feeling, how he carves through your opening, in and out, brushing over all the good spots as he moves. He changes the angle every couple of minutes, and you gasp loudly when he hits you just right.

He reads your body like an open book, immediately honing in on the spot and picking up speed. Skin slaps against skin, a plopping sound that fills the room and only turns you on even more, if that’s even possible. Vernon’s eyes run over every part of you hungrily, like he wants to commit all of it to memory, and you feel like you’re on fire under the heat in his gaze.

“I’m gonna cum again.” You whimper, feeling tears sting at your eyes as your pleasure crests to heights you have never felt before. Your whole body feels like it’s molten lava, bubbling up inside you until it overtakes your every nerve. Your hands scramble for purchase, and Vernon sees. He winds his fingers through yours and pushes up, pressing your intertwined hands above your head. Your back arches, body laid open for his eyes only. And under his watchful gaze, his soft words, you cum hard, wailing as you drench his cock with your juices, squeezing around him so hard that you almost black out. Something swollen catches on your opening. He thrusts rough a few more times before he surges forward, bullying his knot deep inside you. Your eyes roll. Your omega keens.

Vernon releases your hands, running his own carefully down your body, like he wants to milk the rigidity from your limbs. You breathe heavily, trying to blink the tears away. He nuzzles into your neck, nosing at it and inhaling deep. When you feel his tongue lick over your scent glands, you shiver.

“Sorry.” He whispers when feels it. “Too much?”

You shake your head and turn it the other way, baring your neck to him. You feel his shaky exhale. He runs his tongue over your neck again, scenting you properly. You bask in the feeling.

You’re so completely at peace here, with his knot inside you and his tongue on your skin. This is exactly what you needed. And it’s clear to you now that Vernon knows actually what you need, always.

additional warnings: mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, spanking, choking, degradation, sir kink if you squint

Your scarf was the first thing to hit the floor, followed shortly by your blazer. You toed off your heels as you simultaneously fumbled with the zipper on the back of your skirt, cursing when the fabric snagged the metal teeth. You were sweating with effort by the time you started rolling off your tights, making the task at hand that much more difficult. You kept your button-down on and kicked the rest of the clothes to the side, making a mental note to add them to the laundry later.

One of the (admittedly many) perks of living in a New York City penthouse was the view. Your apartment was ninety percent windows, which were a bitch to clean, but the sights you were privy to made it all worth it.

Manhattan was beautiful at any time of day, but you especially enjoyed it in the evenings. By the time you got home from work the late afternoon sun had begun to set, and you got to watch the soft pinks and oranges of the sunset fade into dusk. Rainy days and snowy days were up there on the list too. You were so high up that your apartment sometimes found itself submerged in the middle of a cloud. You could watch the rain fall onto the city below, or try to make out the horizon through the fog.

Even though your apartment was practically a glass box, being so high up offered you the luxury of privacy, which was why you usually didn’t bother with clothes. The only reason you were still wearing your shirt now was to shake off the chill from outside, but it would soon join the pile by the door.

You turned on the gas fireplace in the living room before making your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of the white wine you had opened earlier that week. It was a gift from a client, and not something you would have picked for yourself, but alcohol was alcohol and you wouldn’t dream of letting it go to waste.

You knew you should probably eat something before diving back into the paperwork you had brought home with you, but you were itching to get to it. You would never admit it, but your relationship with your job wasn’t the healthiest. All of your friends knew you were married to your work. Your colleagues and bosses knew it too. And deep down so did you. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t been on a date in... a while. It’s what you told yourself.

Even as you were perusing the options of takeout containers full of leftovers in your fridge you couldn’t stop thinking about the files waiting for you in your briefcase. You had to go over resumès and applications for an open position in your company to familiarize yourself with the candidates before you interviewed them in-person tomorrow.

Your fridge beeped at you, letting you know its door was still open as if you had walked away and forgotten to close it, unaware that you were still standing right in front of it.

“I know, I know,” you sighed and grabbed the styrofoam box of half-eaten sarme from your favorite Albanian restaurant down the street.

As the food warmed in the microwave, you gave in to the urge and retrieved your briefcase from by the door, discarding your shirt with your other clothes while you were over there.

You were just in your panties now, a thong if you were being specific. As much as you hated wearing them, they were the only underwear that wouldn’t show through your skirts and slacks.

You settled on the floor in front of the coffee table with your glass of wine and folder full of documents. The fire burned steadily as you flipped through them and made notes in the margins. Your cabbage rolls were lukewarm around the edges and cold in the middle, but still good nonetheless and you finished the rest. You had been hungrier than you thought.

“Mark Wescott... graduated from Georgetown University in 2013, nice! With a degree in... business admin... real fucking original,” you muttered to yourself, “but he’s got good references and decent experience... so... maybe?”

You uncapped the yellow highlighter in your hand with your teeth and ran it over his name and info at the top. You had a color-coded system for applicants. Pink for top priority, yellow for mid, and orange for low.

“None of these are impressive,” you decided after combing through all of the applications. You shook your head at the stack of papers and pushed them to the side. “Maybe they’ll be better in-person.”

You knew that wasn’t true, but it was getting late and you knew you should get at least a little bit of sleep before tomorrow. You had a lot riding on this hire, so you knew you needed to be coherent enough to sit through eight hours of interviews.

You brought your glass of wine to your lips and downed the last of it. “Here’s to hoping we’ll find the one.”

-

Soonyoung ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. He was already overwhelmed just looking at the stacks of cardboard boxes in front of him, he couldn’t even think about unpacking them yet.

He needed to find the box with all of his suits, at the very least. He couldn’t roll up to his interview tomorrow in the gray sweats and t-shirt he was wearing now, not if he actually wanted the job.

Moving into his new place the day before an interview had been a good idea in theory. But as he grabbed the box cutter from the counter and started slicing open random boxes with no sense of direction Soonyoung was beginning to rethink his decision.

“Why didn’t I label any of these?” he muttered to himself, cursing at yet another box full of DVDs.

It didn’t help that everything was wrapped in newspaper and impossible to identify at first glance. He knew it helped protect things from breaking and shifting around during travel, but it was already making the task at hand twice as long. He had planned to route the walk from the subway station to the office that evening. He wanted to practice the commute and time it so that he wouldn’t be late in the morning, but as the sunlight began to dwindle from the room he knew he wouldn’t have time. He would just have to get up extra early tomorrow.

At least the new apartment was nice. His last job back in Seoul had set him up nicely to be able to afford a place in the heart of Manhattan. It was on the small side compared to what he was used to, but he didn’t need much space since it was just him living there.

Everything was up to date and all of the appliances were brand new. There was an in-unit washer and dryer tucked away in one of the closets, and the dining area had real exposed brick walls. Soonyoung didn’t know what those things meant, but his realtor had told him they were good.

The sun had set completely by the time Soonyoung finally found his suits. He’d had to plug in one of his table lamps and set it on the floor in the middle of searching just to be able to see what he was looking at.

He hung a few options up in his new closet, hoping some of the wrinkles would ease from the fabric overnight.

With that done, Soonyoung figured he might as well unpack some of the boxes he’d already opened. It wasn’t efficient work, seeing as he had neglected to label anything, but Soonyoung managed to put away some dishes, shoes, and miscellaneous sheets and towels before he finally checked the clock again and realized how late it was.

Most of the windows in the surrounding buildings had already gone dark for the night, except for those of the apartment directly across from his. It was in the only other high-rise that was as tall as his, making the illuminated unit at the top stick out even more.

It was then that Soonyoung realized he could see directly into the apartment. He smiled to himself, taking comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone in being up at such a late hour. He wondered who his night-owl of a neighbor might be. His question was answered moments later when a shadow of movement caught his attention.

A woman who looked to be about his age emerged from a hallway carrying a stack of papers. He couldn’t make out the details of her face from where he was, but as she stepped into the light he could tell that she was naked.

Soonyoung immediately averted his gaze, snapping his head in the opposite direction so fast that he heard his neck crack. He gave it a second or two before looking back, assuming she was gone annnd nope. He squeezed his eyes shut a second time and turned his entire body away from the window. Now she was just... sitting in her living room? Completely naked? He wasn’t one to judge, but the knowledge alone was enough to make being a gentleman harder... amongst other things.

“Focus,” he told himself, resisting the urge to glance at the window. “Don’t be a creep.”

He attempted to resume his unpacking, only to find himself distracted every few minutes, sneaking glances at the window unconsciously. Every time he caught himself looking he was doused in a fresh wave of guilt. He knew it was wrong, but for whatever reason he couldn’t stop himself. The irony of being a peeping tom was not lost on him.

Soonyoung watched as the girl in the window stood from her spot on the floor and stretched, watched as her muscles tensed and relaxed when she raised her arms above her head. A mix of shame and arousal burned in his stomach as his eyes traced the outline of her curves.

All of the sudden it occurred to him that she could also probably see into his apartment. If she were to look over right now she’d see him standing like an idiot in the window practically gawking at her from fifty feet away. He panicked and lunged to turn off the lamp that was still sitting on the floor so that the whole room went dark.

That night as he lay in bed trying to fall asleep, Soonyoung thought about the stranger across the way. He wondered if there was a reason for her state of undress. If she had been waiting for someone, or if that someone had just left. Was that why she was up as late as he was? At least she was getting some. He wished he could say the same for himself.

“This is starting to get sad,” he mumbled and buried his face in his hands. ‘Starting to’ was being generous and he knew it.

He wished the morning would come, wished he was on his way to his job interview already, but every time he checked the time only a few minutes had gone by. He knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep anyway, at least if it was morning he’d be able to do something productive and get his mind off the girl in the window.

Soonyoung rolled over away from his bedroom window and pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders. He could hear ambulance sirens and car horns from the street down below, the ambience of the traffic lulling the city to sleep.

-

Your morning started like any other. Your alarm went off at six-thirty and you snoozed it until seven, groaning when you finally dragged yourself out of bed. You turned on the shower and brewed a pot of coffee while you waited for the water to heat up.

You had been trying to get into tea recently, slowly working on cutting coffee out of your life completely and making the switch to the much healthier alternative. Tea had less caffeine and offered a whole range of health benefits that coffee didn’t. You’d read endless articles about how much better it was for you, but it wasn’t as coffee

The switch would be going a lot better if you didn’t let yourself make excuses to keep drinking coffee every morning. It would probably also be going a lot better if you weren’t guilt-chugging that cup (or two) of coffee before leaving your apartment six minutes earlier than usual to catch the 8:00 train instead of the 8:10 train just so you could grab a to-go cup of earl gray from the tea shop down the street from your office and drink that as you walked into work so that you could continue to keep up the charade that your tea-drinking endeavors were going well in front of your coworkers.

The glass was already foggy when you returned to take your shower. You wanted to be at the office early today to set up for the interviews so you tied up your hair and quickly rinsed off. The soapy water hadn’t even finished draining from the tile floor before you were out and wrapping yourself up in a towel.

You dried yourself off and dropped the towel in your hamper, not bothering with clothes yet. You walked back into the kitchen and poured yourself a cup of coffee.

You sipped it as you turned on the stove and cracked an egg into a pan. You usually liked to have a bagel or a quick granola bar before work, but when you were feeling fancy you liked to make yourself a couple slices of avocado toast for breakfast. You had decided that today was a fancy day.

You popped the bread in the toaster as the eggs fried and sliced a ripe avocado in the meantime. As soon as you were done with that, it was time to flip the eggs and put the toast on a plate.

You finished your first cup of coffee and went to pour yourself a second, but thought better of it. You’d be sitting in one place for a majority of the day and too much caffeine would make you fidgety and anxious if you didn’t have a way to diffuse the energy.

You ate your breakfast at the bar in your kitchen, looking over the stack of resumes one last time as you did.

“Are you ready for today?” one of your supervisors, Carolina, asked as soon as she saw you walk in the door.

You took a sip of tea from the paper cup in your hand and grimaced. “I’ve been dreading it all week.”

“At least it’ll be over by tonight.”

“Sure, this round will be over, but then there’s still follow-up interviews and training and-”

“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is the worst part, and we’ve just got to take it one thing at a time.”

You sighed. “You’re right, sorry.”

Carolina smiled and nodded her head in the direction of the hall. “Conference Room B is all set up for you when you’re ready. Page me to let me know when I can send the candidates in.”

“Got it, thanks.”

You set yourself up with your laptop and paperwork at one end of the table, and left the seat across from you open for the interviewee.

The morning dragged by at an agonizingly slow pace. Each potential hire seemed determined to bore you to death with their graduate school anecdotes and corporate buzzwords. They were all the same. Too stiff, too self-absorbed, too-

“Y/n, we’ve got your next one ready for you.”

You cleared your throat before pressing the speak button on the intercom, having been lost in thought when Carolina’s voice began echoing throughout the room.

“Sounds good, you can send them over to me.”

You sat up a little straighter in your chair and brushed yourself off. You’d been interviewing for a couple hours straight already, but you still wanted to look fresh-faced for everyone who came in. You were representing the company, after all, and interviews were just as much about trying to impress the candidates as it was about them trying to impress you.

You reached for your cup of tea before remembering it had probably long since gone cold and grimaced, perking up when you heard the familiar squeak of the door.

The young man offered you his hand before settling in the chair opposite yours with a polite smile.

“Mr.... Kwon,” you said, reading his name off of his resume in front of you. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he agreed. “And you can call me Soonyoung.”

You quirked an eyebrow, but nodded. Straight past his last name and right to Soonyoung, interesting you mused to yourself as you scanned his profile again.

“Nice to meet you, Soonyoung. I’m y/n y/l/n. I’m a Senior Associate here and I’m just going to ask you a few questions about yourself, your work, typical interview stuff. Does that sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You paused and pretended to organize the papers in front of you while you discreetly gave him a once-over, making mental notes to yourself. He wore a Rolex on his left wrist. That told you that his last job had paid well enough to be able to afford one- either that or his parents came from money. You had a lot of trust-fund kids wasting your time today, you hoped he wasn’t another. Your office already reeked of nepotism and you just wanted this new hire to be on your side of things.

He was rather handsome too. Smartly dressed, sharp jawline, hair that was just barely tamed by gel, warm brown eyes that crinkled up in the corners when he smiled- you had to remind yourself not to stare.

“Alright, Soonyoung, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?” The question always tasted bitter when you asked it and it was hard not to cringe. It was the most basic question in the book, but it was a good way to get to know what kind of an employee someone was.

“Uh, well, I just moved here from Seoul. I got in yesterday afternoon and still have loads to unpack, but I’m hoping to adjust quick. I was an Executive Consultant for five years at my last firm, and had just been promoted to Executive Manager last spring.” He paused to think. “What else... I really love to golf on my days off, and if I’m not golfing I’m usually at home watching movies.”

“A lot of our clients like to golf,” you commented off-handedly. “Are you any good?”

Soonyoung shrugged, smiling humbly. “I’m decent. I haven’t had the chance to play for real in a while.”

“Why’s that?” you were aware you were moving away from interview territory, but you told yourself it was relevant enough to pursue.

“Most of my recent games were taking clients out to golf at my old firm. I had to play like shit on purpose so they’d win and we’d close a deal.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe they were just better than you?” you asked.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes the tiniest bit, but kept a polite smile on his face. “Trust me, I had to try very hard to lose.”

“So you had a pretty successful closing rate?”

“About twenty-six percent.”

You tried to hide your surprise, nodding as if that was a completely normal closing rate for your company.

“May I ask why you moved?” you continued.

“I’ve lived in Seoul my entire life. I wanted a change of scenery, I suppose.”

“Moving across the globe without the security of a job? That seems like quite a big risk.”

He gave another shrug. “What’s life without a few risks?”

You nodded, writing what he’d said down on the yellow notepad in front of you. Soonyoung shifted in his seat, subtly craning his neck to see across the table at what you were jotting down.

“Moving on,” you said and flipped the notebook over abruptly. The slap of the movement startled Soonyoung momentarily and he only let the deer-in-the-headlights look cross his features for a second before recomposing himself. “Do you consider yourself to be a leader or a follower?”

“I’m a switch,” he answered easily, eyes only widening in realization once the sentence left his mouth. “I mean, I can switch. I was in a management position at my last job, but I still had plenty of superiors to answer to. I started at an entry level in that company and worked my way up, so I have experience with both.”

“And do you have any qualms with being a subordinate to a woman? I ask because if you’re offered the position I would be your boss.”

Soonyoung shook his head in response, giving a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “Like I said.”

The rest of the interview passed by smoothly, and you didn’t realize how much time had passed until you glanced up at the clock above the door. You straightened the stack of papers in front of you to indicate that you were wrapping things up and stood from your chair to shake Soonyoung’s hand again.

“To be completely candid, Mr. Kwon- Soonyoung, you are overqualified for this position. However, our company offers plenty of mobility and your starting salary would be almost equal to your previous one. If you’re interested, I’d like to set up a follow-up interview with you tomorrow.”

Soonyoung smiled, and there went the crinkles of his eyes again, softening the sharpness of his features and making him look a couple years younger. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

“Great. On your way out you can schedule a time to meet with Carolina.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he assured you. “Thank you again.”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow?” you hoped the question didn’t sound too hopeful.

“See you tomorrow.”

You went home feeling a thousand times better than you had that morning. The rest of the interviews had been a blur, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Soonyoung. He surpassed all of the other candidates in almost every aspect, and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

You knew your attraction to him was a problem. You couldn’t hire someone just because you thought they were hot. It was insanely biased, and extremely inappropriate, yet you couldn’t shake the thought of him from your mind. You would be crossing every line in the existence of lines by sleeping with him- that was, if he even felt the same way about you. It would be an unethical use of power, and totally unprofessional so you resolved not to even think about him in that way. Because there was no way around it. He was the best candidate for the job and a perfect addition to your team. You couldn’t not hire him.

The route home usually took about half an hour, but you walked at a faster pace this time because you were supposed to have dinner with a colleague at your apartment and you needed time to cook so there’d be food on the table when he got there.

You made it home in half the time, and kicked off your shoes by the door like you usually did, but kept your work clothes on.

To say you were unprepared for this dinner was an understatement. You barely had anything in your pantry and your cooking skills were subpar at best. Add the time crunch into the equation and it was a recipe for disaster. You could only throw a pot of water on the stove and crack open a jar of marinara sauce and hope for the best.

-

Soonyoung tried not to smile too wide as he walked out of the interview. He needed to remind himself that the job wasn’t his yet. He still had another interview to get through. Still, he figured a follow-up to be somewhat of a success and a good enough reason to treat himself to pizza.

By the time he made it back to his apartment it was almost dark out. His interview had been in the morning, but after walking two miles to get to the pizzeria he’d found on Yelp, getting on the wrong train twice and missing his stop, it was well into the afternoon. He was glad he’d ordered a whole pizza so he could have the leftovers for dinner, and wouldn’t have to venture out into the city again.

The cardboard boxes sprawled across his living room floor were an unwelcome sight, taunting him with their unlabeled contents, but he tried not to think about it. He deserved at least an hour of rest before he started unpacking again.

He pushed one of the heavier ones into the center of the room to use as a table and set the pizza box on top of it. After changing back into a t-shirt and sweats he settled on the floor with a grunt, twisting the cap off a bottle of beer with the hem of his shirt. He took a sip and let the bubbles soothe his throat.

He stared off out the window, attention snapping to the apartment across from his. Soonyoung realized he hadn’t thought about the girl in the window all day, and silently patted himself on the back for it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to live with, and he wouldn’t have to spiral into a pattern of self-loathing every time he found himself looking. As long as he kept himself in check.

He let himself look for a little longer, promising himself that he would look away if he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to. The lights were on, like they had been last night, but he didn’t see the woman. He scanned the array of windows until he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. She wasn’t alone tonight. There was another person at the table with her, a man.

Soonyoung bit his lip and tried to ignore the way his heart sank. He didn’t even know this person, didn’t even know what her face looked like and here he was getting jealous of another person he didn’t know.

He tore his gaze away from the window and stared down at the floor.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself and took another bite of his pizza even though he had lost his appetite.

People had crushes on strangers all the time. His would fade and soon he wouldn’t even be thinking of whoever it was in that apartment across the way. And if things went well with tomorrow’s interview, he had you. He hadn’t expected to be interviewed by someone his age, let alone someone as pretty as you. It had caught him off guard in the best way possible, and he found himself hanging onto every word you said.

But he wouldn’t be able to act on his feelings with you either, because if he was hired you would be his boss. And it would be completely inappropriate to harbor feelings like that for a colleague. He’d only lived here for a day. He would meet someone eventually. He just needed to give it time.

-

Joshua Hong wasn’t in town for long. He never was. You wondered why he bothered flying all the way to New York for a few conferences when he could just join them online, but he insisted that having face-to-face interactions were important for interpersonal connections and relationship building and so on.

Secretly, you believed the real reason to be that he missed you and your colleagues on the east coast and used business as an excuse to see you. He had lived in New York for a few years before moving to the LA division of your company. The shift in the dynamic of your team had taken a toll, and it took you months to forgive him for leaving. The first few times he came back to visit were nearly impossible to endure. Everyone was happy to see him, but you. You faked a smile and played along, but your relationship had never fully recovered.

Maybe it was because you’d always had a little crush on him, or because no one was there to take his place, leaving your team dividing his workload amongst yourselves with no additional compensation. The position you were currently hiring for actually used to be Joshua’s. It had taken nine months to convince the CEO to finally fill it, and he only agreed after one of your coworkers threatened to sue over breach of contract.

Even though you were certain that you and Joshua would never be as close as you had once been again, he still had you wrapped around his finger in some ways because you could never say no to him. When he’d asked to have dinner with you under the guise of work, you’d agreed on instinct, not considering how tired you would be or how strenuous it would be to see him again.

“This is really good,” Joshua complimented, twirling spaghetti around on his fork.

“You’re just saying that,” you countered and rolled your eyes as you sipped your wine.

“I’m not!”

“Please, I know LA has ruined you and turned you into a food snob. I watch your Instagram stories.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t love a good classic.”

“You and I both know this marinara is from a jar.”

He chuckled. “So? That doesn’t change the fact that it’s good.”

“Whatever.”

Joshua gave you an amused smile from across the table and placed his fork back down on his plate. “So I hear they’re finally replacing me?”

You nodded. “They are. ‘They’ being me.”

“Really?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Anyone promising?”

“There’s this guy, Soonyoung, who might fit.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s Korean, actually just moved here. He’s pretty charismatic too, but not in a sleazy salesman way. Kind of like you.”

“Is he better than me?” Joshua pressed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“You know there’s no way to tell that yet,” you chided. “But he shows promise.”

“Let me see his profile.”

You shook your head. “Sorry, but you don’t have the clearance to see it.”

Joshua’s eyes widened like he couldn’t believe you were saying no to him, probably because he rarely heard it from you. “What, do we work in a government agency all of the sudden?”

“I have a lot riding on this hire, Joshua. I can’t let anything screw it up.” He seemed to surrender at that, nodding in understanding. “Did you ask me to dinner just to grill me about the new guy?”

“No! I wanted to see you,” he paused, “and make sure that you wouldn’t forget about me when I was replaced.”

You sighed, giving him a tired, perhaps wistful look. “Trust me, I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

Joshua left around eleven, after several glasses of wine and helping you with the dishes. As much as you hated to admit it, you missed him. But you needed to move on, in more ways than one.

You stripped as soon as you locked the door behind him and threw your work clothes into the laundry basket.

You were a little tipsy from the wine, but you still had work to do before you could go to sleep. There was paperwork to finalize, and you still had to draft a rejection email for all of the candidates who weren’t moving on in the interviewing process.

You grabbed your briefcase and returned to the kitchen table, rolling your neck as you realized you had another long night ahead of you.

-

Soonyoung wasn’t aware that he was staring until the man stood from his seat and took the dishes from the table to the sink. The sudden motion pulled him back to reality and reminded him that he was sitting alone in the dark once again. He cursed under his breath and chugged the rest of his beer.

His pizza had gone cold in the time he’d spent trying to determine the relationship between the man and the woman in the apartment across from his. He couldn’t tell what they were, and not being able to read their facial expressions made it even harder.

He watched as they washed dishes shoulder to shoulder, telling himself that it was no different from people watching, which was untrue since the people in question weren’t in public, but he ignored the guilt twisting in his stomach and continued to watch. At least no one was naked this time.

The woman’s shoulders moved up and down in laughter, suggesting the man had said something funny. But then she was walking him to the door and letting him out, and that was it. Show was over.

So they weren’t together. At least, not yet. Soonyoung hated himself for the conclusion he’d just drawn, and he hated himself even more for feeling relieved.

Soonyoung leaned back to reach the lamp that was still on the floor and flicked it on so that he could see. He shoved the leftover pizza into the back of his fridge and returned to the living room to try and get a little more unpacking done.

He started with one of the boxes he’d opened the day before when he had been in search of his suits, and began sorting through its contents. He allowed himself another glance at the window to check if the man had returned, only to see the woman completely naked. Again.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he groaned and forcefully turned his eyes to the floor. He needed to buy some curtains as soon as possible because there was no way he would be able to be a respectful neighbor otherwise.

He blinked the image of her silhouette from his mind, trying not to dwell on the thought of her sitting at her kitchen table with nothing between her thighs and the chair.

He couldn’t focus. Every time he tried to get back to the task at hand his thoughts went to her. It was getting pathetic.

One more look. One more and then never again.

It seemed like a simple enough resolution and he promised God he would go to confession at the end of the week- even though it had been years since he’d been to mass.

He gave in to his curiosity and gave the window one final, longing glance. The woman was still at the table, concentrating on something in front of her. But something else caught Soonyoung’s attention this time. It was a snakeskin briefcase that sat on the table next to her. He had only noticed it because of the gold details on the bag that reflected the light, just like the one you-

A thousand different emotions flooded Soonyoung’s senses as the realization set in. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. There was no way-

It had to be a coincidence. Had to be. Two people could have the same briefcase... and the same body... and the same hair. As he thought back to his interview earlier that day he saw more and more similarities between you and the girl in the window.

He definitely needed to go to confession now. Not only had he been staring in the window of some naked woman, the woman might just be his future boss.

He felt sick, and despite it all he felt the familiar burn of arousal flicker to life in his stomach. There was no way he’d be getting any sleep tonight.

-

Soonyoung seemed different. Yesterday he had been confident, charming, and on top of every question you threw at him. Today, he seemed nervous. He was fidgety and distracted. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with you. He kept his gaze trained on your briefcase instead, refusing to take his eyes off of it.

You had been so sure that he was the one, but now you were thinking you might have to start from scratch.

“Soonyoung, are you okay?” you asked, your frustration turning into concern when he failed to answer your question for the third time. “Do you need me to repeat the question again?”

He looked up at you finally, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s okay.”

“No, I- I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I- fuck,” he paused to take a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know how to put this, but I think... we’re neighbors.”

“Oh, you live in my building?”

You didn’t see a problem with that. You weren’t sure why it was something he would be tearing himself up over either.

“No, I don’t.”

“So... then how would we be neighbors?”

He averted his gaze again and swallowed harshly. “I live in the high-rise across from yours.”

You raised your eyebrows in question, feeling your pulse jump in warning. Your fingers inched toward the phone, ready to call security at a moment’s notice.

“And fuck, I really wanted this job, but um, I only know that because my apartment is literally right across from yours. And you have a lot of windows... that I can see into.”

You let his words sink in, hand retreating from the phone. “Oh my god.”

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to look or anything, I promise. Your windows are just so big. I didn’t even want to come in today because I felt so bad about it, but I figured you should know that it was possible to see into your apartment. Like other people might also be able to see you too. I just came to tell you that because I don’t think I’d be able to live my life just knowing that information and not telling you.” Soonyoung stopped talking finally, giving you an opportunity to respond. The tips of his ears were red with embarrassment and he looked like he wanted to jump out the window.

You were covering your mouth with shock by now, absolutely mortified. “I am so sorry,” you yelped. “I had no idea, oh my god. I hope you don’t feel... violated or anything.”

“Oh, not at all,” he assured you. “I felt the opposite, actually- I mean, I hope you don’t feel violated.” He stood from his chair before you could say anything else. “Anyway, thank you for your time.”

-

Soonyoung kicked himself the whole way to the subway station. That job had been the best opportunity he had at breaking into the industry here in New York and he’d fucked it. He could’ve kept his big mouth shut and pretended like everything was normal- but just the thought of that made bile rise in the back of his throat.

No, he was glad he had been honest. It just sucked that he’d lost such a good position, and ruined whatever nonexistent chance he had with you.

When he got home he threw all of his energy into unpacking. He was determined to make a real dent in the pile of boxes this time, and then maybe afterward fill out some job applications.

His apartment was actually starting to look livable by the time he took a break to eat leftover pizza for dinner. He’d unwrapped the plastic covering and bubble wrap from his couch so that he actually had a place to sit now, and he’d found a standing lamp to replace the table lamp sitting on the floor.

He was about to move on to a box full of clothes when he risked taking a look over at your apartment. To his surprise, you were standing in your living room, wearing nothing but a bra and panties. He furrowed his eyes in confusion, wondering why you were still choosing to walk around your apartment undressed with the knowledge that he could see you. But before he could look away his phone started buzzing in his pocket. It was an unsaved number, but he suddenly had the feeling he knew who it was.

“Hello?”

“Soonyoung?”

He recognized the voice immediately, and snapped his attention back over to the windows where he could see you looking back this time, phone pressed to your ear.

“Y/n.” He realized he had never called you by your first name before, and hoped you weren’t offended by it.

“The job’s yours if you want it.”

He blinked, staring right at you. “What?”

“The position. It’s yours if you want it. You were the best candidate by far and I think you’d make a great addition to the team.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am.” He heard you take a breath before continuing. “You have time to think it over, of course. Let me know by the weekend.”

“I don’t need time to think,” he heard himself say.

“No?”

“No. I’ll take it.” “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Soonyoung?” you asked, reaching behind you and unclipping your bra. You caught the fabric and pressed it against your chest so that it wouldn’t slip down.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if I’m overstepping.”

“You’re not overstepping,” he breathed, hand already traveling down to the waistband of his shorts.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He watched with a slack jaw as you let the bra fall to the floor. You moved to the couch and draped yourself over it, opening your legs to give him a view of your whole body, from your pussy up to your neck. He pulled off his shirt and shimmied out of his shorts quickly so that you were on an even playing field. It was still uneven in his opinion. You were so beautiful, he felt inadequate in comparison. But the moan you let out upon seeing him shirtless boosted his ego the tiniest bit.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured quietly into the phone.

“I don’t want to stop,” Soonyoung admitted.

“Me either.”

His breath caught in his throat as you pulled your panties down and let them join your bra on the floor. He was too far away to see anything in detail, but he could imagine. You brought a hand down in between your legs, spreading your wetness around with your fingers.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He was hard. He was so hard that it was starting to hurt, and all he could think about was running his cock through your folds. Being the one to make your back arch off the couch like it was now.

He spat into his palm and began working his hand up and down his cock, sighing in relief.

“You sound so pretty,” you echoed, and Soonyoung straight up whimpered in response. He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “God, I wish I had your fingers instead of mine. They’re so much longer.”

“Guess you’ll just have to imagine them,” Soonyoung said, finding his voice out of nowhere. It was your turn to whimper. “Picture them working you open, stretching you for my cock.”

“Soonyoung?” you asked hoarsely.

“Yeah?”

“Come over.”

“Fuck, right now?”

“Yes, right now. I need you,” you whined. “Fiftieth floor, the door code is 0717.”

He heard the phone click as you hung up and that was all it took. He scrambled for his pants and shirt that he’d thrown somewhere in the room, tripping when he tried to jump into both legs of his shorts at the same time. He rushed out into the hallway and pressed the down button on the elevator repeatedly, like it would make it come any faster.

He tried to act like he wasn’t out of breath and held his hands together in front of his crotch in an attempt to hide his erection. The other people on the elevator ignored him, only addressing him to ask which floor he was going to.

Soonyoung swore he’d never run so fast in his entire life. He dodged taxis, bikers, and pedestrians as he crossed the street illegally and made it to the elevator of your building right before the doors shut.

-

You had put on a sheer robe while you waited for Soonyoung, not wanting to open the door completely naked, but you were beginning to have second thoughts. You were officially Soonyoung’s boss now, which meant that having sex with him was at the very top of the list of things you shouldn’t do. It would no doubt be considered a gross misuse of power, and to make matters worse he had literally just been hired. His first experience with you shouldn’t be in bed-

You heard the lock click and turned around to see Soonyoung standing in your doorway. He was breathing hard and practically dripping with sweat. All doubts about crossing the line vanished when you looked into his eyes and saw how dark they were. He hadn’t even said anything, yet you knew how much he wanted you.

Even more evident was the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric of his sweat shorts. You tried not to stare, but you figured it was only fair, given how he was staring at you.

Soonyoung let the door shut behind him before approaching you. His hands trembled as he brought them up to your shoulders, like he was unsure of where to start. He slipped his thumbs under the hem of your robe finally and you shivered at the contact. You bit your lip and nodded at him to keep going.

He pulled the fabric down off your shoulders and let the robe pool at your feet. You looked down at it and then back up at him expectantly. He took the cue to follow and yanked his shirt off over his head, followed by his shorts so that he was in his underwear.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice sounded an octave lower than it had been over the phone and it made your knees weak.

“Please,” you choked out.

He placed one hand on your cheek and tilted your head to the side, pressing his lips to yours. It was needy and desperate, strung with promises of what was to follow. His peppermint chapstick made your lips tingle and you leaned in, deepening the kiss. His fingers dug into your waist as he took control, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moaned and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Soonyoung’s hands made their way down to your ass and squeezed, making you yelp in surprise. He chuckled against your mouth and broke away from the kiss.

“Should we move this to my bedroom?” you asked, breathless.

Soonyoung shook his head. “I want to take you here.”

“Where?”

“Here,” he repeated and nodded toward the windows.

“O-okay,” you agreed, a little unsure on the mechanics of how it would work. But Soonyoung seemed confident, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand.

“C’mere,” he said. “I know you said you wanted my fingers, but I’m dying for a taste of you,” he admitted. “Is that okay?”

You nodded desperately as you watched Soonyoung sink to his knees in front of you. He pushed his hair back with his hand and used the other to hike your leg up over his shoulder. You felt his breath on your clit before anything else, felt the way he was hovering inches in front of your cunt like a goddamn tease.

“Soonyoung, please,” you begged.

You jolted when he suddenly buried his face in between your thighs, letting out a strangled moan as his tongue circled your clit. It was all too much and you had to pull on his hair to maintain your balance. Soonyoung didn’t seem to mind too much, in fact it only spurred him on as he moved even further down and began to tongue fuck you.

His nose bumped against your clit as he worked his tongue in and out of you and it was all you could do not to black out from the pleasure. You braced yourself against the window with one hand, trying to hold off the orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.

“Soonyoung, wait,” you cried and tugged him away from your pussy by his hair.

He jutted his lip out in a pout and frowned like he was disappointed he hadn’t gotten to finish you off. His chin was glistening in your arousal and his lips were pink and swollen from sucking on your clit.

“I want you inside of me,” you pleaded. “Please, Soonyoung?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose from his knees, smirking as he took the advantage of height back.

“Of course, angel,” he said, pulling you closer so that he could kiss you again. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue, ignoring the way he laughed at your neediness. “Turn around for me, love,” he instructed as he pushed his boxers down. “Hands on the window.”

You did as you were told and bent over. Soonyoung’s hand made contact with your ass just once, the harsh smack echoing throughout the room. You cried out, body shaking even when he ran a hand over the mark to soothe it.

He took his time lining himself up with you, wanting to tease you as much as possible before he finally gave you what you wanted. You tried pushing yourself back against him, but he was having none of it and put you back in your place every time.

“I didn’t take you for a brat,” he mused.

“I didn’t take you for a tease,” you bit back through gritted teeth.

“Yes you did.”

“Fine, but I didn’t take you for someone who was all talk and no follow-through.”

That seemed to work because Soonyoung pushed himself inside you as soon as the sentence left your mouth. You lurched forward, hands on the window slipping as you cursed him out.

“What were you saying?” he taunted, running a hand down your exposed back.

“N-nothing!”

“That’s what I thought.”

He gave you a few moments to adjust to his size, but you were too impatient to wait and began fucking yourself on his cock, desperate for the release that had built up when he was going down on you. Soonyoung brought his hand down against your ass again and stilled your hips.

“Did I say you could move?” he demanded. “Answer me.”

“No!”

“Then why did you?”

“I’m sorry!” you cried.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your cock-” you choked out, “felt so good. I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, darling. You’re going to be a good girl for me now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He seemed satisfied with your answer and thrust into you once, then again, slowly building up to a steady rhythm.

For a moment or two all that could be heard was the slapping of skin and your shaky gasps. Soonyoung’s cock was bigger than you expected, and each time he hit your g-spot you couldn’t help but let your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure.

You weren’t even trying to hold back your moans at this point, too fucked out to care. Soonyoung let a hand wrap around the front of your body and travel up to your throat. He rubbed his thumb along your jaw, pressing it against your lips for you to suck on.

You took it into your mouth eagerly, letting him push it further and further until you were practically gagging on it. When he was satisfied with your work he took his finger out of your mouth and wrapped the same hand around your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Fuck,” you whined.

“Are you close?” Soonyoung asked, likely because he was also teetering on the edge.

“Yes, so close.”

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” he pressed, tightening his grip on your neck. “Think anyone watching you get fucked like a slut against the window deserves to see you cum?”

“No one can see me,” you insisted. “It was only you.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” you admitted, feeling like the invisible string inside of you would snap at any second.

“You could have a whole audience and not even know it, y/n. What do you think, should we give them a show?”

All you could do was nod as he continued to pound into you from behind, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Soonyoung, please let me cum I can’t hold it-” you gasped as you tipped over the edge before he could respond, clenching around his cock harder than you knew you were capable of. It felt as if you were falling from the window of your apartment, hurtling toward the ground some fifty stories below.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Soonyoung muttered, his hips faltering.

“Cum inside me, please cum inside me,” you begged. “I’m on the pill you can cum inside me.”

He came with a groan of your name, pumping his cum further into you with every thrust. “So fucking tight,” he sighed as he continued to lazily rock his hips into yours. “Is your poor cunt so sensitive now?” he asked, voice dripping with fake sympathy.

“Yes,” you answered quietly, feeling tears prick in the corners of your eyes at the overstimulation.

Soonyoung pulled out of you finally, making you whimper at the empty feeling. He chuckled and helped you stand up straight, ready to catch you if your legs gave out.

“That’s what you get for cumming without permission,” he said.

“You’re an asshole,” you mumbled, eyes only half open. “I’m your boss. You should let me cum whenever I want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Soonyoung assured you.

You watched as he picked up his clothes from around your living room and wondered if you had just ruined everything. Once he was dressed he made his way back over to you and kissed you chastely on the lips. The kiss didn’t help you relax at all. It only confused your feelings for him even more.

“See you monday?” you asked hopefully. If nothing else, you hoped he would still accept the position for the sake of your team, even if things between you were awkward and he never wanted to sleep with you again-

“See you monday,” he repeated in confirmation. “And next round’s at my place.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

forever tags: @hotgirlmingyu @hotgirlvernon @myunghoehoehoe

He stays silent as he averts his gaze to your boots, muddy from the rain and possibly jumping in every puddle available. You always liked doing that when the rain was light, and it usually ended up with him offering you a pair of sweatpants when you got home. 

Or, to his apartment. It’s not home to you, not anymore. 

He doesn’t say anything as he moves to the side, opening the door wider for you to step inside. You’re seemingly rooted in place until he turns his head to face the inside of his apartment. Slightly messy, with blankets and sweaters strewn everywhere. Candles burning on his coffee table fill the place you once called home with smells of salted caramel, vanilla and a hint of cedarwood. 

You’re quiet as you slip your feet out of your pink rain boots, your mismatched yellow and purple socks doing nothing to keep you warm from the freezing tile of his foyer. You shake off the umbrella, wrapping it closed and leaning it against the brick of his building. 

“No one will take it, right?”  “You know no one will.” 

You shove your hand in your pocket as you duck into his apartment, feeling the sting of tears prick at your eyes as you look around his living room. He’s got his journal open on the coffee table, the list of films you promised you’d watch together displayed in his handwriting. Smudges of blue and splats of ink from what you presume to be tears cover the page. 

The Netflix account you once shared is paused forty minutes into Mary and The Witch’s Flower. 

“I thought we said—”  “We said a lot of things, let’s not go down that rabbit hole.” 

You suck in a breath, nodding as he shuts the door. You hear the lock click, before hearing him skirt into the kitchen. 

“Drink?”  “Any soju?” 

A scoff is heard, before the familiar clinking of the green bottles you know he hasn’t touched and possibly been sitting since you left. Hansol never did like to drink alone. 

Even if it meant drowning in every sinking thought he had about you. 

He comes out of the kitchen with the bottled gripped between his knuckles, and a bottle of juice in his other hand. It’s new, and it’s one of your favorites. One that he hates. 

“Force of habit, huh?”  “I guess.” 

You inch towards the couch, the Persian rug beneath your feet soft and cushiony. You remember buying it with him, browsing a website he’d gotten from Seungkwan and buying three things while stoned out of your mind. The tiger blanket draped across the couch was one of the three, and a personalized cushion with your initials was the other. 

That was nowhere to be found. 

You perch on the edge of the couch, suddenly feeling hot as he sets the drinks on the coffee table. He still smells the same, soft aftershave and cotton deodorant. 

Cotton deodorant you used to buy for him, in bulk at Costco. 

He had half a stick on the vanity before you left. He’s had to have bought more since. 

He’s almost too close as he opens the bottles, flicking the caps onto the table and leaning back into the couch. Your fingers brush the sweating neck of the soju bottle as you grab for it, cold and slippery. He takes it from you abruptly, a bit of it spilling down his hand as he shakes his head. 

“Wrong one.” 

You look at the bottle in his hand, his fingers just barely covering the word Fresh scrawled on the label. Your cheeks heat as you nod, grabbing for the other one. 

Yogurt. 

“Do you need a glass?”  “No, I’m okay.” 

He hums, picking at the label on his bottle with his ringed forefinger. He doesn’t press play on the movie; he doesn’t move to comfort any sort of awkward situation. Hansol knows you’ll speak when you’re ready. 

“What’s the movie about?”  “The kid’s a witch.”  “Oh, cool.”  “Yep.” 

Silence. 

Agonizing, excruciating, debilitating silence. 

“Do you hate me?”  “What?” 

His eyes are wide as he quickly faces you; your eyes glued to the burning flame of the salted caramel candle on his coffee table. You bought that one. You bought it at a home goods store, and you remember scowling at him when he raised an eyebrow at you when you beelined for it – you'd told him you’d just wanted to get new pillows for the bed. 

Pillows you left behind. 

“Do you hate me, Hansol? I’d hate me?”  “I could never hate you.” 

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the bottle of soju. He sighs, setting his down on the coffee table before running a hand through his hair. Or lack thereof, he’s buzzed it off since – chocolate brown hair you’d run your fingers through before bed or swipe out of his eyes when he was too concentrated on Mario Kart. 

He looks good. 

He looks...tired. 

“I could never hate you.” He repeats, and suddenly, the air feels thicker around you. Everything feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, your chest tight as you force yourself to look up at him. His eyes are rimmed with unshed tears, your jaw dropping slightly as you inch forward. 

He looks away, wiping his eyes quickly before clearing his throat. 

“You did what you thought was best. I can’t hate you for taking care of yourself, that’s what you’re supposed to do.” He mumbles thickly, shrugging his shoulders as he traces the spout of the bottle. You follow his fingers carefully, your heart sinking at the slight tremble in them. 

“I’m sorry I disturbed you tonight, Hansol.” You murmur back, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans, still damp from sprinkles of the rain. He shakes his head, sighing. You’re both staring at the condensation dripping on his coffee table. 

His coffee table that you bought together. His bottle of juice that he’s never going to drink. His television, and the remote that you always changed the batteries to because he would forget. 

His apartment. Speckled with you, everywhere. Everywhere you looked, you saw yourself. 

“You didn’t.”  “I did.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel, Y/N. I’m so tired of everyone telling me how I feel, or how I’m supposed to feel, or whatever. I’m human, too. I can feel whatever I want. And you didn’t disturb me, okay? I wouldn’t have opened the door if I didn’t want to.” 

Your chest aches at the sound of your name from his lips, eyes wide as you look at him; his own still trained on the condensation gathering on his coffee table. You watch him as his eyes follow the drops sliding down the bottles, your tongue darting out slowly to wet your lips. 

“Why...did you?”  “Why did I what?”  “Open the door.” 

“It’s storming. You only like rain when it’s light.” He whispers to himself, before glancing at you. “You still...right? You still don’t like thunder?” 

It’s only been a year, but he acts like it’s been an eternity. 

Maybe it has been. 

Maybe it’s been a millennia for him, as it has been for you. 

“Right,” you nod, picking at your nail polish as your leg starts bouncing. He used to stop you – when he was your boyfriend. He’d splay his hand on your kneecap; his thumb would rub gentle circles into the side before giving it a squeeze. You found solace in the touch. 

Now? He’s more than a cushion and a half away, and the space between you is hot; it’s burning hot. And you so badly want to close the gap, to feel his hand on your knee and feel the comfort of him spread through your body. 

In any way. You’d allow it in any way. 

“It’s been a year. Today.” You clear your throat, and he closes his eyes – folding his hands in his lap as he leans back into the couch. He nods before resting his head on the back of his couch and opening his eyes to look at you. 

“...Is this where we do the whole ‘how have you been’ bullshit?” 

There is a lilt of a smile in his voice, but it doesn’t show on his face. You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I don’t know.”  “You don’t know how you’ve been, or you don’t know if—” 

“I miss you, Hansol.” You blurt, wincing inwardly as you shove your hands under your thighs; your fingers cold from the bottle and the rain and the way all the blood in your body rushes to your chest to aid the fire of anxiety in growing. You shift, wondering how long you could stare at the coffee table before your eyes wore holes into it. 

“...Is that why you’re here?” 

You suck in a shaky breath, opting to close your eyes. If you’re going to cry, you don’t want to see his reaction to it. You don’t want to see the flame in his eyes when he tells you to get out, to leave – that you’re too little, too late. 

That he doesn’t want you anymore, and you’ll have to live with the regret of leaving him for the sake of nothing for the rest of your life. 

“I know I don’t get to say that. I know it’s my fault. I left, and I...I’m sorry, Hansol. I’m sorry that I was a coward and I jumped ship when things started getting serious. I was a douche, and you don’t have to miss me. You don’t have to feel anything, I just...” Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, the salty taste of a stray tear coating the tip. 

“I wasn’t even in the neighborhood. I was six blocks away; I’d gotten coffee with Seungkwan. He told me you still lived here, and that you were good. That you were doing well.” 

“And you wanted to...what? Check and make sure for yourself? Ruin it, if I was?” 

There’s no poison in his voice. Hansol has always been diplomatic, respectful. Sometimes you wondered if there was a single bone in his body that ever felt rage. The urge to make everything look like a war zone, the subtle need to want to destroy every relationship he’s ever built from the ground up. 

Sometimes, you feel that kind of rage. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, tightly squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him shift on the other edge of the couch. A roll of thunder is heard outside, your fingers gripping the fabric of the cushion beneath your thighs as it fades. 

You don’t catch the way he instinctively reaches for you, before sinking back into the cushion. 

“I don’t know what I wanted to do. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” 

He hums, and you sniffle. One of your hands reaches to swipe at your face, wiping the tears on your jeans as you face away from him. You open your eyes, looking at the wall through the blur of tears. All the frames on the wall are still the same, and they hold all of your pictures together. Your face is still cemented in the memories, and you wonder how he felt looking at those pictures every single day. 

“Do you want to talk about everything?” He asks softly, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his cheek on his palm. His eyes are just as gentle and understanding as they’ve always been. 

As warm as they’ve always been. 

“It could help you...uh, figure yourself out.” 

Help you figure yourself out. 

“What is there to talk about? I left for no reason.”  “Don’t do that. You left to find yourself. You left to take care of you.” 

“And it was selfish,” you scoff, and he clicks his tongue. 

“You think so?”  “I know so.” 

“I think it would’ve been worse if I kept begging you to stay, knowing you wouldn’t have been happy here. I mean, look around,” he gestures to the apartment. There is so much of you, and so much of him. “Everything in this apartment was a display of what our relationship was. Everything was you and me, me and you and us. It was never just Y/N, and it was never just Hansol. I could not, in good faith, keep you here if it was me that was suffocating you. It was not fair.” 

“You could never suffocate me,” you mumble to yourself, feeling a few tears trickle down your face as you speak.  

It’s silent for a moment. 

“What about you, Sol?” 

The nickname slips from your bitten lips, and he sighs. 

“What about me, Y/N?”  “If the tables were turned. If I had begged the way you did, would you have stayed?” 

It’s not a fair question. You know it’s not, and you can tell he thinks it’s not as his eyes shut, and he silently nods his head. He tongues his cheek, running a hand over his buzzed hair and down his face. 

“That’s not a fair question.”  “I know.” 

You nod, choosing to refocus your gaze on the coffee table. There was a sticker you’d peeled off an apple a few weeks before you left, still stuck to the table leg. It looks glossed over, like it’d come unstuck and somehow been put back. Glue, maybe. Clear nail polish. 

“Why didn’t you change the apartment?”  “In case you ever found your way back.” 

There was a hint of hope in the back of his throat, and you realize that he’s wearing the same hoodie he wore the day you left. Baby blue, over a white t-shirt. You bought it for him, just a few weeks before you decided that things were too overwhelming. That the idea of forever was too similar to the feeling of impending doom, that seeing him so irrevocably in love with you when you couldn’t even understand the ache in your chest when you looked at yourself in the mirror...it felt unfair. It felt unfair to lose yourself in him. 

It felt unfair to have the goodness of Hansol’s heart in the palm of your hand. 

And it was unfair to get to break it into pieces as he knelt in front of you that very day, his forehead pressed against your thighs int he very same jeans you’re wearing now. The way his tears soaked through the material the same way the rain had, and how you bit back your own sobs as you carded your fingers through his hair that night – before untangling his arms from around your knees and walking out of the navy grey door you wish would open so you could bolt out right now. 

“If I beg now—”  “You never have to beg for anything. Not from me.” 

You felt your throat ache as you forced yourself to swallow, holding back a sob as he sighed quietly. 

“Can I...talk about what it was like not having you around?” His voice is tentative, almost like he was talking to a deer he didn’t want to spook. You nod in silence, letting the tears drip onto your pants freely as you continue to stare at the coffee table. 

“I still go by the grocery list you left on the fridge. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam and that gross fucking juice.” 

His words are enough to get a snorted laugh out of you, your hand reaching to dig into your pocket for the napkin you’d taken from the café you’d been at earlier. You wipe the tip of your nose with it, shaking your head. 

“I haven’t used pots or pans. I bought a crappy set from the dollar store to get myself through the days alone. I haven’t used the silverware, but I haven’t polished it either...so it’s just gathering dust in the drawer. I haven’t slept in the bedroom, either. I usually sleep here, on the couch. You left a tube of lipstick on the bathroom counter, and your shampoo is still in the shower caddy.” 

He nods, and you can feel the heat of his gaze leave your face. You peek at him through the corner of your eye, seeing him looking behind you – at the wall of photos. 

“I bought a sample size of your perfume, so the bathroom would still smell like it did in the morning when you would leave for work.” 

You can feel your chest ache; almost like someone had reached into your ribcage and squeezed your heart so tight, it could burst in their hand. 

“I refill the same disposable soap you bought the week you left. The detergent is still the same cotton scent, because you said that the other scents made your head hurt. I bought a new air freshener a few months ago but went back to return it because it was Febreze, and you don’t like Febreze unless it’s the Linen & Sky scent. I replaced the baking soda in the refrigerator, but the only food in there is what I mentioned earlier. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.” 

“And the juice,” you utter, and you can sense a dull ache start to thump at your temples. You bring your fingers up to your face, rubbing slow circles. Your eyes are low as they flicker up to the wall next to the door – his caps are hung up in the exact order they had been when you left. His navy New York Yankees, blue Texas Rangers, black Chicago White Sox and a pink one he rarely wore unless the two of you were going somewhere together. 

It had your initials embroidered on the bill. 

“I left everything exactly the same. I wanted it to still feel like home to you, if you ever came back.” 

You turn to face him, seeing his eyes brimming with tears as he clears his throat, but interrupt him before he can speak. 

“I carry a Polaroid of us in my wallet,” you start, running a hand over your face as you bring your knees to your chest, leaning back fully into the couch. “I carry a Polaroid of us, and I would show it to guys when they asked me if I was dating anyone. I couldn’t bring myself to delete any of our photos, so I put them all in a locked folder and forced myself to never look at it. I’ve eaten so much peanut butter, and it doesn’t even taste good. I hate it, actually. I hate peanut butter.” 

He covers his mouth with his fingers, pursing his lips so as to not let his laughter out. You feel a smile try to fight its way onto your lips, but you swallow it down as you pick at a loose thread on the couch. You used to snip them when you still lived here. You’re sure if you reach just under the middle cushion, the gold pair of sewing scissors would still be tucked away safely. 

“I left, and I was miserable. I was miserable because I was doing everything to let go of something...of someone I was so sure I didn’t deserve. I was trying to erase you from my life, but you were already missing. I would order too much food and wonder what to do with the leftovers. I would see a poster for a new indie movie I thought you’d like, and I’d go to text you, typing in the message box before I realized I couldn’t just do that. It wasn’t fair.” 

“I saw the bubble pop up a lot,” he confesses softly. You must look confused, because he clears his throat before shrugging, “I once opened the chat while I was in the grocery store. I was going to ask you if we needed anything else. You were typing and then you stopped. I cried in the dry cereal aisle, a little girl called me a wimp, and I left without groceries. It’s kind of funny, now that I think about it.” 

“I’m sorry.”  “That’s the last time you say that to me. I’m sick of hearing it.” 

His eyes are serious, no longer glazed with tears. You nod slowly, before you run your tongue over your lips for a third time. It’s suddenly too dry in his apartment, and you feel your skin start to itch as you clear your throat. 

“I miss you, Sol.” 

You feel your eyes flood, a fat teardrop splatting onto your hand. You wipe it off on your jeans, before sniveling one last time and pushing off the couch. 

“Thank you for listening, and for letting me in.” 

He nods silently, before standing up. He doesn’t move towards the door – instead beelining for what used to be your shared bedroom. You wipe at your eyes haphazardly, drying your hands of what few tears were left on the back of your jeans. You can hear him rooting around, and you opt to move towards the hallway mirror to check your reflection. 

In the corner of the mirror’s frame is a Polaroid of you and him. Your cheeks squished together, with your birthday scrawled in blue marker across the bottom in his handwriting. A lopsided heart follows the date. 

It’s been so many years since that photo. It feels like so long ago. 

He’s wearing the same blue hoodie, and your shoulders brave the same hot pink windbreaker. 

He’d spotted it at a thrift store, the windbreaker. And the jeans you have on. And the t-shirt you wear to bed, still sullied with the scent of his deodorant and his toothpaste stain that doesn’t come out no matter how many times you wash it. 

And you realize – that you are entangled. 

You are everything he is, and he is everything you are. You mirror one another – from the love of cinema to the way you find each other in every universe; whether it’s in a baby blue hoodie and a hot pink windbreaker, in bottles of Fresh and Yogurt soju, or in a pink cap with your initials embroidered on it and the locket he got you with his engraved. 

It burns the skin of your chest under your shirt. 

Your bedroom at your mother’s house is riddled with more of him – from the single love letter you took when you left, to the odd collection of his shirt and hoodies you’d stolen from him over the years. He picked the forest green paint on the walls a few summers ago, and he made you a shitload of tchotchkes to line the floating shelves he’d helped you put up. You’d escaped there when you left him a year ago. 

Only a few miles from him. 

From home. 

You bring your hand to your chest, feeling around for the gold locket and finding it twisted in your cleavage. It held two pictures – one of him as a baby, and one of you together. Close to your heart, close to your soul – you carried him. 

You would beg. God, you would beg. 

You would – if it meant you didn’t have to leave. If it meant you could leave your umbrella outside and know that Mrs. Kim next door would borrow it in the morning to get her newspaper before putting it back. You would beg on your hands and knees if it meant that Hansol wrapped his arms around you in this very moment, and let you breathe in the cotton and salted caramel and vanilla and everything he’s ever been. 

You would beg, plead, pray to whatever God was out there to feel the warmth of his lips against your forehead. To hear that he missed you, he misses you. To stay up well into the night watching Princess Mononoke on his iPad in the kitchen while you bicker about how bad he is at polishing the silverware. 

To lay in bed with him and count his eyelashes. To stuff a towel on the windowsill so you can open the window and breathe in the petrichor but not ruin the paint. To throw the duvet off the bed and run your hands under his shirt, likely stained with splatters of kimchi stew and the juice he fucking hates but drinks because it reminds him of the way you taste. 

But it’s much sweeter when he thinks of it that way, he told you once. It tastes a lot better when it’s on your lips. 

He loves that gross fucking juice when it’s lingering on your tongue. 

You sigh, finally looking at your face in the mirror. Hansol is standing behind you, brows slightly furrowed as he seemingly stares at the back of your head. You jump, your hand splaying on your chest as you suck in a breath too quickly. 

“You jerk, you scared me!” 

“I’ll wear a bell next time,” he rolls his eyes, before holding up something in the mirror. Purple with white flowers, yellow with cats – your socks. 

Ones you lost a year ago. 

“Where did you find those?”  “Mrs. Kim next door found them in her basket after she pulled her clothes from the dryer yesterday. She said she remembered you running in your underwear for the newspaper and you were wearing the purple ones.” 

Your eyes widen, “I’ve never run outside in my underwear! And I had shorts on that day!” 

“My boxers do not count as shorts,” he snorts, before holding them out to you. “Underwear is still underwear, no matter who wears it.” 

“Pft. Whatever.” You mutter before hesitating to take the socks. It could mean the end of whatever this was – you would have to stuff them in your pocket and walk towards his front door. You would have to turn his doorknob and hold onto the threshold of his apartment as you slipped your feet back into your wet rain boots. You would have to stand in his stoop as you shook out and opened your umbrella. 

You would have to look into his eyes and say goodbye. 

And for how long? 

How long will goodbye be this time? 

You reach behind you and carefully take the socks, your thumb brushing him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react – only watching as you tuck the socks into the pocket of your windbreaker. His eyes return to the mirror, the Polaroid in the corner catching his attention. 

“I haven’t looked at that photo in so long,” he murmurs, stepping forward slightly. You can feel the heat of his body on your back, before nimble fingers pluck the photo from the corner of the frame. He looks like he’s in pain as he takes it, as if it hurts him to move anything that was there when you left. 

His thumb wipes dust off the photo, particularly off your face. You look at the mirror and see the perfect outline of the Polaroid, formed by the dust. You reach over and wipe it off, before wiping your hand on your jeans. 

I’m ready to come home. 

Please. Ask me to come home. 

He glances up at the motion, tonguing his cheek as he manages to place the picture back perfectly. 

“Nice try.” 

You don’t respond, but he doesn't say anything else, either. He simply stares at the photo before sighing softly. He looks hesitant, and you continue to let your eyes linger on the heart-shape of his smile in the photo as you mutter under your breath. 

“It’s still raining.”  “It’s only going to get worse. I’m surprised you agreed to go out with Seungkwan at all.” 

You nod, before your eyes flit back to the mirror. He’s not looking at the photo anymore – but at you. His eyes are full of emotions you can’t place as he scans the entirety of your face, as if he’s taking you in; as if he can’t believe you’re real. 

As if he can’t believe you’re home. 

“You changed your mascara.” 

You blink, opting to clear your throat as you nod, “how’d you know?” 

“The other one was kind of blue, I think. This one is brown.” He shrugs, “I liked the blue one.” 

“I’ll wear it more often,” you reply smoothly, before realizing it was one of the responses you’d give him when he complimented something you donned during your relationship. The hot pink windbreaker, the jeans you have on, OPI polish in Cos-mo Money on your fingernails. 

“I mean, I didn’t...ugh. Sorry.”  “Mhm.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, and you feel your throat dry as his eyes continue their path around your face. Eyes, nose... 

Lips. 

“I miss you,” he murmurs. 

You feel your back stiffen as he shifts away, hearing his footsteps round the edge of the couch. He doesn’t sit down – instead, blowing out his candles as he gathers the bottles of untouched soju and tucks the unopened juice under his arm as he speaks. 

“I miss you, and I don’t want you to leave. I understand if you have to, and I’ll be here when you’re ready to come home.” 

You’re rooted in place as you watch him slink away into the kitchen, hearing him pour the liquor down the drain. The clinking of the bottles is mocking you as he rinses them, before sliding them into the glass-only recycling bin. The sound of the refrigerator opening pains you, hearing the clunk of the heavy juice bottle being slid into the door before it shuts again. 

For what seems like the thousandth time today, you feel your eyes sting with tears. Your nose burns as you wait for him to slip out of the kitchen, your fingers toying with the zipper of your windbreaker before it gets the chance to start feeling too sticky on your skin. You tug it off, bunching it up and tossing it over the back of the couch before running your hands over your face in frustration. 

“Too sticky?” 

He appears next to you; eyes rimmed red as he sidles up. Or at least you wish he would – he's a good foot and a half away. The tip of his nose is pink, and there is a soft sheen on his cheeks – from tears finally spilling, you assume. 

It makes you ache. 

It makes your teeth hurt, the bittersweet pain of watching the man who you were sure put the stars in the sky every night feel like he had to act like you were a stranger while still yearning for you – just to make you comfortable. Why does he do that? 

How can he do that? 

“Hansol?”  “Mmh?” 

You should feel pathetic, selfish, with the way the words crawl up your throat so easily. 

“Can I stay?” 

He doesn’t respond; his eyes glancing at the clock above the television. It was one of the first things you bought together – at yet another thrift store. It had a badly painted version of Shrek and Donkey on the face; the numbers shakily smeared, but the two of you bought it for giggles. It became a statement piece; your friends always commented on how ugly the thing was in comparison to everything else in your home. 

But it was so you, and it was so Hansol. 

So, who cares? 

“Please. Please, let me stay, Sol.” 

“You don’t need to beg. This is your home.” He shakes his head, and you can feel your voice shaking before you can even get the words out. 

“You don’t have to miss me because I miss you. You don’t have to love me, because I love you. It’s not transactional.” 

You almost miss the way he rolls his eyes, before he glances down at you by the slope of his nose. His brow is raised, your skin prickling at the sight. 

“Don’t tell me how to feel.”  “I’m not.” 

He shrugs, perching on the back of the couch. His hands are hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, and the proximity is enough to make your knees grow weak – worsening as a hint of that soft aftershave floats up your nostrils. 

“You are. I’m allowed to miss you, you know. I’m allowed to think about you before I go to bed at three in the morning. I’m allowed to feel the twist in my stomach when I look at the toothbrush you left that I haven’t had the balls to replace, as if you’re still here. I’m allowed to still love you, after all this time.” 

“I was gone for a year. You should hate me.” You lament, absently picking at your cuticles, “an entire year, Hansol. Two birthdays, yours and mine. So many holidays so many special events...all over my own insecurities of not knowing who I was and if I was even worth your time.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head, “a year, ten years, a millennia. My heart has only ever been my own when you’re not the one holding it. Only then, could you have told me how to feel, and I still wouldn’t have listened to you. I will love you even if you do not love me, and even when you feel like you don’t deserve it. Even when you know who you are, and especially when you don’t. Because I know.” 

You feel your lip jut out in a pout as you try to hold back the pathetic sob in your throat, only to see his hand slip out of his pocket and stop you from picking at your skin. He’s warm, like he always is. 

He’s warm, inviting. Comforting. 

You look up cautiously, only to see the same gaze you’d been used to in the mornings just a year ago. Soft, gentle, loving. Unadulterated adoration. 

Glazed over with a hint of uncertainty. Of the present, of the future. 

Of us, and everything we are. Everything we could be, and everything we are. 

You look around the apartment, the weight of his hand on yours seeping into your bones. You take everything in again – the coffee table, the condensation left from the bottles, the remote. The television. The journal, with smudged blue ink. The candles. The hideous Shrek clock. 

Your coffee table that you bought together. Your television, and the remote you always changed the batteries to because he would forget. The journal you bought him at a bookstore while he was preparing to visit his sister in New York City. The candles you bought around the time of that trip, because they reminded you of him – though he smells like cotton and they smell like candy. 

The blanket you knitted yourself when he complained about being cold one evening – it took you four months, but it was well worth it to see the giddy grin on his face when you finally threw it over him before bed. The glass chess set that had been gathering dust in the corner for far longer than you’d been gone – one that you lost three games to him on, and sulked for hours as he peppered kisses all over your face. 

Your bright red coat hung by the window, one that you’d gone frantic looking for as the colder months crept in – right next to his black one. 

Coats you bought together. 

“Can I see the bedroom?” 

He nods silently, pushing off the back of the couch as you nervously intertwine your fingers. He says nothing, only squeezing your hand softly as he leads you down the hall – as if you’d never been there. He twists the doorknob open; the room illuminated only by the gloomy sky outside. 

You reluctantly let go of his hand to step inside, your fingers flexing at your sides as you walk on the soft beige carpet. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching you stare at the floating shelves on the walls. Everything is still where you left it – wooden plane models, a few Smiski figurines, a singular LEGO wildflower bouquet. A deck of tarot cards that you used to fool around with him on long nights, stoned and flipping your bar of selenite through your fingers while he actively asked what upright Lovers meant. 

The bed is made – the sage green sheets neatly tucked and folded under the mattress. The pillows are fluffed and stacked exactly the way you left them the day you went out the front door. Your pitcher of water had been refilled, and the glass wasn’t fogged over – it was new water. 

Clean water. 

The window is open, and a familiar pink towel is rolled carefully and stuffed onto the windowsill – the room smells of petrichor and your perfume. You spot the wall still lined with your shared collection of vinyl records, the player still holding Dizzy Up the Girl by The Goo Goo Dolls. 

He bought you that one the day before you left. You remember laying on the floor with him, your head on his stomach while his fingers ran through your hair. You had told yourself you wouldn’t cry that night – but you did anyway, at half past four in the morning as he lay asleep in your arms. 

Your fingers gently run over the needle, before you pick it up carefully and place it on one of the grooves. The first few notes of All Eyes on Me play through the small speakers before you lift the needle and stop it. You let it fall back into its slot in front of the record, before folding your hands behind your back and turning to face him – your eyes immediately dropping to the floor. 

“Are you ready to come home?” 

You look up wearily, feeling your breath catch in your throat. 

“I love you, Hansol.”  “That doesn’t answer my question, Y/N.” 

You move forward abruptly, circling your arms around his waist and tucking yourself into his chest. He reciprocates carefully, almost as if he’s afraid. 

His hands tremble slightly as they ghost over your back, your own fisting the back of his hoodie as you press your face into the fabric. You feel his cheek rest on the top of your head, hearing a sigh slip from his lips as his hand slides up your back. Your voice is muffled as you speak into his chest, but you know he can hear you just fine. 

Hansol has always understood you, deeper than words. 

“I have to pick some stuff up from my mom’s.”  “Y/N. Answer the question.” 

“I’m ready to come home, Sol.” You murmur, before feeling the tips of his fingers move your hair away from your neck. He smooths it down your back with one hand, the other swiping stray tendrils from your forehead. You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest as he pads his thumbs over your cheeks. 

“I hate it when you cry. It makes my stomach hurt.” 

His honesty makes you snort, and you struggle not to roll your eyes as he continues to caress your face. He runs his thumbs over your brows, across your eyelids, down your cheeks... 

On your lips. 

“You cut your hair,” you whisper, and he nods. 

“I was having one of those moments. Like when girls give themselves bangs because they need to feel in control of something,” he shrugs, before his eyes light up slightly. “Didn’t you bleach—” 

“Shut up. You promised me we wouldn’t talk about it after it happened. Plus, you look like Buzz Lightyear. Leave me alone.” 

“I’ll have you know that being called Buzz Lightyear is actually a compliment,” he gloats, making you huff. 

“Yeah, because being compared to a delusional space cowboy is the way to go.”  “You did not just call him a delusional space cowboy, bro.”  “You did not just call me bro, Hansol.” 

He bites back his smile, carding his fingertips through your hair. You close your eyes at the sensation, preening at the way it sends subtle shivers down your spine. 

“Call me babe, or something. Honey. I like doll, too, that was a good one.” You’re murmuring into his sweater, hoping you’ll open your eyes, and he won’t suddenly disappear. Your fingers reflexively tighten around the fabric of his sweater in your fists, and you hear the rickety laughter you’ve missed so much ring through the air. 

“I’m not going anywhere, just relax.” His fingers tug gently at the hair on the nape of your neck, making you scowl. Your lip juts out as you look up at him through damp lashes, eyes full of guilt. 

“Do you forgive me?” The words weigh on your tongue, and you feel the tiniest bit pathetic laying yourself out like this – but it’s Hansol. 

“Nothing to forgive, you know.”  “You don’t resent me at all?”  "Not one bit.” 

Your eyes scan his; narrowing at the hint of mischief in the depth of them as you pull back slightly. Your brows furrow, a scoff leaving your lips as you poke your finger into his chest. 

“You’re lying.” 

“I’m not. If anything...I just missed you.” He admits quietly, pressing his forehead to the top of your head before wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you close, “I miss seeing you when I come home from work. I miss finding you passed out while folding laundry on the carpet. I miss holding you, like this.” 

He sighs, shaking his head as he tucks strands of your hair behind your ears before thumbing at your pierced earlobes. Small hoops loop through them – gold ones, a gift from him many years ago. 

“I miss sleeping next to you, in our bed. That couch has awful cushions, why did we buy it?” 

“...We didn’t. Seungkwan made us take it when you moved out, remember? Because we...you know. On it.” You glance up at him quizzically, his cheeks tinging pink as the memory settles in the forefront of his mind. He grimaces, baring his teeth slightly as he shudders. 

“I still can’t believe he didn’t knock.”  “It was his apartment, Sol.” 

“...And it was his couch, huh?” He snorts, glancing down at you. You nod, letting a smile paint your lips as your laugh slips out. He smiles at the sound, leaning slightly closer. His fingertips tug on your earrings lightly. 

“You missed me, right?” 

“Is this when you fake me out two or three times before you kiss me?” You raise a brow, palms clammy as he shrugs. 

“I could, or I couldn’t. Depends on your answer, and how much.” His face is ever so slightly closer to yours, and you never really know how to react to this side of him – now, or a year ago – despite being the only receiver of it for over half a decade. Everyone views him as someone so cool, so calm, so collected – no one really understands how easily flustered you get at his subliminally flirtatious comments, or the way he looks at you like he could eat you alive...or the way he eggs you on with his provocative insinuations and those stupid eyes of his until you fold like a house of cards. 

He’s an enigma of a man, a lover, a soul. 

“A lot.”  “A lot.”  “So much. I’ll get a billboard and make it say I love Hansol Chwe.” 

“Oh, you missed me so bad.” He chides, making you scoff as you dig your fingers into his sides lightly. He squeals, his hands grabbing your wrists and holding them away from his body, “don’t do that!” 

His eyes are considerably lighter than when you’d arrived – and you feel your cheeks grow warm as he lets your arms go, once more carding his fingers through your hair. 

“You’re still awful at detangling,” he murmurs, before cradling your face in his hands. “Horrible, awful, no good at detangling your hair.” 

“Yeah, well...” you huff, crossing your arms as you look away. “You kind of get used to someone else doing it for you.” 

He hums, “do you need to go get your stuff tonight?” 

You shake your head, glancing up at him with a small smile, “if I go tonight, the silverware won’t get polished. And we need that, so we can have dinner.” 

“I am not polishing silverware tonight.”  “Oh, yes, you are. I can’t imagine how dusty my forks are.” 

“Our forks, first of all. Second of all, we’re not polishing them tonight. We have other things to do,” he rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to your hairline. 

You swallow the hitched breath in your throat, feigning nonchalance as you raise a brow at him. 

“Oh, do we? What other things, Hansol?” 

“The usual, you know.” He plants another kiss to your temple, “first order of business is actually ordering takeout.” 

“Takeout, he says. Have you got money for that?” You close your eyes as his lips brush the soft arch of your brows, your eyelids, forehead...the tip of your nose. “Last I checked, we were very frugal. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.” 

“You made us expand our budget for your nasty ass juice. I think takeout can be an option tonight,” he mumbles against your cheek, and you feel your stomach start to flutter as he brushes his lips against it. “Second order of business is actually a shower. We can listen to that true crime podcast you like while I detangle your hair. This is just unacceptable.” 

“Maybe I should shave my head.”  “I’d hate for you to think that you’re a delusional space cowboy, babe.” 

Your eyes widen slightly at the pet name, but he doesn’t allow you to speak as he presses his lips to yours softly – smooth with the scent of strawberry lip balm. It’s chaste, it’s fast. 

Too chaste, too fast for your taste. 

“Third order—”  “No, no. Kiss me.” 

He raises a brow, but does as you ask. His lips mold against yours, your hands finding home on his chest. He moves to pull back, but you chase after him – pulling him back and deepening the kiss. You feel like you’re on fire as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him; your fingers pawing at his sweater as you slip your tongue into his mouth. 

The groan from his throat still tastes like home. 

He still tastes like home; like strawberry jam and your disgusting juice. Sweet, tart. Loving. 

“I missed you, Sol.” 

He doesn’t reply, his hand gingerly wrapping around your throat as he pulls you back in. The way he kisses you is desperate; holding you against him tightly as he pushes off the doorframe. He starts moving you backward, your hands wrapped around his wrist as the back of your knees hit the foot of the bed. 

“Sol—”  “Shh.” 

His lips never leave yours, his hand moving from your neck to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. He lays you back against the comforter gently, your hand fisting the collar of his hoodie. You tug at it as he licks into your mouth, a soft groan falling from your throat as his fingertips breach the hem of your t-shirt and graze over the skin of your belly. 

You pull back from his lips with a quiet pant, your own swollen as you blink up at him. You feel his fingers squeeze your side carefully, eyes searching your face. 

“Y/N?” 

His voice is soft as he hovers over you lightly, his knee slotted between yours, and you feel your throat burn as your hand strokes his jaw. 

“I’m sorry for leaving.” 

He shakes his head, his hands moving to hold your face, “stop it. Stop being sorry for taking care of yourself. I love you. I know you, and I know that if you felt the need to leave...you had to do it. Please stop being sorry. Just...just let me love you, even if you have to leave again in another year. In ten years, in a month...tomorrow.” 

You breathe out shakily, peering at him through teary eyes. His gaze is still everything it’s ever been. 

Warm, gentle. 

Home. 

“Please, just let me.”  “I love you.”  “I know, babe. I know.” 

You sit up abruptly, your hand moving to pull at the hem of his sweatshirt. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side as you move up the bed. His lips find yours again as your head hits the pillow, slower than before. Like he’s savoring the moment, his fingers toying with the button of your jeans before he pops it free. He breaks the kiss briefly, pulling your jeans down with ease. You kick them off the edge of the bed as his hands slide up your thighs slowly, warm and soft. A finger snaps the waistband of your underwear against your hip, making you scowl as you swat his hand away. 

“Don’t be mean.” 

“M’not being mean, baby.” He bites back a smile, watching as you sit up on your elbows, feeling the bed sink slightly under him as he hovers over you, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You look up at him through your lashes, moving to bridge the gap as he pulls back slightly. 

“Sol?”  “I love you.” 

Your chest heats as he presses his lips against yours, his hand pushing your thighs apart slightly. It slides up your hip; his thumb rubbing circles into your lower belly before he slips it under the hem of your shirt. He deepens the kiss, pushing your shirt up to the bottom of your breasts as the cool air makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You move to pull it over your head, tossing it somewhere across the bedroom before pulling him back to your mouth, slipping your tongue between his lips.  

His hands wander, softly clawing at your sides and enveloping your hips in the warmth of his fingers as your own pull at the short ends of his hair. His lips trail up your jaw, soft and feathery, before his teeth nip at your earlobe. Your knee digs into his side as he tugs lightly at your earring, and you twist away from him – only to feel the scrape of his teeth against your neck, earning a whine from your throat as your legs tighten around his hips. 

“Take your pants off,” you whisper, a frown tugging at your lips as you feel him shake his head. 

“Not yet,” he speaks against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck and across your clavicle. His hold on your hips loosens as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them further to slot himself between them as he peppers kisses down your chest – flattening his tongue on your nipple before you can speak. A choked sound leaves your mouth as he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud, his thumb brushing over your neglected nipple with precision. He’s gentle, your thighs trying to close around his hips as he hums against your skin. 

“Missed seeing you like this,” he murmurs, switching sides and pulling your nipple into his mouth with a soft suck. Your breathing is shaky, embarrassingly shaky – and you feel him smile against your skin, “really? Already? I’m flattered.” 

“Shut up,” you bite, earning a chuckle as he trails his lips back up your neck with a tentative roll of his hips against yours. Your cheeks grow hot, feeling the weight of his cock against your clit through your flimsy underwear. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders lightly as you try to grind your hips up against him, only for him to pin you to the mattress. 

“God, I missed you.” His voice is gravelly, rutting his shaft against you harder before his hand suddenly slips between your legs and slide over the damp patch of arousal soaking through your panties. He presses his fingers against it, a gasp catching in your throat – your cheeks burning as you feel him pull away from your neck. Your fingers move to pull at his sweatpants, but he moves your hand away with a quick shake of his head as his hands slide down your legs. He follows their path with his lips, dragging open-mouthed kisses up your thighs and calves, even pulling your socks off to kiss the sides of your feet. 

His fingertips hook around the cotton fabric of your panties, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he pulls on them gently. You lift your hips to let him pull them down entirely; the fabric flung somewhere across the room as he spreads your thighs, settling between them with a kiss to your hip. You cover your face with shaky hands as his lips trail across your skin, peering up at you through his lashes as he ghosts over your center. You peek out from between your fingers to see him biting back a smile as he shakes his head, “baby, it’s just me.” 

“Yeah, well—” Your sentence is cut short with a choked gasp as he flattens his tongue against your cunt, licking a fat stripe through your folds and gathering your arousal before sucking your clit into his mouth carefully. His eyes flutter shut at the taste, your teeth sinking into your lip to stop the embarrassing whine trying to claw its way out of your throat. He sucks harder, your fingers flying to his hair and tugging the short strands as best as you can before you feel his fingers prodding at your entrance. They slide in easily, your thighs closing around his head with a soft whimper. He forces them apart with his shoulders, pinning your rutting hips to the mattress with his arm as he curls his fingers inside you, his tongue working you over almost painfully slow — and the warmth in your lower just starts to spread as he pulls away.

“Did you touch yourself while you were gone?” His voice is much steadier than you trust your own to be, his fingers expertly working you open as you nodded, feeling his lips trail down your shoulder. “Did you think about me while you did it?” 

“E-Everyday,” you hate the meekness in your tone, your nails digging uselessly into his bicep as he smiles against your skin. His free hand trails up your arm, gently pulling your hand away from his body and kissing your knuckles. 

“Show me.” 

You force yourself to peer at him through your lashes, eyes low as he brings you closer to the edge — only to see him kiss the tips of your fingers, before pulling them into his mouth. Your lips part with a soft groan, rolling your eyes as you feel his tongue slide between them, perfectly coating them with his salvia before pulling them out and snaking your hand between your thighs. His eyes are dark — desperate, even. Needy. 

“Show me.” 

His fingers slow inside you as you swallow hard, dragging your fingertips through your folds, spreading them slightly and circling your swollen clit. His eyes don't leave yours as you cover your mouth with your hand, your thighs twitching at the stimulation. You break eye contact, your body feeling hot as you let your head hit the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut as the mix of your fingers with his bring you closer to the edge. 

“Sol, I’m—” 

He didn’t let you finish your sentence, pulling his fingers out of you just as the taste of your orgasm tried to hit the back of your tongue. You let your lips part, brows furrowing as the feeling died right at his fingertips. His fingers are wet against your thigh, and he has a small smirk toying with the corner of his lip as you pout. 

“Sol…” your voice is whiny as he trails his lips up your body, ghosting over your chest as you huff. “I thought you said you weren’t mad at me.” 

“Oh, I’m not.” He shakes his head quickly, but he’s not looking at you. His hand pulls at the waistband of his sweatpants, low enough to let his leaking cock spring free. It’s hot and heavy against your thigh, your mouth watering slightly as he looks up at you, “I could never be mad at you.” 

“Then why—” 

“Because I can,” he interrupts, wrapping his fingers covered in your juices around himself. He brushes a kiss to your lips, “because I want you to ruin me all over again.” 

Your eyes fluttered as he rolled his hips against yours, his length dragging through your wet folds and his tip bumping your puffy clit with a hiss from his lips. Your hands fist the sheets as he speaks against your jaw, “I thought about you every single day. Just like this.” 

“Sol—” 

“Fucked my hand thinking about you. Every night. Even the smell of your perfume made me want you, I missed you so much.” He’s whispering, and you can hardly hear him over the blood rushing to your ears, “missed seeing your pretty lips all swollen after sucking me off. Will you? Have I earned it?” 

He doesn’t let you respond, his hand gently tilting your chin up to slot your lips with his before snaking down your bodies and wrapping around his cock. He guides himself through your slit, teasing the thick head against your hole as you gasp into the kiss. 

“Please—” 

“Don’t beg.” He mutters against your mouth, “I won’t do anything if you beg.” 

“Sol, please—”  “Y/N.” 

His tone is warning as he circles your entrance, smearing beads of precum on your slick skin before gently easing himself inside you. Your thighs close around his hips instinctively, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he slowly sheathes himself in your gummy walls — before he stops, not even halfway in as he looks you dead in the eyes. 

“Tell me you missed me." His hands hold your thighs tightly, the rings on his fingers digging into your skin. Your mouth falls open as he gives a tentative roll of his hips, but he pulls right back out before you can savor the feeling. He shakes his head with a click of his tongue, "tell me you missed me, Y/N."

"Missed you," you whisper, tears pricking at your eyes as you tilt your head up to kiss him. He lets you, slotting his lips with yours as you wrap one leg around his hip, "missed feeling you. Haven't stopped thinking about you."

The admission is enough to make him grind his cock against you, the fat head bumping your clit over and over as you slip your tongue in his mouth. The kiss is all teeth and tongue as he rocks against you, a groan falling from your throat as you taste yourself all over him and making you clench around nothing. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you roll your hips with his, only for him to pull away with a chaste kiss to your lips, still ghosting over your face as he peered at you through thick lashes.

"I love you." Your hand cups his jaw gently, his own trailing up your arm to wrap around your wrist. He kisses your palm, leaning into your touch as his eyes close, "I love you, Y/N."

You pull him down to you, brushing your lips to his, "I love you, Sol."

He nods, tapping your hip with his hand and squeezing the flesh, "turn around."

You roll your eyes, a smile trying to fight its way onto your lips as his hands slide up your hips, helping you turn onto your belly, "you never change."

"Man of habit, what can I say?" His voice is low as he presses his lips to the dip of your spine, your skin littering with goosebumps as he moves your hips flush to his. He drags his mouth up your back, his fingers caressing the skin of your sides as he moves them up to your shoulders, gently wrapping his hand around your throat with a soft squeeze, "missed you so much. Missed touching you…kissing you. Having you."

"I'm here." You whisper back as he presses kisses to the side of your face, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brush your eyebrow. "Have me."

"M'not gonna last very long," he murmurs against your cheek, your hand reaching back and tugging gently at his hair. His hand snakes between you, wrapping around his cock and dragging it up your slit with a hiss. You push your hips back against him, biting down on your lip as he nudges your clit, his lips pressing kisses to the curve of your jaw, "might not last at all, actually."

"Just wanna feel you," you let him tilt your head back, brushing your lips with his as he pulls you up, your back flush to his chest as he finally bottoms out. You clench around him, his nose buried in your neck as he inhales shakily. His hand falls away from your throat, slipping down to cup your tits, squeezing gently as he gives an experimental roll of his hips. You're embarrassed at the tremble in your thighs, the sharp breath you suck in as he mumbles against your skin, "there she is…missed this."

"Have it…use me," you whisper back, your jaw falling slack as he starts moving his hips into you. He keeps you close as he grabs at your soft skin, kissing up the slope of your shoulder, inhaling deeply at the dip of your neck before gently pinning you to the mattress. Your fingers grip the sheets as he kisses down your spine, hiding your face in the pillows as you meet his thrusts halfway. His rings are digging into your skin as he palms at your ass, the sharp sound of the smack registering before the sting of his palm, soothed by his grip as he kisses your shoulder.

You feel yourself growing fuzzy, your limbs melting into the fabric as he sucks the sweet spot just under your ear — his cock dragging perfectly against your walls and making your skin litter with goosebumps, the pillow absorbing your whines as your skin muffles his.

"Just take it, please…" he breathes out, his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips as his movements grow sloppy, "it's yours. I'm yours."

"M-Mine," you mewl weakly, and he only groans as he pulls out abruptly, flipping you onto your back and slotting his lips with yours as he slides back in. Your nails dig into his back, sinking down the expanse of his shoulders as he swallows your whimpers — the kiss is all teeth and tongue as he spreads your thighs with his hands, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping at your earlobe.

"Should've knocked you up years ago, fuck." He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at the skin there as your breathing grows shaky, your walls clenching around him. He nips at your collarbone, "need to fill you up every day. Make you mine forever…you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Y-Yeah," your voice is full of air as your cunt squeezes around him, earning a spent laugh from his throat. His hand snakes between your bodies, thumb finding your puffy clit and making you jerk as he rubs tight circles into it, the coil in your belly threatening to snap. You let out a shuddered whimper, feeling his lips brushing the column of your throat, "missed this pussy so much, baby. So perfect for me. Made for me."

His lips are frantic, kissing every inch of skin he can reach as your breathless pants fill the room, the air smelling like sex and sweat as you wrap your legs around him. He snakes his slips into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, your thighs tight around his hips as you let go, soaking his cock in your release with a whine pouring into his mouth. He twitches inside you, mumbled reassurance as your thighs tremble, his forehead damp against your shoulder as he spills inside you.

He kisses the dip of it, stamping his lips along the column of your throat as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing softly as he meets your mouth again.

"I love you," you murmur, cupping his face in your hands as he hovers over you slightly. He nods limply, kissing you smoothly as his hands spread your thighs, holding your knees to your chest as he gives another slow roll of his hips — making you jolt with overstimulation as he lets out a weak laugh.

"Gotta make sure it takes, baby." He speaks into your mouth, kissing you chastely as your legs shake around him, "love of my life. I love you."

He mumbles something else, but it's lost as he kisses you firmly, overstimulating you both as he keeps making a mess between your thighs. You pull away, holding him away from you by the short hair, "what did you say?"

He blinks at you, raising a brow before his cheeks tinge with embarrassment. He shakes his head, trying to brush a kiss to your lips but you move away.

"Don't let me ruin this, Y/N." He sighs, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. He peels them open again, the swirl of adoration and worry circling the light amber of his irises. You give him a pointed look, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, "what did you say?"

"…Please don't leave me again." He buries his face in your neck, your eyes burning as he whispers against your skin, "please, please, please…don't leave."

You pepper your lips to the side of his face, pulling him away from your neck to connect your lips. Tears wet your lashes as you hold him close, your hands pressing against his cheeks as you pull back.

"Don't beg," you mumble, your voice thick as tears brimmed his eyes, "you never have to beg for anything. Not from me, never again."

"I love you, Y/N." "I love you, Sol."

YOU'RE ANXIOUSLY SCRUBBING PANS THE NEXT MORNING WITH A JOINT HELD BETWEEN YOUR LIPS.

You know he said you could come back, you know he said that you can stay…but something about it makes you nervous. The way his shirt barely covers the curve of your ass but still smells like him, the way you've relit all the candles around the apartment as he sleeps soundly in your shared bedroom. His lips were pouted when you slipped out of his arms early that morning, your body sore in places it hadn't been in months. The bathroom mirror confirmed the tightness of his grip — bruises littering your hips, nips of his teeth along your ass and thighs, even a mark sucked into the dip of your hip.

You foolishly texted Soonyoung if he could drop off something to take the edge off at the apartment — and you realized you'd forgotten to tell him that you would be there. His jaw had dropped as he held out the bag of pre-rolls, expecting to see Hansol in his comfortable sweatpants glory — only to see you, in the shirt that didn't even remotely cover the black fabric of your underwear. You'd paid him in a wad of cash and closed the door before he could say anything, shooting him a text the moment you lit one of the pre-rolls to please keep his mouth shut.

The vibrations of your phone on the counter, messages from your groupchat and Seungkwan — told you that he hadn't been able to do that for very long.

You'd opened the windows, the sky still gloomy but the air fresh and cool — settling the anxiety in your stomach as you dried the last pan. He'd been right — he hadn't touched them since you left, the dust settled on them from sitting in the cabinet for so long. You fumbled around the kitchen, pulling the silver polish from the top shelf of the pantry when you felt hands on your waist. You jumped, your hand settling on your chest when you realized it was him.

"You really need to get a bell," you mutter, feeling his lips curve into a smile against the back of your neck as he takes the silver polish from your hand and tosses it somewhere on the counter. His arms wrap around you, pulling your back to his chest as he squeezes gently.

"Called Soonyoung?" His voice is raspy, the way it always is when he's just woken up. You smell mint on his breath, and you figure you must've not noticed when he started moving around in your anxious state. You nod, holding the joint out to him over your shoulder as he sways you both.

"He already ran his mouth, can't keep a secret to save his fucking life." You mutter as you feel his lips brush your fingers, wrapping around the end of your joint and pulling back. He grimaces, "is this that gross ass strain you like?"

"Everything I like is gross to you. My juice, my weed, my favorite PopTart." "I'm not gross, and Brown Sugar Cinnamon isn't even close to being the best." "I'm gonna ignore that, and good thing I don't like you, Sol."

"I know you think that's a compliment and sick segue to say you love me, but not liking me is embarrassing as fuck," he snorts, gingerly placing the gross thing back between your lips. "Keep that shit to yourself."

"You're so fucking annoying," you mutter, smiling despite yourself. Your skin prickles slightly as you feel his hands slide down your hips and bunch his shirt under his palms. He slips his hands under it, thumbs barely hooking on the waistband of your panties before he presses his lips just under your ear.

"You wanna polish all this shit now?" "We didn't do it last night." "I'd argue we did better things last night—"

"Get off me, you little freak." You huff, trying to wiggle out of his hold but failing miserably as he only turns you around. You tongue your cheek, tapping the joint out on an ashtray you'd fished out from under the double-decked coffee table before letting him pull you close again. "You're not getting out of doing this today, Chwe. I mean it."

"Seungkwan invited us to lunch," he murmurs, caging you between him and the counter. You raise a brow, "Seungkwan invited us?"

"You, my girlfriend, and me, your boyfriend. Me and you. Us. We," he gestures between the two of you, "are cordially invited to lunch at the Boo Seungkwan residence. Expect ridicule, badgering and half a cold pizza slice because Soonyoung is already over there and stoned out of his mind."

You stopped listening after me, your boyfriend.

"You love me, right?" You ask softly, tugging at his shirt gently. Another plain white one, but there's a red stain on the collar that belonged to you. Red lipstick that didn't come out after you washed it twice, leaving a lingering of your presence behind.

Just like the bruises that littered your hips, and the toothpaste stain on your shirt that belonged to him. Just like your initials on his cap, the locket around your neck, the windbreaker, the hoodie. His journal, the stickers from your apples stuck to the leg of your coffee table. The sample bottle of your perfume that you'd seen sitting on the bathroom counter, and every single vinyl in your collection. The gross juice in your fridge that he didn't like but you loved, the Shrek and Donkey clock, the chess set…and everything you are. Everything he is.

You and him.

Him and you.

Together, in everything. Lingering, cohabitating, sharing…

Entangled, enamored, bounded by souls not willing to be apart…

Cosmically meant to exist as lovers.

"I do. I love you, Y/N." "I love you, Sol."

"…Enough to not polish the silverware tonight?"

The streetlamp flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. You pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders, checking the time on your phone screen for the fifth time in two minutes.

9:14 PM.

A very old blue jeep is parked halfway down the block, engine off, exactly where the dropped pin had indicated. As you approach, the driver’s side door clicks open.

Vernon steps out, casually pulling back the hood of his dark sweatshirt. He looks even more handsome than in the picture he sent earlier, which only makes you more nervous. His relaxed, unbothered posture immediately contrasts with your stiff and coiled tension. He leans against the car door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches you close the distance.

You stop a few feet away, practically vibrating with nerves. “Vernon?”

“Yeah.” His voice is low, carrying a slight rasp. He doesn’t move toward you, leaving a comfortable gap between to let you dictate the space. “You’re Chan’s friend.”

“Y/N,” you supply quickly, voice slightly breathless.

It was Chan who gave you his number after seeing you have an anxiety attack. He said Vernon was the seller with the best prices and the best products, that his stuff would definitely help you relax, and that he was a reliable guy.

Which is what brought here.

Vernon offers a small, crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He pause, his eyes scanning the empty street before settling back on you. “Chan said you’d be reaching out. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up after our texts earlier.”

“I... yeah.” You bite your lip hard, wrapping your arms around yourself against the night wind. “I’m sorry if the timing was weird, I just really needed to find a way to settle my head tonight.”

He nods slowly, his expression understanding. Vernon doesn’t treat your confession like a burden or a business pitch; he just listens. “No need to apologize. Chan’s a good guy. He wouldn’t have sent you my way if he didn’t think I could help you out.”

Vernon shifts his weight and reaches into his pocket. You instinctively flinch, taking a quick half-step back. The movement is entirely involuntary, a byproduct of the buzzing, suffocating anxiety that had driven you out here in the first place.

He freezes, slowly pulling his hand back out empty and resting it visibly on the roof of the car. His expression shifts, the casual politeness melting into something far more observant, and surprisingly gentle. He takes in the way your shoulders are practically up to your ears, the way your hands grip your phone and arms like a lifeline, and the wide, panicked look in your eyes.

“Hey,” Vernon says softly, dropping his voice a register. “Take a breath. You’re okay. I’m not here to make things harder for you.”

“I know, I just—” You swallow hard, embarrassed heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not really used to this. Meeting strangers in the dark. It’s… a lot.”

“I get it. But you don’t have to look at me like I’m about to bite. You’re making yourself self-conscious.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening even further. “I am?”

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he scratches the back of his head. “Don’t be, though. It’s a compliment. Most people around here try too hard to look like they aren’t feeling anything.”

The tension in your chest doesn’t vanish, but the sheer directness of his gaze makes the frantic buzzing start to slow.

Vernon finally reaches into his pocket again, moving slowly and deliberately this time, and pulls out a small paper bag. He holds it out, stretching his arm far enough that you don’t have to step completely out of your comfort zone.

“Here. The mellow option, like you asked. Should help quiet things down.”

As you reach out to take it, your fingers briefly brush against his. His skin is warm against the chill of the night air.

“Thanks,” you murmur, finally feeling the tight band around your chest loosen.

“Don’t mention it.” He steps back and opens his car door, but pauses before sliding into the driver’s seat, looking over his shoulder one last time. “Get home safe. Let me know if you need anything else. And seriously, breathe. You’re doing fine.”

As his taillights fades down the empty street, you stand on the sidewalk and take your first full, deep breath of the entire day.

“Sorry for the odd hour,” you say for the thousandth time, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself. “I just… I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut up. It’s okay if you want to charge me a delivery fee or something for the trouble.”

You’d been buying from Vernon for about a month. Almost every Tuesday, you left him a message to drop your usual order. Today, however, was Thursday, and you had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours without managing to close your eyes for even a single second. So you figured, why not see if he was awake and willing to sell you something strong enough to finally put you down?

And after a month of buying from him, you had decided it was okay to let him come up to your building floor instead of making him meet you out on the street. He had proven himself to be surprisingly reliable—exactly like Chan had promised you—, after one day when you could barely get out of bed, and he’d offered to bring your order up himself.

Now he was standing in the hallway of your building, looking like he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than you had, yet somehow far more awake than anyone had the right to be at this hour. And the craziest thing of all? He looked incredibly handsome, while you are pretty sure you looked hungover despite not having consumed a single drop of alcohol.

Vernon lets out a low, easy breath, shaking his head. “You’re good. I don’t sleep much anyway, so you’re not exactly interrupting a deep slumber.” He reaches into his pocket, his movements slow, as if he’s in no hurry at all. “Tell you what, I’ll give you the loyal customer discount tonight, Bambi.”

You blink, the name catching you off guard. “Bambi?”

He leans one shoulder against the doorframe, his gaze softening as it fixes on yours.

“Yeah.” Vernon tilts his head, studying your face with an intensity that makes your heart skip. Then he points at his own eyes with his index finger. “It’s the eyes. Yours are big and curious… like you’re seeing the world for the first time.”

You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck, and you look down at your slippers, trying to deflect. Vernon does that quite often; making you blush so hard you never know where to hide your face, that is. You don’t even know if that’s his actual intention or if he’s just naturally nice.

“If that’s the case, then I must look like a really tired bambi. Bags under my eyes and everything.”

Vernon chuckles, the warm sound seeming to fill the empty hallway. “You still look cute, though.” He shrugs, far too casually for your liking. “Just… don’t go bolting into traffic or anything like that. I need my favorite customer in one piece.”

The blush deepens, spreading across your face until even your ears feel hot. You duck your head further, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

You wanted to know if he was genuinely flirting with you or if it was just something he said to all his clients. You were still confused about how you felt about those two possibilities, but the first was the only one that made your stomach do those strange, fluttery little flips.

“Oh, I’ve got a new indica blend coming in next week,” Vernon continues, his tone slipping back into his usual seller mode. “I’ll bring some by. It’ll help you sleep like a rock, I promise.”

You manage a small, shy smile, finally looking back up at him. “You’re like a specialized pharmacist at this point. Should I be tipping you extra, or will a thank-you card do it?”

A slight smile appears on Vernon’s face, and he straightens up and takes a step back, preparing to head toward the elevators, but he pauses to look you in the eye one last time, making sure the panic has truly subsided. The teasing light in his expression fades into something sincere and unexpectedly sweet.

“Neither,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “You being less anxious is enough for me. That’s the only tip I need, Bambi.”

He turns to leave, tossing a lazy wave over his shoulder and leaving you leaning against your doorframe.

The phone screen goes dark, but the words “anything you want” seems to burn brightly behind your eyelids.

For the past twelve hours, you’d been pinned to the mattress since your alarm first went off in the morning. But those three words from Vernon acted like a sudden shot of adrenaline straight to your heart, breaking the paralysis and making you throw the heavy duvet off and practically scramble out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with an urgent slap.

Your apartment was the physical manifestation of a terrible mental health week. Half-empty water bottles clustered on the nightstand, clothes draped over every available surface like exhausted ghosts, and a tragic pile of unopened mail sat on the kitchen counter.

“Oh God,” you mutter, grabbing a laundry hamper and sprinting through the living room.

Sweatshirts, socks, and a pair of jeans are aggressively lobbed into the laundry basket. Books that had been discarded on the floor are shoved haphazardly onto shelves. A collection of coffee mugs is swept into the sink and buried unceremoniously beneath a layer of dish soap bubbles just to hide the evidence.

You move at a dizzying speed, pausing only to catch your breath and aggressively fluff the flattened sofa cushions.

Despite the sheer panic of the impromptu cleaning spree, there’s an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest. You’re nervous, yes—your hands shake slightly as you kick a stray pair of sneakers into the hall closet—but beneath the nerves, you’re overwhelmingly happy.

Vernon is coming over. Not just to drop off your usual or make a quick exchange in the doorway, but just… coming over. To keep you company.

It hits you right then, standing in the middle of the slightly less disastrous living room, just how drastically things have shifted between you two. Somewhere along the line, the boundaries had blurred, melted, and completely re-formed into something entirely different.

Lately, he hasn’t just been your plug—he’s been your friend too. And you’ve been texting. A lot.

It had started innocently a few weeks ago, after he dropped off a new indica strain at your doorstep, one that worked a little too well on you. Pleasantly immobilized and entirely trapped in your own head, you had spent twenty minutes staring at your palms before deciding they actually looked like clouds, and texted him to give feedback.

Most people in his line of work would have ignored it, or maybe replied with a laughing emoji. But Vernon had replied three minutes later, and after a single text, a floodgate opened. The sheer relief of not being mocked, of having someone lean into the absurdity of the moment, made you feel unexpectedly safe with him.

The texts didn’t stop the next morning, when you sent a mortified apology and he replied with a picture of a fluffy cloud. From there, it became a daily routine with good mornings, random memes, complaints about the weather, late-night philosophical tangents, and very, very high debates. Vernon had slowly woven himself into the absolute fabric of your day-to-day life.

But today was Tuesday, and normally, by 2:00 PM on a Tuesday, you would’ve texted him for the usual. Except today, you didn’t. And when you didn’t, he texted you first to check how you were doing.

The conversation didn’t take long before Vernon calmed you down in his usual quiet, steady way, and then, casually as always, he offered to come over. And you accepted immediately—even if it was just for him to sit with you and keep you company—which had led you to this moment, where you’re trying to shove dust under the living room rug.

A firm knock at the door pulls you violently out of your thoughts.

Smoothing down your oversized sweater and taking one last, desperate look at the living room to ensure no rogue laundry was visible, you walk to the door and pull it open.

Vernon stands in the hallway wearing a faded gray hoodie with the strings pulled unevenly and a pair of jeans. But it isn’t his clothes that catch your attention; it’s his hands. He isn’t holding a small bag or his phone. He’s holding two massive, grease-stained brown paper bags from the twenty-four-hour diner down the street, along with a cardboard drink carrier balancing two milkshakes.

“Hey, Bambi,” he greets you, his voice carrying that familiar low rasp. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a soft, unmistakable heart-shaped smile. “Hope you like fries, because I bought, like, an insane amount of them.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” you breathe out, the last residual knot of anxiety in your chest instantly dissolving at the sight of him. You can’t believe how absolutely gorgeous he looks standing there in your doorway, looking like he just rolled out of bed, dressed in the most casual clothes imaginable.

“I know.” He shrugs, stepping past the threshold as you step aside to let him in. Vernon kicks his shoes off by the door with an easy familiarity that makes your heart flutter. “But you said you couldn’t get out of bed today. Which means you definitely didn’t cook. And I couldn’t have you passing out on me. I need someone to help me eat all of this.”

He carries the food into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table. The smell of hot, salty fries, grilled burgers, and heavy diner food fills the apartment, instantly making it feel infinitely cozier, and your stomach lets out an angry, shameless growl.

You hover awkwardly by the armchair. “I... I really meant it, you know. I don’t have any cash on me. I feel awful making you drive all the way out here.”

Vernon stops unpacking the bags and stands up straight, turning to face you. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, his expression softening completely. He reaches out, his warm fingers lightly catching your shoulder, just enough to straighten you and make you look at him.

“I am not here for your money, Bambi.” The sincerity in his voice and eyes pines you to the spot. He has amazing eyes. “Nor am I here to be your delivery guy. I’m here because it’s Tuesday, you were having a bad day, and I wanted to see you. Do you understand?”

You bite your lip to suppress a smile, the warmth of his fingers sending a rush of electricity straight down your spine. “Yeah. I understand.”

He smiles softly. “Good,” he says, letting his hand drop, though his eyes linger for a second longer on your face before he turns back to the food. “Now, grab some napkins, Bambi. We’ve got a situation here with these milkshakes.”

You settle onto the floor, using the coffee table as a dining table. The food is incredible and exactly the kind of heavy, comforting, terrible-for-you meal that bypasses anxiety almost entirely and goes straight to the soul.

“Alright,” Vernon says around a mouthful of fries, leaning back against the base of the sofa. “We need a movie. Something that requires zero brain power but also something we can yell at.”

“Yell at?” you ask, dipping a fry into your milkshake. Vernon watches the fry-in-milkshake maneuver with mild disgust but don’t comment.

“Yeah. A classic. Something where the characters make terrible decisions and we get to judge them from our moral high ground on the floor.”

You scroll through a streaming service for ten minutes before finally settling on Scream.

“It’s the perfect choice,” Vernon argues as the eerie opening music swells through the television speakers. “The ultimate movie about teenagers who think they know all the rules of surviving getting absolutely humbled by another pair of teenagers in a cheap Halloween mask.”

“Sidney is actually smart, though,” you counter, pulling your knees to your chest. “She managed to not get killed in seven out of seven films.”

Vernon scoffs, pausing halfway through a bite of his burger. “Thanks to the power of being the protagonist, of course.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Well, I stand by my opinion.”

He chews slowly, nodding as he points at you with his index finger. “A woman who stands her ground. I respect that.” You let out a small giggle, and Vernon swallows before continuing. “But she ran up the stairs instead of out the front door, Bambi. She literally locked the deadbolt and then trapped herself on the second floor when she had a clear shot to the yard.”

“It’s a classic trope!” you defend your point, laughing as Vernon rolls his eyes. You feel so at peace in his presence that you no longer remember a single thing that affected you in the last twenty-four hours.

“It’s a death wish! That was the entire problem!”

You eat and argue nonstop, the tension of the day bleeding out of you with every passing minute you spend in his presence. You debate the rules of surviving a slasher, whether you would actually make it out alive in Woodsboro, and roast the characters’ survival instincts.

“I know I would probably die,” you state with conviction, biting the end of the straw, “but it would never be because I went to investigate some strange, suspicious noise. Especially not if I were alone.”

Vernon chuckles, nodding along. “Ditto!”

You grab another fry, pointing it at the screen as Billy Loomis leans through Sidney’s bedroom window.

“Okay, but you have to admit, Billy and Stu are objectively very attractive. The whole ’90s grunge, floppy hair thing? It works.”

He pauses mid-chew. Slowly, his eyes slide from the TV to you, his expression flattening into an unimpressed, deadpan stare. “They look like they haven’t showered in a month.”

“Yeah, but look at the cheekbones,” you insist, another teasing smile breaking through the heavy exhaustion. “It’s attractive.”

“If the attractive is homicidal bedhead, sure.” Vernon scoffs, pointedly taking a long, exaggerated sip of his milkshake. “Good to know your bar is literally on the floor, Bambi.”

He shifts slightly, stretching his long legs out and casually crossing his arms, his tone perfectly nonchalant but carrying a subtle defensive edge.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous of fictional ’90s teenagers,” you laugh between words, the sound bright and entirely devoid of anxiety. It would be completely ridiculous if he were, considering he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a ’90s movie himself.

“I’m deeply concerned for your survival instincts,” he corrects smoothly, not missing a beat, though he aggressively dunked a fry into his ketchup. “Remind me to never let you go to a Halloween party alone.”

As the movie shifts from eerie suspense to full-blown terror, the food begins to take its toll. The frantic, anxious energy that has kept you awake for the last twenty-four hours is suddenly entirely depleted. The apartment is warm, the couch against your back is soft, and the low, steady sound of Vernon’s voice beside you is the most effective sedative you’ve ever experienced.

Without realizing it, you begin to slide sideways. The debate over whether throwing a landline phone at the killer was actually an effective evasion tactic fades into background noise. The edges of your vision blur, the flashing light from the television softening into indistinct, hazy color. With a soft sigh, your head tips over, landing gently against the solid, warm curve of Vernon’s shoulder.

On the screen, Tatum screams. In the living room, Vernon stiffens completely. He had been mid-sentence, ready to deliver a scathing critique of Dewey’s police work, when he feels the sudden weight against his arm. He stops talking immediately, his jaw snapping shut. Slowly, carefully, he turns his head just a fraction to look down.

Your eyes are completely closed, your breathing already deepening into the slow cadence of genuine sleep. Your face, which had been tight with worry and exhaustion when he first walked in the door, is now entirely smooth. The dark circles under your eyes remain, but the tension in your body is gone. You look very peaceful.

Vernon feels a strange, tight pull right in the center of his chest. He glances at the empty takeout bags, the half-finished milkshakes, and you currently using him as a pillow, realizing he’s never been happier to lose a Tuesday night’s worth of business.

He doesn’t dare reach for the remote to turn the volume down, afraid that even the slightest shift in his muscles will wake you. He doesn’t reach for his phone either, which is buzzing in his pocket with texts of customers he no longer cares about.

Instead, Vernon adjusts his posture by a millimeter, shifting his weight just enough to give your head a better angle against his shoulder. He carefully leans his own head back against the sofa cushions, letting out a long and silent exhale.

On the screen, the survivors run for their lives. In the quiet of the apartment, Vernon sits perfectly still, entirely content to stay trapped in this exact position for as long as you need to sleep.

The next day, when you wake up tucked comfortably into your bed, everything is organized, clean, and back in its proper place. And unless you somehow did all of this in your sleep, there’s only one person who could have done it, even if he’s nowhere to be found in the morning.

Vernon drives with an relaxed posture, one hand resting lightly on the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He doesn’t press for conversation, letting the low volume of the radio fill the space between you. Every so often, you catch him stealing a quick glance in your direction, his eyes checking to make sure you’re still breathing easily.

About an hour ago, you’d texted him about how awful your day had been, and within minutes he was at your door, ready to take you for a drive to clear your mind.

After a couple of minutes of driving, the dense architecture of the city gives way to the open stretches of the coastal highway. The streetlights grow sparse, replaced by the vast, ink-black expanse of the sky. The air rushing through the slightly cracked windows shifts from the smell of concrete to the sharp and cold scent of ocean mist and salt.

Vernon finally slows the car, the tires crunching against gravel as he pulls into a deserted overlook. The headlights sweep across a wooden barricade before he kills the engine, plunging them into darkness. Out the windshield, the ocean stretches endlessly, moonlight catching the white crests of the churning waves below.

“I didn’t know you liked the beach,” you whisper, pulling your jacket tighter around your frame. The cold seeps through the glass, but the car’s heater still blows warm air at your feet, creating a perfectly cozy contrast.

“I don’t usually,” he shrugs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts his weight, turning slightly in his seat so he can look at you. “During the day, it’s a nightmare. Too crowded, too loud. But at night… it’s different.”

You nod slowly, looking out at the horizon. “It makes everything else feel really small. The ocean, I mean.” You tilt your head slightly, stealing a quick glance at him before continuing. “You look out there and realize how massive it all is, and suddenly worrying about emails or… or literally anything else just feels completely irrelevant.”

“Exactly,” Vernon agrees, leaning his head back against the headrest. He watches the water for a long moment, his profile sharp against the dim light filtering in from the moon. “We construct this entire, agonizing reality inside our heads.”

He pauses, a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes looking thoughtful.

“You ever think we’re just brains in jars imagining stuff?”

You blink, caught entirely off guard by the sudden existential pivot. A laugh bubbles up in your chest, breaking the solemn quiet of the car. “Brains in jars? Really? That’s where we’re going at three in the morning?”

“I’m serious,” he defends himself, though the corner of his mouth is ticking upward. “Think about it. How do you know any of this is real? Your brain is just locked in pitch-black darkness inside your skull, hallucinating a reality based on electrical signals. For all we know, we’re just sitting on a shelf in some laboratory, running a simulation.”

“Well, if this is a simulation,” you counter, turning to face him completely and pulling your knees up onto the seat, “then the developers seriously need to patch my software. The anxiety settings are dialed way too high, and the executive dysfunction glitch is making the gameplay terrible.”

Vernon laughs properly then, the sound that echoing in the small space of the Jeep cabin, his gums on full display. “I’ll submit a bug report for you. Tell the admins to turn down the overthinking slider and boost the serotonin drops.”

You want to tell him that this happens every time you’re in his presence, but you aren’t sure if it’s acceptable to flirt with your plug. It’s been two months since you met, and you’re still amazed by how being with him shuts down your nervous system and makes you forget everything. Even if it’s just a phone call, hearing Vernon’s voice calms you like no weed or medicine ever could.

“Please do,” you smile back, resting your cheek against your knees. “But honestly… even if we are just brains in jars, I think I’m okay with whatever hallucination this is right now. It’s the quietest my head has been in days.”

The teasing amusement in Vernon’s eyes softens, melting into something more tender. He reaches across the center console, his fingertips lightly brushing your arm before settling on the edge of your sleeve. It’s a grounding touch, anchoring you to the present moment.

It’s strange how entirely safe you feel sitting in a dark car on a deserted cliffside with a guy who, on paper, you barely know. But looking at him now—the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the attentive way he listens to every word you say, the quiet intelligence in his eyes—you realize he isn’t just a guy or your plug anymore. He’s becoming someone indispensable.

“I really appreciate this,” you whisper softly. You look down at his hand, which is still resting near yours on the console. “You didn’t have to stay with me today, and you definitely didn’t have to drive me out here. So… thank you, Vernon.”

The name hangs in the air for a second. Vernon doesn’t flinch, but a subtle shift ripples through his posture. He’s quiet for a long beat, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle against the fabric of your sleeve.

“Hansol,” he corrects quietly, his voice dropping into a register so low it’s almost a whisper.

You frown, blinking in confusion. “What?”

He lifts his gaze, his eyes locking onto yours, a small smile on his lips. There’s a vulnerability there he usually keeps buried under layers of nonchalance and cool detachment. “My name… it’s Hansol.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, a rush of embarrassment suddenly heating your cheeks. You pull your hands back slightly, feeling suddenly stupid. “Sorry, I thought everyone just called you Vernon.”

The realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. Could Vernon be his moniker? A professional handle used to keep a safe distance between the guys selling drugs and the people buying them? That wouldn’t be unusual in his line of work.

But Hansol doesn’t let you retreat. He shifts his hand, catching your fingers gently before you can pull away completely. His skin is warm, his grip steady and reassuring.

“Some do. It’s my middle name,” he explains, his gaze unwavering. “But people close to me call me Hansol.”

He pauses, letting the weight of that categorization settle between you. He’s drawing a line in the sand, officially pulling you across the boundary from client to someone close to him. You bite your lip to suppress a smile that wants so badly to form on your lips as the thought settles, the bucket of ice water from seconds ago already beginning to warm.

“You don’t have to,” he adds, an uncharacteristic hint of shyness briefly flickering across his features. “I just don’t mind it from you.”

Your heart does a violent stutter against your ribs. The sheer intimacy of the admission is overwhelming. You look at his hand holding yours, then back up at his face. He is waiting, giving you the space to decide what to do with the information.

“So you’re saying I’m close to you?”

Hansol doesn’t hesitate, leaning in just slightly, his thumb continuing the slow circle over your knuckles. “You text me at 1 a.m. and I show up every time. You slept on my shoulder the other night. We’ve talked about everything and anything at this point. I’d say we’re close, Bambi.”

You feel the air leave your lungs. It isn’t just the words; it’s the matter-of-fact way he says them, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. He’s acknowledging the bond you’ve built in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, admitting that you’re more than just his client, while you try to ignore the butterflies battering against the walls of your stomach, desperate to escape their cage.

“Hansol,” you test his name out loud. It feels foreign on your tongue, yet somehow incredibly right.

A small, devastatingly heart-shaped smile breaks across his face at the sound of his name in your voice. “Yeah. That’s it.”

You stayed at the overlook for another hour, the atmosphere in the car fundamentally changed. By the time his Jeep rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, the sky had begun to bruise with the first deep purples and blues of early dawn.

“I guess this is my stop,” you observe hesitantly, not wanting to get out of his car and put an end to the moment.

“Looks like it,” Hansol says. “You gonna be okay today?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think I am. Thanks to you.”

“Anytime, Bambi.”

You push the door open, stepping out into the crisp morning air, and turn back to look at him through the open door. “Drive safe, Hansol.”

“Always,” he replies, a smile lingering on his face at the sound of you saying his name. Then he leans across the passenger seat, catching the door frame to stop it from closing completely. Hansol tilts his head, eyes lazily tracking over your messy hair and the oversized sweatshirt you’re still wearing. “You looked extra Bambi today.”

The blush is instantaneous. It surges up your neck and floods your cheeks with a furious heat. Your jaw drops slightly, a flustered, embarrassed laugh escaping you as you struggle to find a comeback.

“Shut up!” you finally manage to stammer out, ducking your head to hide your flaming face.

Hansol lets out a low, victorious laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He pulls his hand back, letting you close the door, and you watch his taillights disappear into the morning light, your heart still racing.

Hansol doesn’t have much time tonight. His phone is already vibrating in his pocket with three other drop-offs pinned on his map, but when he reaches your door, his pace slows into effortless strides. He reaches out and gives the wood a lazy but firm knock.

When the door opens, the warm chamomile scent of your apartment spills out into the sterile hallway. You look tired as always but your eyes brightened the second they landed on him, dressed in his usual uniform of neutral colors, a hoodie pulled up just enough to frame his features, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

“Right on time,” you greet him, a smile spreading across your face as you lean against the doorframe where he usually stands.

He doesn’t say much at first, just offers a small, knowing tilt of his head as he hands over the plain brown bag. His fingers brush yours briefly during the exchange, a spark of heat that lingers longer than the transaction warrants.

You take the bag, your brow furrowing as you feel the weight and the shape of the contents inside. You peer in, eyes widening slightly. “Did you mean to put two in the bag?” you ask, looking back up at him.

“Yep,” he answers simply, his voice low and gravelly in the quiet corridor.

“But I only paid for one.”

“I know. The other one is on me.”

You hesitate, confused, chewing on your lower lip. “Is this like a promo, or are you high right now?”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, that effortless charm radiating off him even in the dull atmosphere of the hallway. “Neither. You’ve had a rough week. Figured Bambi needed a little extra today.”

“That’s really sweet. But you don’t have to do that.”

He shifts his weight, closing the distance between you by just enough to make the air feel different. You hold your breath, acutely aware of how little space remains. Just a few inches more and your lips would touch.

“I want to.” Hansol’s voice is firm. “You’re not just a client. You know that, right?”

You look down at the bag, then back at him, your heart sinking into a slow, heavy thud. “Yeah. I think I knew that. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“Well, now you can assume a little,” he says, his gaze not wavering. “Also, tell me how that one hits. I picked it thinking of you, Bambi.”

You breath hitches. “You picked a strain thinking of me?”

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, one shoulder rising in a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t just quietly flipped your entire world upside down. “Chill, warm, kinda sweet. Like you. Don’t overthink it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning your head against the wood of the door. “Too late. I’m absolutely overthinking it.”

Hansol checks his phone screen, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his features. “I gotta go. Others are waiting,” he mutters, his gaze falling to your lips for the briefest moment before pulling back up to meet yours. “I wish I could stay longer.”

“Me too,” you admit without hesitating, looking up at him through your lashes. You don’t know where this sudden burst of courage came from, but it’s there, and it makes Hansol smile beautifully.

A genuine, incredibly warm smile breaks across his face at your words, not his usual confident smirk, but something entirely soft and real, gums showing and the heart shape of his lips coming back. He begins to back away toward the elevator, his eyes never leaving yours until he finally has to turn around.

He reaches the elevator and presses the button. Just as the bell chimes and the doors begin to groan open, you step out into the hallway, your voice echoing off the walls.

“Hansol!”

He pauses, one foot already inside the elevator. He turns his head, a playful, expectant look on his face. “What’s up, Bambi?”

“Nothing big,” you begin, hands gripping the doorframe behind you. “Just... wanted to know if you ever think about me when we’re not together or texting.”

He doesn’t even hesitate, the metal doors framing him like a portrait. “I think about you pretty much all the time.” he claims. “Even when we are texting.”

The honesty of it makes your stomach flip, the padlock that holds the butterflies in your stomach slowly loosening. “Good,” you manage softly.

“You’re flirting with your plug right now, Bambi,” he points out, his voice dropping an octave, teasing yet dangerously sincere.

“Maybe,” you counter, shrugging as a bit of courage grows. “Is that illegal?”

“Mm, no, not really. Especially if I flirt back.”

“And would you?”

The elevator starts to beep, a warning that the doors were going to close. He steps fully into the car, leaning his shoulder against the back wall, looking at you with a heat in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

“Have been for the past three months,” Hansol confesses, his smirk widening as the doors begin to slide shut. “Just hiding behind a lot of self-control.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your face flushing a deep crimson. “Hm. Self-control’s kinda hot.”

“So is the girl in her doorway,” he shoots back.

The doors click shut, severing the connection and leaving you standing in the hallway with a racing heart and a bag held tight to your chest. Behind those closed metal doors, Hansol is already checking his map for the next stop, but his mind is still back at that doorway.

When Hansol shows up at your apartment a few weeks later, you’re so nervous about the night’s activities that you almost forget how to open the door.

He’s wearing a simple gray shirt and black sweatpants, a baseball cap with the brim facing backward. He smells like soap, faint weed smoke, and something woodsy underneath it all. He leans against your doorframe the same way he’s been doing it for months now, and you are instantly, completely doomed.

Earlier this same day, you’d asked Hansol if he knew how to shotgun after the two of you saw it in a movie two nights before. Gently—and flirtatiously—he explained that it wasn’t that difficult, asking if you wanted to try it next time since it would involve the two of you getting closer than you ever had before.

Hansol always made you feel safe, and you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you, so you saw no reason not to try, even if there was still a chance you’d chicken out.

“You nervous?” he asks after you make room for him to come in. He slips off his shoes and tosses his keys onto the coffee table.

“A little,” you admit, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

His mouth curves lazily, his eyes crinkling just a fraction at the corners. “Cute.”

You roll your eyes, quickly looking away. You have to. Because if you don’t, Hansol will see exactly how hard that single word hits, and then you’ll never recover.

You guide him toward the balcony where you usually light one up. There’s only one beach chair out there, something you bought at a thrift store right after moving in and renewed yourself. The balcony is so small that the chair is practically wedged between the railing and a tiny patio table, alongside a forgotten fern surviving purely on its own willpower.

After a brief, pointless argument about it, you let Hansol keep the chair while you lean against the railing with your back to the city. Your knees bump together with every small, abrupt movement any way, the balcony too cramped for there to be any real distance between you.

Hansol sets the tin on the tiny table and flips it open. You lean in slightly to get a better look at the contents.

“This isn’t your usual stuff,” he says by way of introduction. He’s not looking at you yet, just at the tin as he pulls out the papers, setting everything in order with that unhurried precision of his. “Just so you know.”

You look at it, then at him. “Should I be worried?”

“No.” Hansol says it simply. “I wouldn’t bring something that’d mess you up, Bambi. You just…” He meets your eyes for a second to reassure you even though he already knows you trust him blindly. “Your usual is too mellow for this. You’d just fall asleep on me.”

“I don’t fall asleep that easily.”

He gives you a look so unimpressed it makes you laugh. “You fell asleep the last time.”

You would argue it wasn’t really the weed; it was Hansol. With him, you felt safe enough to fall asleep whenever and wherever, to finally shut out everything that usually kept you awake.

After a couple weeks, it had become a routine: he’d make his deliveries, then stay a while to keep you company until you drifted off. Eventually, you started smoking together, and usually he’d just share whatever you normally rolled for yourself, never seeming too concerned about how hard it hit, just worried that you’d sleep soundly.

Something about the way he speaks, though—matter-of-factly, like he knows you too well by now—makes your chest feel like it’s leaping out of place before crashing back down where it belongs.

“That was different,” you finally say, resting your elbows against the railing behind you.

“You were out in twenty minutes, Bambi.”

“Well, I was tired.”

“You were cooked,” he counters, no judgment in his tone, just a fact. Because—shockingly—he knows your tolerance as well. Of course he does. “This is something in between. Hybrid. It’ll relax you, but it’ll keep you here. You’ll actually feel it without it running you over.”

You look at the bag again. “Where’s it from?”

“Same guy. Different batch.” Hansol picks it up again, turns it once in his fingers with the easy confidence of someone who can read these things on sight. “It’s good. Not complicated. You’ll like it.”

You believe him. That’s the thing about Hansol knowing exactly what you smoke—about him knowing you. He’s never steered you wrong. He remembers what worked, what didn’t, what made you text him at midnight saying never again. He filed it all away somewhere without making it a thing, and now he just knows.

“Okay,” you say, your teeth catching your lower lip.

Hansol smiles, and then he tears the paper with a casual precision that shouldn’t be interesting to observe. It is. You try not to examine that too closely as he spreads everything even, long fingers working slow and deliberate, and there’s something almost meditative about the way he does it, no wasted movement or fumbling. Just ease.

He rolls it between his palms, smoothing it down. Then he raises it to his mouth, the lick slow as he seals the edge, and runs his thumb along it afterward, pressing it closed with the kind of focus that makes you look up at the sky for a second because you have absolutely no business staring at his mouth or tongue.

A few seconds later, he holds it up once, looking quietly satisfied with his work. Then he flicks the lighter, the flame catching small and warm in the dim space of the balcony. He brings it to the tip, cupping his hand around it out of habit even though there’s barely any wind, and draws in slowly, the paper crackling faintly as the cherry burns bright orange and the scent of marijuana slowly surrounds you both.

He holds it in for a moment, then lets it out slowly through his nose, unhurried. A thin ribbon of smoke drifts upward toward the sky before disappearing completely. He takes another drag, longer this time, and leans back into the chair, his head tipping slightly against the wall behind him, eyes closing for just a second like he’s savoring it.

There’s no explaining the reactions moving through your body just from watching him in action. The aching tension low in your stomach, the way your thighs press together instinctively, the strange heat that blooms every time his mouth closes around the joint.

Almost as if he’s reading your thoughts, Hansol looks at you and holds it out. Not pushy or expectant, just offering you, his elbow resting on his knee and the smoke curling up lazily between his fingers. He watches you with that expression you still haven’t figured out how to read, somewhere between patient and quietly amused.

You take it from him and bring it to your lips without overthinking it, one elbow still resting against the concrete behind you, the light breeze pushing your hair back from your face. You wrap your lips around the joint and draw the smoke slowly into your lungs, letting it settle there for a moment and holding it for a beat. The warmth spreads through your chest in a slow unfurl that reaches all the way to your fingertips.

When you exhale, the smoke slips from your mouth in a thin stream, immediately snatched away by the night breeze. Hansol’s eyes follow it for half a second before they drift back to your face.

“There you go,” he says, voice low and approving enough to make heat crawl right back up your neck.

You take one more hit, feeling the night softening slightly, the city sounds below drifting to a different register, the small balcony going quieter around you. Then you throw your head back to exhale the smoke, watching it disappear into the dark sky above you.

When you lower your gaze again, you catch the way Hansol’s eyes have drifted down the line of your throat to your collarbone, lingering there for just a second too long. The look sends another rush of heat through you, and he notices you noticing. His gaze flicks back up immediately, but not before the corner of his mouth curves faintly, subtle and almost guilty, like he got caught staring but doesn’t regret it nearly enough.

You pass the joint back to him, and he takes it from you, fingers brushing against yours in the exchange without either of you commenting on it. Hansol holds it loosely between his fingers and watches you for a moment with that same unreadable patience.

“Feeling it?”

“A little.” You shrug lightly, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the weed. “Give it a minute.”

Another crooked smile tugs at his mouth as he nods. Hansol brings the joint to his lips, dragging in slowly before blowing another lazy cloud of smoke into the night air. “Good,” he whispers, smoke still curling lazily from between his lips.

You can’t explain why the sight feels so unfairly appealing, heat now unfurling lower in your body at something so simple. It’s not like you’ve never seen him do this before, because you did. Except tonight, everything about Hansol feels amplified somehow; his hands, his mouth, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Even the way he looks at you feels… different, settling somewhere beneath your skin and and camping there.

Hansol takes another hit, the cherry burning bright for a moment before he pulls the joint away. He holds it there, and you watch his throat move slightly as he swallows the smoke. His eyes are half-closed, fixed somewhere out toward the city. He looks completely unbothered in a way that makes you feel the exact opposite.

Then he looks at you as he exhales one more time, his eyes searching yours through the haze. His brows arch slightly, and his voice comes out lower, roughened by the smoke he was holding in. “Ready?”

A wave of shivers travels across your skin like it has nowhere else to go. The butterflies in your stomach aren’t just fluttering anymore, they’re frantic, crashing wildly against your ribs every time your eyes meet his beautiful, inviting brown ones.

You’ve been thinking about this moment in various versions ever since you sent that text this morning. You’ve been thinking about it in the abstract, in the safe, theoretical space of it’s just a thing people do, it doesn’t mean anything, plenty of people do this without making it weird. You’ve spent hours constructing a very reasonable internal argument about proximity and exhaled smoke and the entirely non-romantic history of the practice.

All of that argument completely falls apart the moment Hansol says the word.

You just nod, pressing your lower lip between your teeth again before whispering, “Yeah.”

He explains how everything will work, walking you through each step, and even pulls his phone out of his pocket to show you a TikTok video in case it’s easier to learn visually. And maybe it’s ridiculous, but you love the effort he puts into making sure you feel comfortable, safe, completely at ease with him.

Hansol then sets the joint down on the edge of the glass ashtray. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he shifts in your thrift-store beach chair, making space for you between his knees. Then he taps his thigh twice.

“C’mere, Bambi.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

The balcony is already tiny, but the space between the chair and the railing suddenly feels like a tightrope. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, not sure if you heard right, your heart doing a wild, erratic dance in your chest. Once again, Hansol doesn’t pressure you; he just waits, his hand resting casually on his knee, his brown eyes going completely dark and focused entirely on you.

Stepping forward, you slowly let go of your grip on the railing. Before your nerves can make you chicken out, you step into his space and sit down across his lap.

The shift in perspective is dizzying. Suddenly, you’re completely enveloped in his presence, somehow even more than before. The fabric of his shirt is thin enough that you can feel the solid heat of his chest underneath it. His hands move instinctively, settling firmly around your waist to steady you on his lap. His grip is grounding, holding you securely against him.

Looking down at Hansol, you realize just how close your faces are, the kind of close he mentioned earlier. With the brim of his baseball cap turned backward, there’s nothing shading his eyes. You can see every tiny detail of Hansol: the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the heart-shaped curve of his mouth, the tiny freckles scattered across his nose, the intensity in his gaze as he looks up at you.

“Still nervous?” His voice drops so low and raspy it sends another wave of shivers straight down your spine, and you can barely hide the way your body reacts to it.

Your hands slowly find a home against his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “A little more now,” you admit honestly, not finding any reason to lie or hide it.

“Don’t be.” Hansol lets out a breathless laugh that brushes against your lips, the vibration hitting your chest. “I’ve got you, Bambi.”

And you believe him.

Without ceremony, Hansol picks up the joint from the table and takes a long drag before turning fully toward you. When he leans in, it’s slow and unhurried, making you understand immediately that he’s giving you time to adjust, or back out, if you want to. Mostly, because he’s Hansol, and well… he does everything at his own pace while respecting yours just as carefully. Rushing doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.

You lean in too, not much, just enough to show him that everything’s okay, that you are okay with this, that he can proceed however he wants. And you can see the exact moment his expression shifts with understanding, settling in his eyes like he expected nothing less.

Hansol parts his lips and exhales smoothly. The smoke comes out slow, and you inhale it in through your lips exactly the way he taught you to, barely touching him, but close enough that the warmth of his breath folds into yours.

Your eyes close immediately, and you hold it in for a beat, then another, the whole world narrowing down to the inch of space between your mouths, the solid heat of his hands at your waist, and the distant sound of the city existing somewhere far below, fading into something completely irrelevant.

You let it out and open your eyes to find that Hansol still hasn’t moved back. He’s watching you attentively from beneath his lashes, and there’s nothing patient or unreadable about his expression anymore.

Perhaps the marijuana is clouding your better judgment, but the look in his eyes feels different now, focused in a way that makes your stomach do a double twist. He looks like someone who has already made up his mind and is simply waiting for the exact right moment to act on it, maybe searching for the perfect opening before finally giving in to what he’s been holding back.

You suspect it’s the same for him as it is for you.

When his gaze drops to your mouth, you’re convinced this new hybrid he bought is playing tricks on your mind, especially when his eyes linger there long enough to make your breathing go shallow before finally lifting back to yours again.

“Again.” Hansol’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s definitely not a question.

You don’t trust your voice right now, so you just nod.

He picks up the joint again and takes another slow drag, the cherry burning warm between your bodies. You watch his throat move as he holds the smoke in, and it absolutely shouldn’t make you all hot and bothered but it does. His hands still haven’t left your waist, one thumb tracing a small arc just above your hip—probably unconscious, probably not even something he realizes he’s doing—and somehow the touch burns straight through the thin fabric of your shirt

Hansol turns back to you even closer this time. Or maybe you’re the one who moved in closer. Truthfully, you stopped keeping track of who’s been closing the distance first somewhere minutes ago, if the distance between you even really exists anymore.

He exhales, and you inhale him in again, and this time, when it’s over, neither of you pulls away. You stay in the half inch that remains, sharing the same air, and letting the moment stretch itself, his eyes fixed on yours.

There had been a few moments during this strange new friendship with your plug when you’d caught yourself wanting him to kiss you, or wishing you had enough courage to kiss him first. But this was different. Now the desire felt overwhelming, practically screaming inside your head as you stared at his mouth from impossibly close range, silently hoping he could somehow read your thoughts and finally close the tiny distance still separating you.

“Hansol…” His name leaves your lips like a shaky plea. Maybe just to say something, maybe just to fill the space before it you swallows you whole.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back. His pupils are enormous, and just by looking at them, you think he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “What do you want, Bambi?”

Your fingers tighten slightly against his shoulders, your pulse so loud you’re convinced he can feel it where your bodie1s are pressed together. “I—” The word catches in your throat before it can fully form.

For a second, all you can do is look at him, at the way his eyes keep flicking down to your mouth, at the patience still somehow woven through the tension sitting heavy between you. And then Hansol’s thumb drags slowly against your waist again, grounding and dangerous all at once, and your breath stutters.

His hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth, and for one dizzy second you’re sure he’s finally going to kiss you. But instead, he keeps you there, close enough to feel his breath against your lips as his eyes lock onto yours.

“Tell me what you want, Bambi,” he breathes, voice rough and impossibly steady at the same time. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Kiss me. Please.”

The words come out almost breathless, but the effect they have on Hansol is immediate. His eyes darken even more, and everything you can’t read in his expression is in his pupils, which dilate even further, if that’s even possible. His thumb brushes once across your jaw, and for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s letting himself fully believe you mean it.

Then his mouth curves faintly at the corner, a flicker of almost disbelieving amusement in his gaze. “Yeah?” he murmurs again, his voice low enough to melt straight through you.

You nod before he’s even finished speaking, and that’s all it takes for Hansol to stop hesitating. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over blindly, pressing the glowing cherry of the joint into the glass ashtray until it goes out completely. The second his hand is free again, it returns to your waist, his grip firm as he pulls you that final, infinite inch closer.

When his lips meet yours, the sheer relief of it makes you exhale a soft sigh right into his mouth. It’s everything you’ve been agonizing over for the past three months, amplified by a thousand.

It starts slow, exploratory and incredibly filled with the same patient precision he applies to everything else. Your hands slide up from his shoulders to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, right beneath the edge of his backwards cap, and Hansol lets out the quietest grunt against your lips like he’s been wanting this just as badly as you have.

His hands at your waist tighten, pulling you flush against his chest until there’s nothing left between you. He adjusts you slightly so you’re seated more securely against him, surrounded by the solid warmth of his body, a jolt of electricity traveling straight down to your toes at the feeling of him pressed against you.

Tilting his head, Hansol parts your lips with his own, the kiss deepening into something that makes your head spin faster than any pot ever could. He tastes exactly like you imagined: sweet and earthy, like the lingering haze in the air around you, mixed with something unmistakably, comfortingly him.

The feeling of being held so securely, combined with the gentle, creeping warmth of the hybrid strain, makes everything around you fade. The apartment, the city sounds below, the cold night breeze, the small balcony; it all completely disappears. There is only the solid weight of Hansol beneath you, the steady, grounding grip of his hands on you, and the rhythm of his mouth moving deliciously against yours.

The butterflies in your stomach have ignited into a heavy heat that pools low in your belly as his tongue sweeps against your lower lip, coaxing you to open up more to him. You follow his lead blindly, completely lost in the sensation of his hands mapping the curve of your spine and his mouth devouring your every breath.

When you finally, breathlessly, pull back just enough to draw air into your burning lungs, you don’t go far. You rest your forehead against the brim of his cap, eyes closed, chest heaving. You can hear Hansol breathing just as heavily, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive skin along your jawline.

“You okay, Bambi?” he asks into the tiny space between your lips, a lazy, satisfied smile evident in the rough timbre of his voice.

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you with an expression so soft, so completely stripped of that unreadable patience, that it makes your heart ache in the absolute best way possible.

You nod, biting your lip to keep yourself from kissing him breathless again. “Better than okay,” you answer, nodding frantically, your hands sliding down to frame his face as you lean in briefly.

His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering along your jawline. Hansol’s voice is soft when he speaks, a faintly amused crease forming between his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“I’m great,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. You can’t help but let out a shaky laugh, still in disbelief at what just happened. You just kissed. No, you just kissed Hansol. “Didn’t expect tonight to go like that.”

Hansol’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Me neither. Not complaining though.”

Another flustered laugh escapes you, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder for a second to hide your face. “Just so you know... I literally asked you to come over to teach me how to shotgun. Not make out with me on my balcony.”

He hitches you a little higher on his lap. “Okay but... you didn’t exactly stop me.”

“I didn’t want to stop you,” you admit softly, looking back up at him, the honesty leaving you feeling completely vulnerable in his arms.

His gaze drifts down to your lips again, the air crackling with a heat that has nothing to do with the weed. “I want to kiss you again,” he confesses, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. “Is that okay?”

You nod, too caught up in the intensity of his stare to manage words. Hansol leans forward, his hand cupping your jaw as he closes the distance between you again. He kisses you slowly once more, as though savoring every second. One hand slides from your jaw into your hair, while the other keeps you firmly anchored against him—not that you plan to go anywhere while he keeps kissing you like that.

You melt into his embrace, losing yourself in the taste of him further. You feel him grin against your mouth, his hands slipping under the back of your shirt to find the bare skin of your back. His palms are warm, and the slow drag of them up your spine makes you shiver. You feel the heat of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it’s not enough. You want to feel his skin beneath your fingers.

When he pulls back this time, it’s only far enough to start peppering your jaw with kisses. Your breath hitches as his lips move lower, skimming down the column of your throat until you can feel the heat of his mouth even through your shirt.

“Hansol,” you gasp against the crown of his head, hands reaching up to push his cap down and thread your fingers into his hair. “The balcony isn’t very private.”

He hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t stop the delicious maddening, drugging kisses he’s placing along your collarbone. “Your neighbors can see?”

A moan escapes your lips when he bites your most sensitive spot. You shake your head, trying to force words out. “Just the people below.”

He pulls back to look at you with a crooked smile. Hansol rests his forehead against yours, hand still cupping your face. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admits, not a hint of shyness on his face.

“You have?” you ask, heart hammering in your chest.

“Of course I have.” Hansol chuckles, like it’s almost absurd to think otherwise, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “From the moment our eyes met.” He pauses briefly, then adds, “You’re impossible not to want, Bambi.”

Your breath hitches at his words, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I want you too,” you whisper, suddenly feeling more bold. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you under that shady streetlight.”

His grip on your waist tightens, his lips hovering just over yours. “Is that so?”

“It is.” You nod, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

With a single movement, Hansol stands up with you still in his arms, making you let out a small squeal as you wrap your legs around his waist to steady yourself, your arms linking around his neck, and face burying in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck.

He moves with an easy strength that makes your head spin, carrying you as if you weight nothing at all. The world tilts on its axis, the view of your tiny balcony shifting into a dizzying blur of city lights and dark sky. This side of him is almost enough to give you whiplash, but you can’t help but loving it.

As he moves, you inhale deeply, and the scent of him is a heady, overwhelming cocktail: the clean soap from his shower, the earthy tang of the weed clinging to his shirt, and something underneath it all that is just purely, intoxicatingly Hansol, something you’re still trying to figure out.

You feel him shift his grip, one hand supporting your thighs as he navigates the threshold of the sliding glass door. There’s a moment of slight awkwardness as he sidesteps into the living room, the cool night air replaced by the still, warm atmosphere of your apartment. But he doesn’t put you down. Instead, he kicks the door shut with the back of his heel, the soft thud echoing in the sudden silence.

The only light comes from the faint glow of the city filtering through the windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. It paints his features in soft grays and deep blacks, highlighting the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. In the dim light, he looks less like your friendly neighborhood plug and more like a fantasy brought to life.

The effects of the weed hums pleasantly in your veins, a syrupy sensation that makes everything feel slow-motion and dreamlike. Every nerve ending in your body is awake and singing, amplifying the feeling of his body against yours, the texture of his shirt under your cheek, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

Hansol crosses the small living room in three long strides and gently lays you down on the cushions of your couch. He doesn’t move away, though. He follows you down, one knee on the cushions between your legs, his hands bracketing your head as he leans over you. His body cages you in a welcome weight that makes you feel incredibly safe.

“You’re suddenly quiet,” he observes, his voice still a low, gravelly whisper.

His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone, the simple touch sending a cascade of sparks across your skin. The hybrid strain he brought is doing exactly what he promised: you’re relaxed, your limbs heavy and pliant, but your mind is sharp, hyper-focused on him. Every tiny detail is magnified—the way his eyes seem to drink you in, the sheer heat radiating from his body.

“Just… processing,” you manage to breathe out.

A slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips. “Processing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the space between you. “Us. And the fact that you just carried me out of my own balcony like I was a sack of potatoes.”

Hansol lets out a low chuckle. “A very cute sack of potatoes.” He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch. “I can process with you, if you want.”

You don’t need to answer. You just slide your hands from his shoulders up into his hair, your fingers sinking into the soft, thick strands. You pull his head down, and this time the kiss isn’t slow or exploratory. It’s hungry, desperate, a release of all the tension that has been building between you for months.

His mouth meets yours with equal force, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours in a slick, heated dance. It’s messy and perfect and everything you’ve been craving. His hands leave the couch, one sliding down your side to rest possessively on your hip, the other threading into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he angles the kiss deeper.

A soft moan escapes your throat, and you feel him smile against your mouth. The sensation of his tongue in your mouth is an almost psychedelic experience. You can feel every texture, taste every note of him, the world narrowing down to the single, explosive point of contact between you, and it feels incredible.

His kisses trail from your mouth, hot and open mouthed, down the sensitive line of your jaw, to the frantic pulse fluttering at the base of your throat. You arch your back, granting him better access, your head tipping back against the cushions. His lips find the soft spot just above your collarbone, the same one he bit on the balcony, and he sucks gently, creating a pleasant pressure that sends a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.

“Hansol,” you whine, your hips instinctively bucking up against him. The friction of his sweatpants against the thin fabric of your shorts is maddening.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and damp. He doesn’t stop his assault, his mouth moving lower, pressing kisses against the thin cotton of your shirt, right over your heart. You can feel the damp heat of his mouth through the fabric, while his tongue circles your nipple.

“I need…” You trail off at the feeling, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing you need more.

He seems to understand perfectly, pushing himself up slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze is dark and intense, his pupils blown wide. Add in the messy hair and swollen lips, and it’s the most insane, delightful sight you’ve ever seen in your life.

“I know what you need, Bambi.”

Without another word, he moves down your body. His hands find the waistband of your shorts, his fingers hooking into the elastic. He pauses for a beat, his eyes asking a silent question. You give a single, shaky nod, and that’s all he needs. Your shorts and underwear are gone in one smooth, efficient motion, tossed onto the floor beside the couch.

The cool air of the room hits your bare skin, and you shiver, a mixture of cold and raw, unadulterated anticipation. He stays there for a moment, kneeling between your legs, his gaze slowly, reverently, taking in the sight of you. The look in his eyes isn’t lecherous; it’s one of pure, unadulterated appreciation, and it makes a fresh wave of heat pool low in your belly.

You like to think getting high has stripped away your usual inhibitions, leaving you feeling bold and open beneath his stare. You part your legs for him, exposing your folds entirely, a silent, shameless invitation. His answering smile is devastating. He leans forward, his hands coming to rest on your inner thighs, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there in slow, hypnotic circles.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, and you can just make out the slow smile forming on his lips. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

Hansol lowers his head, and his hot breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, making you gasp and buck against his hands. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to the top of your mound before his tongue finally sweeps down.

The first touch is electric. It’s a broad, wet slide from bottom to top that makes your entire body jerk. A strangled cry escapes your lips, and your hands fly up, fisting in the fabric of the couch cushions beside your head. He chuckles against you, before he settles in, and you realize with a jolt that his earlier patience and precision have returned, now focused entirely on your pleasure.

If he wasn’t your plug, you’d swear Hansol was a cartographer, mapping every fold and crevice with his mouth. His tongue is relentless, sometimes teasing with light, feathery licks around the edges, other times pressing down with a firm, insistent pressure that makes you see stars and the world dissolves into pure sensations.

You can feel the rough texture of his faint stubble against your inner thighs, the slick heat of his mouth, the gentle pull of his suction. Your hands leave the cushions, searching blindly for purchase. They find his head, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair. You grip him tight, your body starting to writhe as he finds your clit and circles it slowly, deliberately, driving you mad.

“Hansol,” you moan, tugging gently on the hair your fingers are tangled in. He pauses, his mouth still pressed against you, and look up, eyes wide with a mixture of lust and confusion. “Want your hand, too.”

If there’s one thing the night has left you with, it’s the thought of his hands, especially the way it looked while he rolled the joint.

He chuckles, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your thigh. He pushes himself up, moving from between your legs to hover over you on the couch. The sudden loss of his mouth makes you let out a small, complaining whimper.

“My hand?” he asks, voice not even trying to hide the amusement. He held up his right hand, palm open, presenting it to you like a sacred offering.

And you take it, your own hands trembling slightly as you hold his. You bring it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm before turning it over and kissing each of his long fingers one by one. You study his long deft fingers with a devotee’s focus, your gaze tracing the road map of pretty blue veins beneath his pale skin.

Every detail of it turns you on enough so you take the pad of his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it gently, your eyes fluttering shut as your hips rolled up against his thigh in a slow, needy grind. The solid muscle against your bare pussy pulls an even needier moan from your throat.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest, pupils going wider. He leans over you, free hand bracing on the couch cushion beside your head.

“Jesus, Bambi,” he gasp, lips now brushing against the skin of your stomach, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you. “Then let me fuck you with it.”

You release his thumb with a wet pop and let his hand go. He reclaims it, eyes burning into yours, before he moves back between your legs. He doesn’t waste a second, leaning down, his mouth finding your folds again, his tongue lapping at your pussy with a renewed vigor that makes you cry out. At the same time, he slips one of his long fingers inside you.

The sudden fullness combined with the merciless work of his mouth is too much. Your senses overload, a wave of pleasure building higher and higher until you’re certain you’re going to shatter. You writhe against the couch, back arching, hips lifting off the cushions to meet the pressure of his mouth and hand.

“Please.” The word tears itself from your throat before you can think. “Hansol, please.”

He hums in response, adding a second finger and giving a harsh suck to your clit. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot deep within that sent a lightning bolt of pure ecstasy tearing straight through your body, while his tongue works faster and harder against your clit.

You grip his hair like an anchor against the raging sea of pleasure he’s created, pulling him closer, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp as the wave crests. “Oh, god, I’m—I’m gonna—”

He seems to take that as a challenge, tongue flicking even faster, fingers curling inside you with precision until they find the spot that undoes everything. The wave doesn’t crest so much as collapse, and then you break completely.

Your orgasm crashes over you, a blinding, white-hot supernova of pleasure that rips a scream from your lungs, no room for thinking of anything as trivial as your neighbors. Your body convulses, your inner muscles clenching tightly around his head. You grip his hair tighter, hips bucking wildly as the waves of pleasure roll through you, one after another, leaving you utterly breathless and spent.

Hansol doesn’t stop, though, continuing to lick and soothe you through the aftershocks until your trembling subsides and you melt into the couch, a boneless, quivering mess.

He finally pulls away, and you let out a weak whimper at the loss of contact. He moves up your body, his face slick, lips swollen. He looks impossibly pleased with himself, a satisfied smirk playing on his mouth. He leans down and captures your lips in a wet kiss, and you can taste yourself on him, the flavor musky and sweet and incredibly erotic.

When he pulls back, you’re panting, your mind a blissful, hazy fog. “Wow,” is all you can manage to say.

He giggles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re very welcome, Bambi.”

You lie there for a moment, letting the last delicious tremors of your orgasm fade, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. The need to reciprocate, to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he just gave you, is practically a primal urge. You reach out, your hand landing on the front of his sweatpants. You can feel the thick, hard length of him through the soft fabric, and a fresh wave of desire cuts through your post-orgasmic haze.

“My turn,” you whisper, your voice husky.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, then swing your legs over the side of the couch. You sit up and look at him, at the hunger in his eyes. Without a word, you slide off the couch and onto your knees on the rug in front of him. Hansol’s breath hitches audibly while you reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants, fingers fumbling slightly.

He covers your hands with his. “You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

You just look up at him through your lashes, meeting his intense gaze, and give a slow nod. He removes his hands and leans back against the couch, giving you complete control. You pull the string, loosening the waistband, and then slowly peel the gray fabric down his hips, revealing the taut line of his stomach and the trail of thin hair that disappears below. You push the sweatpants down past his knees, along with his black boxer briefs, freeing him.

He is beautiful. Long, thick, and perfectly straight. A single, clear bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, and your mouth waters. You reach out a tentative hand, fingers wrapping around his velvety length. Hansol groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the floor, his hips twitching involuntarily.

You lean forward, your hair falling around your face like a curtain, and take him into your mouth. You start slowly, your tongue tracing the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his cock, following it all the way to the head. He tastes like an incredible mix of salt and musk, and you take him deeper, lips creating a wet, tight seal around him.

Hansol hisses through his teeth, hands coming up to fist in your hair, but his grip is gentle, reverent, nothing like the desperate way you clung to him moments ago.

“Shit, that’s it,” he breathes, the words barely holding together when you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper.

You soon find a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, one hand stroking the base of his cock in time with the movements of your mouth. You love the feeling of him filling your mouth, the way he pulses and hardens even further against your tongue. You love even more the sounds he makes, the low, broken groans and sharp intakes of breath that tell you exactly how good you’re making him feel.

He starts to move his hips, a slow, rocking motion that pushes him deeper into your throat with each thrust. You gag slightly, but it’s a good feeling, a feeling of being completely taken, completely used for his pleasure. You take him as deep as you can, your throat muscles contracting around him.

“Fuck, Bambi,” he grits out, his head thrown back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut. And you take a moment to appreciate this stunning view of Hansol. “You’re so good at this.”

His praise sends a thrill through you. You pick up the pace, your hand and mouth working faster, more desperately. You can feel the tension building in him, the way his whole body has gone rigid, his hips bucking more insistently against your mouth. You can feel the tell-tale pulse at the base of his cock that signals he’s close.

Just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back, his hands gripping your shoulders. “Wait, Bambi,” he gasps, his chest heaving. “Stop. I wanna be inside you.”

Hansol pulls you up from the floor, his movements urgent. You’re on your feet, swaying slightly, his hands firm on your hips. He doesn’t let you go. Instead, he hooks his thumbs into the hem of his own shirt and rips it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the floor.

Before you can fully process the view of his bare chest, his hands are at the hem of your shirt. His fingers are scorching hot against the skin of your stomach as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, eyes never leaving yours as he lets your shirt fall to the floor beside his.

The air is cool on your bare skin, but his gaze is molten hot. It drops from your eyes to your chest, and his breath hitches. His pupils dilate, swallowing the brown of his irises until they’re almost black. He looks at you with a kind of raw reverence that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word a prayer. “Bambi, you’re… incredible.”

He closes the small distance between you, and his hands, those beautiful hands you were just worshipping, come up to cup your breasts. The feeling of his palms against your skin makes you gasp. He holds you with a surprising gentleness, his thumbs stroking over your nipples, coaxing them into tight, aching points. You moan, your head falling back as you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more.

That sound seems to break whatever restraint he had left. He pushes you back gently, your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and you tumble backward onto the cushions. He follows you down immediately, settling between your parted thighs, his bare chest pressing against yours.

“You’re still so wet for me,” he growls against your lips, his hand sliding down between your legs to confirm his words. Your slickness coats his fingers instantly, and he circles your clit with his thumb, making you whimper.

“Please, Hansol,” you beg, your nails digging into his broad back. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, teasing you. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a possessive glint. “Look at me, Bambi.”

You obey, your eyes locking with his. The connection is intense, electric.

And then Hansol pushes forward.

The feeling of him entering you is breathtaking. He moves slowly, stretching you, filling you inch by glorious inch. It’s a perfect, snug fit, a feeling of completion. You let out a long, shuddering sigh as Hansol sinks into you all the way to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, letting you adjust to the size of him. He rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You feel… perfect.”

The sensation of being filled by him is almost overwhelming. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the incredible heat of him deep inside you. It’s as if your bodies were made for this.

He kisses the tip of your nose before saying, “So polite.”

He begins to move, in a rhythm that has your head spinning. He pulls back almost all the way, the sensation of his withdrawal a sweet torture, before thrusting back in, burying himself deep inside you again. Each thrust is a wave of pleasure, building on the last. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, watching your face as he fucks you.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even deeper. Your moans mix with his grunts, creating a pornographic symphony in your living room. The pace quickens, his slow thrusts turning faster, harder, more frantic. He’s no longer the patient, gentle Hansol you know; he’s a man driven by pure need, and you meet his energy with your own, arching your hips to meet his every powerful thrust.

The friction is building, the pleasure coiling tight and hot in your lower belly. The couch creaks in protest beneath you, the only sound apart from your panting breaths and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding. He leans down, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking a new bruise into your skin as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

“You’re so tight,” he groans into your ear, his voice strained. “So fucking good, Bambi.”

You’re close again, so close. The world is nothing but a blur of sensations: the feeling of him filling you, the heat of his skin, the scent of his sweat, the sound of his voice calling your name.

“Hansol, I’m—I’m close!” you cry out, your voice breaking.

“Me too, baby,” he pants, his thrusts becoming deeper, even more frantic, slamming into you with a desperate intensity. “Come for me. Let me feel you come apart around me.”

That’s all it takes. His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his cock deep inside you, push you over the edge. Your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, even more intense than the first. Your vision whites out, a scream tears from your throat, and your inner muscles clench around him in a powerful, milking release.

You can feel that your climax triggers his, but instead of driving deeper, he rips himself out of you with a wet, slick sound that echoes in the quiet room. The sudden feeling of emptiness makes you gasp. In a single, fluid motion, he positions himself over you, his hips hovering above your stomach.His eyes are squeezed shut, face a mask of pure pleasure as his body goes rigid. You watch, mesmerized, as thick, hot ropes of his cum splash across your belly.

Hansol collapses beside you on the couch, his chest heaving as he shudders through the last aftershocks of his own release. He pulls you into his side, one arm wrapping securely around you. You both lie there for a moment, catching your breath, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

You look down at the pearly mess cooling on your stomach. Slowly, you lift a hand and dip your index finger into the thickest part of it. The texture is sticky and still warm. You lift your finger, your eyes finding his in the dim light, only to discover Hansol already watching you, his own gaze heavy-lidded and curious. You hold his gaze as you slowly bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the tip clean.

A groan escapes his throat, a sound of pure, astonished pleasure. His arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies are flush against each other. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bambi,” he rasps, his voice with a mixture of exhaustion and renewed desire.

He buries his face in your hair, and you melt into him, tangled together in a heap of sweaty limbs. The hazy, blissful fog of the weed settles over you like a warm blanket, cocooning you in the aftermath of pure, unadulterated bliss. His body is heavy and grounding next to yours, and you’ve never felt more safe, more sated, in your entire life.

The night was nothing like you expected, and everything you never knew you wanted.

But just then, an afterthought—one that doesn’t belong in this moment at all—surfaces and slips out before you can stop it. “Was that just because we were high?”

The light in Hansol’s eyes instantly softens, replaced by a profound, heavy sincerity that pins you to the spot. He reaches up, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch incredibly gentle.

“Absolutely not,” he says, his voice steady and absolute. “At least not for me. I wanted you the first time I saw you. I just didn’t wanna mess up what we had, but being around you is kinda messing me up anyway. In a good way.”

Your heart skips a beat, a massive wave of warmth blooming in your chest. The butterflies have completely escaped their cage by now, flying far, far away.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly. “You like me?”

“A lot more than I could describe probably.” Hansol nods, his brown eyes shining. “But yeah, I do like you. You’re stuck in my head all the time, Bambi.”

You look at him, a wide smile breaking across your face, completely erasing any residual trace of executive dysfunction or anxiety. “What if I like you back?” you tease, tilting your head and resting your chin on his chest.

Hansol’s smile turns incredibly bright, a boyish expression of pure relief taking over his features as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you closer.

“Then I’m the luckiest plug in this city.”

# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST

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So Vernon vows to himself that if he ever gets the opportunity to be an alpha for someone, he would be the one that fits his exacting, rigid standards. That opportunity comes when he meets you.

You’re Seungkwan’s friend, which isn’t surprising. Pretty much anyone Vernon knows, he knows because they are Seungkwan’s friend. Vernon can’t understand how in hell Seungkwan can keep up with such a large friend circle. He knows everybody. But it helps indirectly because Vernon doesn’t go out of his way to meet people, so Seungkwan almost acts like the proxy for his social life.

That’s exactly how he met you.

Vernon almost didn’t go, since it was just supposed to be some kind of game night for Seungkwan’s study group. But Seungkwan insisted, really insisted, and Vernon had bailed on the last two social events Seungkwan asked him to come with, so he had to give in. He’s so glad that he did.

Just the scent of you makes him stiffen, which is very unlike him. Vernon isn’t usually much affected by omegas, hell, his best friend is an omega. But you smell so sweet, in this light and fresh way that almost energises him. Your smile is so bright as you introduce yourself, hair swaying when your head moves, and Vernon’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch. He has to visibly shake his head and blink, quickly introducing himself and shutting up so that he doesn’t act like a fool. You’re so pretty, and your voice is so calming and friendly. Vernon has this deep feeling in his chest that he wants to stay around you. Right by your side.

He hangs out with you twice more after that, all in big groups, but he manages to get near you anyhow. You’re so interesting to him. You talk about your major with a passion he can never muster, a fire in your eyes, your long term plans laid out already. You’re energetic, not as much as Seungkwan, but you know how to match the omega’s energy. And you’re also quieter with Vernon, like you understand that he’s laid back and deals with things differently. Only someone truly empathetic and kind can be like that, and Vernon’s heart soars. You’re so perfect, you’re perfect, and he will be damned if he won’t be the perfect alpha for you.

And so Vernon makes a resolve. He will prove himself. He will be the one for you, to take care of you the way someone with your spirit deserves. And he is absolutely not the kind to just pussyfoot around. So Vernon watches. Vernon observes.

When fall starts bleeding into winter, he notices how you love to be bundled up. The biggest coats and jackets, the most layers of anyone else in the group.

“Cold?” He asks when you show up at the campus gates where everyone agreed to meet so you can go to dinner together. You give him a sheepish smile and nod under your heavy hoodie.

“I get cold very easily.” You admit. “My hands and feet specifically.”

Vernon knows exactly how to fix it.

That night, he rummages through his closet and finds three sets of wool socks. His grandmother knits so many for him and his sister, and keeps sending them. Vernon wears one pair and keeps the rest for later use when his first ones are worn out. He swears by them, because she uses the finest wool for knitting. He contemplates between a navy blue pair and a grey one, ultimately going for the blue. He hopes you will like them.

When he finds you in the hallways the next morning, just before classes, he feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. He’s so nervous, and he worried himself sick last night about whether or not you would accept his gift. He wants to be there for you, to provide for you and understand your needs and take care of you. To be your alpha. This is it, the big moment.

He pulls you aside and away from the prying eyes of other students before slowly pulling out the small bag he put the socks in. You take it curiously, peering inside.

“You said your feet get really cold.” He quickly explains. “These are merino wool. My grandma makes them. They’re very warm, I promise.”

You look so surprised, blinking at the item in your hand. He watches your thumb run over them, feeling how soft they are.

“A-are you sure, Vernon?” You ask. “I was just complaining about the weather, I didn’t really think….”

Vernon immediately nods. He’s so sure. There’s no one else for him except you. You look a little hesitant, Vernon holds his breath, and then finally, you nod.

The air escapes his chest with a loud whoosh, and joy takes his place. He nods, more jerky this time, trying to tamp down his giddy smile.

“Thank you so much.” You look truly touched at the gesture, and that satisfies the alpha inside him. He took care of you, and you accepted his courting gift. You want to give him a chance. And as Vernon looks into your bright, warm eyes, he’s determined to never, ever let you down.

Vernon feels like he’s on cloud nine for the rest of the day, and when he lays in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he’s already planning other ways to convince you that he is the perfect alpha for you. He has watched you intensely (in a non-creepy way), and he knows what habits you have, and how he can enrich your life with his own presence. His top priority is giving you as much love and care as he possibly can. His phone buzzes beside his pillow, breaking him from his thoughts. His heart kicks hard when he realises who the message is from.

[you]: i love the socks vernon thank you so much!

He grins so wide he feels like his cheeks might split. Your response encourages him so much. His alpha hums, settling like a warm weight in his chest. He goes to sleep with that same, stupid grin on his face.

Vernon did believe he was good friends with you, but you warm up to him even more after that. You love to talk and catch up whenever you meet him. You love the cat videos he sends you, and when you realise he likes them, you send them to him as well. He feels particularly giddy when you caption them with something like ‘reminded me of you’. You’re so wonderful, and Vernon can’t help that deep seated catch in his stomach that tells him he is falling in love.

He doesn’t mind.

But Vernon is still courting you, and he takes being an alpha to you very seriously. He goes shopping with his sister for the weekend and picks out one of those thermoses that keep liquids warm for hours, and not the dysfunctional, knock off kind that just look pretty. Sophia thinks it’s too plain, so Vernon frets over that, but he wants this to be practical, something you really need. This is about your comfort, and he won’t compromise on that. It makes Sophia snort.

“I’m surprised you managed to court her. With socks of all things.”

That makes him blink. “She loved them. She uses them all the time.”

Sophia only laughs.

Vernon fills the thermos with your preferred preparation of coffee on Monday and gives it to you when he finds you on a picnic table on campus grounds before your first class.

“It keeps liquid warm for at least 10 hours.” He explains himself. “It’s got thicker insulation, see? I looked it up before I bought it.”

You stare at it. “Vernon, this must have cost a lot-”

He immediately cuts you off. “Don’t worry about the price. I just hope it’s good and you use it.”

You give him a wide smile, biting your bottom lip and avoiding his eyes. Are you feeling shy? Vernon’s alpha soars.

“Thank you.” You mumble. Vernon shakes his head.

“Stop saying thank you.” It’s my job. I want to take care of you.

You only let out a little laugh and nod. Vernon feels the urge to lean over the table and kiss you. It takes everything in him to not do exactly that.

The holidays come and go. Vernon talks to you often, even when you leave the city to spend the days off with your family. You wish him a happy new year, asking him about his resolutions. Vernon’s wants to say ‘to make you my omega’ but he holds back. He doesn’t want to come off too strong and push you away. So he keeps it silently in his chest, and instead asks for yours.

[you]: definitely to hit the gym. i need to get better about being healthy :(

Vernon is already planning.

When he sees you next time, it’s because you come to the dorm room to see Seungkwan. He isn’t there, but Vernon is, so you offer to wait for your friend. Vernon is eager to let you in, patting his bed down and quickly tidying up a bit. He doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob.

(He isn’t. But he also doesn’t want you to think he is.)

“I got you something.” He starts, rummaging through the bag he put your stuff in. You raise an amused eyebrow.

“Again? You really shouldn’t have…”

Vernon shakes it off. “It’s nothing much, I promise.” He walks to you with what he got.

“It’s an athletic band, for when you go to the gym.” He explains. “I wanted you to have your own. And here,” He puts everything in your lap, “electrolyte pouches. This is the good stuff that athletes use. Mingyu told me about them. The convenience store stuff isn’t very healthy.”

Your mouth is agape, and you let out an incredulous laugh. “You really go out of your way, don’t you?”

I do. Vernon wants to say. Because it’s true. He won’t spare any expense, any effort, when it comes to you. He hopes that these attempts show them to you. This is what the courting period is all about. He wants to give you proof that he is well capable of being everything you will ever want and need.

“Thank you.” You whisper. It’s so soft, so laced with warmth, and Vernon’s alpha almost preens. Almost. It’s rare for alphas to react like that, but for Vernon, this is acceptance on another level. He vowed to himself that he would be your biggest support, your only one. And he’s succeeding. He’s well on his way to being your everything, just like how you’re his everything already. He gives himself maybe a couple of more months, then he will officially ask you to be his.

He’s generally a patient guy, but he really can’t wait.

…………………………………

You have a dilemma, and you really don’t know anyone who you can talk to about it except Boo Seungkwan.

Initially, you wanted to hold off on it. You’ve known Vernon for a while now, and you know how genuine he is as a person. He is truly one of the people you trust the most, because he’s so attentive and kind. Your omega likes him too, maybe a little too much, and you always have to remind yourself that he’s just a friend, nothing more. But you can’t help being enamoured by him. He’s so different from how you are, but you gel with him so well. There’s something so charming about him, you can’t help but be sucked in.

But Vernon’s brand of weird might be getting a little…. too weird.

When he first gave you socks that his grandmother knitted, you were shocked, pleasantly so. You were half inclined to refuse, but they were genuinely so soft and Vernon looked like he really wanted you to have them, so you accepted. You did have a cold feet problem, and you complained to him about it. He happened to have a solution in his home, so he got it for you. It was very nice of him.

But then he got you that really expensive thermos. You know it was expensive because you looked it up afterwards, cursing under your breath. You love your friends and would help them any way you can, but this felt like too much. Vernon didn’t care though, adamant on you having it. And you didn’t have the heart to refuse when he kept insisting. And goddamn, it did keep your coffee warm and cozy for hours, so you could happily sip on it for a long time. You still use that thing every day.

Then there was the little stuff, like electrolyte packets and a gym headband, or the muscle patches he got you when you complained about being sore (it wasn’t even that bad, you just like to complain). It seems that no matter what you say, Vernon is always listening, like he wants any opportunity to make your life better. It warms your heart, it makes your omega keen, but Vernon is swimming very close to dangerous waters. All this is doing is making you more and more inclined to him, his thoughtfulness and care makes you want to melt right into him. Because at the end of the day, he’s an alpha, and you want him more and more with every passing day.

As you said, dangerous waters.

Things really take a turn when he shows up at your dorm with toothpaste, the same brand you use on a daily basis. You stare at it.

“Yours was running out last time I was here.” He says, and he’s so nonchalant about it, like friends just notice something like dwindling toothpaste and buy it for you. You’re so flabbergasted that you don’t even think of rejecting it, just thanking him quietly instead. He nods, smiling.

Okay, you need to talk to Seungkwan.

You text Seungkwan about meeting you for lunch at a café outside campus. It’s not too far, but enough that you know you won’t run into any of your mutual friends there. You really don’t want to talk to anyone who won’t help you, and while you’re very social on most days, you’re in no mood to deal with people right now. You ignore the urge to stay home in bed, because you really need to do something about this Vernon situation, so you push yourself to go, despite the resistance in your body.

Seungkwan just thinks it’s a normal catchup meal when he greets you, but when you start to slowly tell him about what Vernon has been doing for the last few months, his jaw just drops more and more, his plate completely forgotten.

“You’re not serious.” He mutters when you finish.

“I am.” You sigh. “And I love it, you know? I do. It makes me feel….. some type of way. But that’s why you have to tell him to stop. I can’t keep assuming that he’s doing it for some other reason. My heart can’t take it.”

You feel intense emotions rise up in you, and you have to swallow them down. It surprises you a little, how heated and charged you feel, but you push the thought out of your mind, trying to focus. Seungkwan’s face is pinched in thought, but you can see in real time as it smooths in realisation.

“Oh my god, wait.”

You watch him curiously. “What?”

But Seungkwan doesn’t say, shaking his head. Then, he goes back to his food.

“I’ll talk to him, okay?”

You’re a little confused at the weird reaction, but you nod. You’re already feeling a little tired, even though you haven’t even been out of the house that long. You wish you had just stayed in and put this off for another day.

“Just be nice about it. I don’t want him to feel bad. He’s been doing such kind things for me, I don’t want to come off as ungrateful.”

But Boo Seungkwan has a whole other storm brewing in his head as he waves goodbye to you and heads to his dorm. He thinks he has a pretty good idea about what the hell Vernon has been doing, but he needs to be one hundred percent sure about it first.

Vernon is sitting at his desk, headphones on, when Seungkwan taps him on the shoulder. The alpha turns around. Seungkwan decides not to beat around the bush.

“So I was on a lunch date with Y/N.”

Seungkwan can see the exact moment Vernon’s face lights up. He sighs internally. His suspicions are true.

“How is she?” Vernon asks.

Seungkwan plops himself down on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t you know that? Since she’s your omega?”

Vernon huffs out a laugh. “She’s not my omega yet.”

Yet. “But you are courting her.” He doesn’t frame it as a question.

Vernon nods. Seungkwan wants to groan.

“And it’s going well?”

“It is.”

“Right. Sure. It’s going so well that the omega you are courting doesn’t even know she’s being courted.”

Vernon pauses, blinking at Seungkwan owlishly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Vernon’s mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish. “I don’t understand.”

Seungkwan feels a horrific laugh bubble up in his chest, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches Vernon’s face go through a million emotions, confusion being the predominant one.

“I gave her a courting gift. She accepted.”

“You gave her socks.” Seungkwan deadpans.

Vernon frowns. “She needed them. She told me herself, her feet are always cold.”

Seungkwan groans at that, putting his head in his hands. “Hansol….”

Seungkwan laughs then, but Vernon doesn’t find the situation funny at all. A mild panic is curling in his chest, his mind racing. Did you really not know? Were you really clueless? He hadn’t said it explicitly, sure, but he was certain you got his meaning. He was taking care of you, showing you he could be a good alpha. Was he not clear enough?

Seungkwan’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “A courting gift, especially the first one, has to be something romantic. Like a bracelet or a necklace. Jewellery.”

Vernon puts his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. “I- I just thought it would be better if I gave practical gifts….”

Seungkwan huffs out a laugh. “Practical gifts are great, but fucking toothpaste, man?”

Vernon wants to bash his head into a wall. He looks at Seungkwan with pleading eyes.

“What did she say? Does she not like me?”

Seungkwan shakes his head immediately. “The opposite actually. She thinks you only see her as a friend, and she feels bad about liking you more than that because of how considerate you are.”

Vernon can’t believe his ears. He can’t. You think he’s not interested? He couldn’t have made his interest any clearer. But obviously, he went about it the wrong way, and now you feel shitty because of him. Vernon’s alpha growls, disapproving. He doesn’t like this feeling, knowing that he is responsible for any negative emotion you experience.

He needs to fix this.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop him as he tugs his shoes on, grabbing his phone before he leaves. He’s contemplating on sending you a text that he’s on his way to you, but he remembers the exchange you had with Seungkwan, and he fears that his text might make you spiral. So he just sets off, hoping he can catch you when you’re not too busy so you can talk it out. He always believed he didn’t want to rush you, but if it’s causing miscommunication, then he needs to make his intentions crystal clear.

He reaches your door in record time. You don’t have a dorm mate thankfully, since your last one dropped out and a new one wasn’t appointed to you. This is good, because it means you two can talk openly. He knocks and waits, shifting on his feet. He feels anxious and uncertain, and he prays he hasn’t ruined anything between you two, especially after he tried so hard to make everything go right.

You’re not answering. Vernon tries again, wondering if maybe you have headphones on and can’t hear him. Maybe he should text you that he’s right outside. He’s just contemplating on it when the door swings open.

You have a scowl on your face, lips pulled into a pout as you stick your head out. Cute. Vernon gives you a sheepish smile when recognition dawns on your features.

“Vernon.” Your voice is raspy. He shuffles.

“Sorry. Were you sleeping?”

You blink a few times, rapid movements as if trying to clear your vision. Vernon shifts again, feeling restless. He’s been feeling restless ever since he first knocked on your door. He scents the air instinctively. You smell…. just as you always do. Maybe sweeter? He can’t place it. Something is off, not in a bad way. But he can’t put his finger on it.

“This isn’t a good time.” You say, and your voice is still strained and tired. Vernon’s early anxiety is gone. He feels concern sting at his chest.

“Are you okay?” He has to ask, because a voice inside him is telling him that you’re not. You pause before answering, and it’s a little too long for his taste.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Can we talk in a few days?”

A few days? Vernon’s eyebrows furrow. His nose won’t stop twitching because of the alteration in your scent. He watches you, really watches you, the barely noticeable line of sweat on your hairline, your breathing just slightly more rapid than usual, how you’re gripping the doorframe like it’s holding half your weight. Vernon’s alpha bristles.

“Pre-heat?” He croaks.

You swallow tightly, he can see it with the way your throat bobs. When you don’t deny it, his alpha howls. His fingers twitch. It takes everything in him to not reach for you.

“So, later?” You ask again. He blinks.

“I was courting you.” He blurts. “The gifts. I- I thought I was being clear about it. But I wasn’t. That’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve said it, I should’ve gotten you something prettier or nicer. But I didn’t.”

Your jaw drops at his words. Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds.

“You like me?” Your voice is so tiny, so unsure. Vernon wishes he could rip the heart out of his chest and give it to you to prove that he doesn’t just like you, but that he’s in love with you. But he settles for better words.

“I wanted to show that I could take care of you. That I could be a good alpha and love you the way you deserve.”

Your eyes are bright. Your mouth is slightly open in an ‘O’ shape. You don’t say anything for a long while. Vernon feels despair sink in his head.

“I’m sorry.”

You seem to break from your trance. Your eyebrows draw together. “What are you sorry for?”

Before he can reply, your voice dies and you wince. Vernon feels his chest squeeze, hands reaching out before he can stop himself when he sees your poster hunch forward a little. He hovers uncertainly over you. Being in your space makes your scent get denser, heavier. Vernon grits his teeth hard. His brain feels like it’s short circuiting.

“You should get back inside.” He chokes out. “You shouldn’t be standing up right now. Your cramps will get worse.”

You don’t reply, almost like your mind is fogged. Vernon makes up his mind, very carefully placing his hands on your elbows so he can shuffle both of you backwards into the room.

It smells even more intensely like you inside. Vernon’s eyelids flutter, and he has to stop himself from breathing in deep. He gently guides you to the bed and you follow without much hesitation. You sigh into the pillows once your body relaxes, and Vernon pulls the blanket over you. He notices just then that you’re wearing the navy blue socks he gave you. His heart skips a beat as he leans beside the edge of the bed.

“Do you need anything?” He tries to make a mental list. He’s never really helped an omega with their heat before. When Seungkwan goes into heat, university policy is to leave the dorm and room with someone else for the duration, so he just stays with another friend. But Vernon isn’t a complete idiot, so he thinks. Painkillers, a warm water bottle, sustenance of some kind, something high calorie-

“Just stay here with me.” You pipe up. He freezes.

“I can’t.” He tries to say as placatingly as possible. “Your heat will hit soon.”

You blink up at him, and he notes the thin, shiny layer covering your eyes. “So?”

He stares. “So….. I can’t stay.” Or I will lose my mind.

“Yes, you can. You said you wanted to show me you can take care of me, right?” Your eyelids hang low, eyes only half open as you peer up at him. “So take care of me, alpha.”

Vernon thinks his head is spinning. No, it’s the room. The room is spinning. He is completely still in place, like a statue, because he feels that if he moves, he will sway and topple over. His alpha is howling, a chorus of ‘yes, yes, yes’ that chokes any other thought in his brain. Instead, he clenches his jaw hard and reaches his hand up to rest it carefully on your head. He brushes your hair back slowly. You sigh at his mere touch. You’re heated, already almost burning up.

“Are you sure?” He whispers. “You’re close to heat. You can’t be saying this just because your omega wants an alpha here with you.”

You let out a small laugh. “I’m in pre-heat only. I know what I’m doing. I’ve….. liked you for a while now.”

Vernon can feel how hot the back of his neck is. “Really?”

You nod. He lets out a shaky breath. He can’t believe his ears, almost like someone went in there and scraped all his brains out, leaving his head hollow and light. But his chest is so full that he feels like it will explode.

“Okay.” He says with an air of finality. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. You won’t want for anything. I’m here.”

…………………………….

You don’t really remember much of your pre-heats, generally. Most of the time, you spend it dozing in and out of sleep, eating whatever you’ve stashed in your room beforehand. This one is the same. You’re very sleepy, so you hunker down on your bed and nap as much as you can. The difference this time is that you’re coaxed awake every few hours by an alpha hanging over your bed, helping you sit up and feeding you small bites of warm food instead of your usual packaged stuff.

Vernon leaves whenever you fall asleep, coming back with stuff he picks up from restaurants, all rich and dense food that puts you in a good mood and makes you sleep longer. Two nights after he first showed up, you feel uncomfortable again, so you ask for his hoodie. He doesn’t hesitate for two seconds before he pulls it off and tugs it onto you.

“Better?” He asks as you sink into bed again. You hum in relief. It feels amazing to be surrounded by his scent like this. Your omega settles and your discomfort wanes.

“Much.” You reply. He nods. You watch him putter around, cleaning up plates and looking at how much water you still have. You know that you’re only settling with his hoodie temporarily. As your heat hits, his clothes won’t be enough. You will want him. All of him.

Your face flames at the thought. You really never could’ve imagined that Vernon would want to help you like this. You always assumed he was being a good friend, hence why you wanted Seungkwan to stop him. Because you were getting too attached to him, and you didn’t want to set yourself up for future hurt. Turns out, he was courting you, in some characteristically Vernon way of his. And in a way….. it worked. It made you love him more.

Days pass in your pre-heat haze. When you wake up one day, your back drenched in sweat and your heart racing so fast it makes you pant heavily, you realise you’ve hit your heat. You sit up slowly, struggling to unfold your tense body. Vernon isn’t here, probably out to get more supplies or a change of clothes for himself. Your omega whines. You’re wet between the thighs already. You rub them desperately together. Why is your alpha not back yet?

You’re just psyching yourself up to leave the bed when the door to your dorm swings open and Vernon steps inside, arms weighed by bags. He blinks, surprised to see you awake.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He asks, pushing the door shut with his heel and placing the bags on your study table. You let out a shaky breath.

“Alpha.”

Something in your voice seemingly registers, because his head jerks up. You can feel his nose twitch when you shift, throwing the blanket off your sweaty body. Your scent hits him. You try to shuffle closer to him.

“Need you, please.”

Vernon wastes no time in toeing off his shoes and walking closer to the bed, settling on it and letting you come to him. You crawl into his lap, sighing in relief when your skin meets his. He still hasn’t taken his jacket off, so you tug impatiently at it. He obliges by discarding it, leaving him in a simple shirt and jeans.

You tuck your head against his neck like it’s second nature, like you’ve done it a million times before. You nose at his scent glands, eager to have it invade your senses straight from the source. You feel his hand run comforting circles over your sweaty back.

“You’re drenched.” He murmurs, tugging at your shirt a little where it’s sticking to your skin. You huff.

“‘M hot.”

“Do you want a change of clothes?”

No. I want you to take them off entirely.

You don’t say it, just biting your lip and nosing at his neck more. You know Vernon is here to help with your heat, but you suddenly feel so shy asking him to. God, this was your idea, and you can’t even bring yourself to verbalise it.

When your silence stretches too long, you feel a soft hand on your jaw, nudging your head up. Your eyes meet wide, brown ones.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Just ask, okay? I can’t know unless you tell me.”

He’s right. He’s being so logical and so sweet about it while you’re wallowing. So you nod, mustering up the confidence to peer up at him and say, “I want you.”

Vernon nods. “Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

When he leans down to softly brush his lips to yours, your omega whines. You inhale shakily and press closer, kissing him properly. He takes it so slow, like he’s savoring every second of it, running his hands carefully, reverently, down your sides before sliding under the hem of your shirt. His skin is so cool against your heated body, and it’s a welcome relief. You sigh into his mouth.

Vernon grips just a little tighter, your flesh dimpling under his touch. It makes your body shift forward, your core grazing over his jean-clad thigh. Your breath hitches as pleasure zips up from your core.

That sets a charged, lazy rhythm. Vernon guides the movement of your body with a firm grip on your hips, back and forth, back and forth, your cunt sliding over his thigh. The rough material of his jeans provides delicious friction, while your flimsy shorts might as well not be there. You’re soaked through, and if you looked down, you’re sure you would see a dark patch on his jeans. He seems to not care about the fact that you’re ruining his clothes. He moans into your mouth, tenses his thigh periodically in a way that sends a pleasurable jolt up your spine. Your legs are spread wide apart, your slit open, pressing your most sensitive parts to him. He kisses you senseless as the pressure in your core gets tighter and tighter, your movements more rushed, more sloppy. He bites your bottom lip the exact moment your orgasm hits, washing over your body like a tidal wave, leaving you moaning and shaking, Vernon’s sure grip the only thing holding you steady.

“Good. Good girl.” He whispers into your raw, bitten lips. “Perfect. There you go.”

Your trembling body goes limp against his figure. He holds you there for a bit, letting you come down. You process what just happened. This was not what you expected, though you’re not complaining at all. It was so hot.

You’re shifted backwards slowly. Vernon lays you on the bed and presses a sweet kiss on your cheek, pulling back.

“You really should change clothes now, sweetheart.” He says. You giggle breathlessly and nod.

Vernon finds a fresh pair of shorts and a loose shirt. He helps you change. You really don’t feel hesitant about being naked in front of him. Hell, you just rode his thigh and came all over him. Speaking of, his jeans are ruined, you can see it a mile off. Vernon excuses himself to the bathroom once you’re settled, and when he emerges later, he’s dressed in sweats.

You eat the food he brought, more like he feeds you and you let him. It feels nice, being pampered and taken care of like this. You say as much to him. He lets out an airy laugh and shakes his head.

“That’s what my intention was the entire time.” He confesses. “I wanted to be a good alpha to you. And in my opinion, a good alpha is someone who knows how to take care of his omega. I was trying to prove that.”

You smile, watching him set the empty plate aside and pour you a glass of water.

“I already know you’re a good person, Vernon. You didn’t have to do all that.”

He shakes his head. “There’s a difference between being a good person and a good alpha. You needed to know I would be there through thick and thin, and I could anticipate your needs and make your life easier. To be loved is to be known, isn’t that what they say?”

You stare at him, speechless. Your heart squeezes in your chest, and you try to look for words, anything you can say to tell him how much this means to you, how much he means to you. But you’re tired, and your heat is messing with your head, and you can’t think of anything that will properly get your meaning across. So you put down the glass in your hand and lean forward, laying a kiss on his lips.

You feel him stiffen only briefly, kissing you back when he realises what is happening. You feel his hand cup your cheek tenderly, slotting his lips deeper into yours. You sigh into this kiss, kicking forward to once again settle in his lap like you did previously. It’s almost like instinct. It’s comforting for you, and with the way his free arm curls around you, you know he likes it too.

You don’t know if it’s your heat, or just the fact that it’s Vernon, but the air charges quickly, and the kiss deepens. Your bodies undulate together, small moans and sighs until you can feel a familiar ache in your loins, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Alpha.” You whine into him.

“I’ve got you.” He reassures you, like he always has. The world tilts, and you’re laid back on the mattress, his torso pressing you down deliciously. His mouth doesn’t leave you for a second, nipping and kissing, before his tongue licks into your mouth. Your pussy clenches around nothing.

Fingers dip into the waistband of your pajamas, tugging them off in one smooth motion. Fingers prod at your entrance, and you pull your knees up and apart. You’re already so wet, so ready, that he slides two fingers in immediately with next to no resistance.

“Fuck.” Vernon groans at the exact time you gasp. His fingers curl, pressing and rubbing, looking for that one spot. You moan and jerk.

“You’re so wet. You’re gonna ruin the sheets.”

He pulls back enough to look down at you. You watch in awe as the corner of his lip quirks up with a smirk you have never seen before. He looks so sexy like this, it makes your head spin.

“Soak my hand. Wanna feel it.”

You shriek when he presses into your soft spot, back arching off the bed. He coos, watching you with half lidded eyes, biting his bottom lip. You burn under his gaze, but it feels so good. Your orgasm is building up frighteningly quick, and before you know it, your legs are seizing.

You babble incoherently, trying to warn him, one hand fisting his shirt while the other tugs at the sheets. The knot in your core is so tight, ready to burst any moment, and he says the final words to get you there.

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl. Do what I said. Soak my hand.”

And you do, stars bursting in your vision at the same time that the knot implodes. You can hear how wet the sounds get, sloppy and filthy enough to make you flush. But you’re too preoccupied by how good it feels, washing over your entire body in waves. You know, even before you are fully down, that you are now addicted to this feeling, to him. His scent, heavy and reassuring and endlessly horny, you can tell. And his presence, sure and all encompassing. Your hands, still trembling, reach down, pawing and scratching at his pants.

“Alpha.” You’re surprised you can speak. “Off. Need- need you. Your knot. Please.”

Vernon doesn’t hesitate. With a few precise motions, his pants are pulled off and his shirt follows. You run your hands hungrily over his lean figure. He’s cut. You can trace the muscles, and it makes your mouth water. He’s so hard already, long and veiny and throbbing, and your pussy clenches pathetically. Your hips jerk.

Vernon wraps a hand around his shaft, pumping a few times. You see the precum leak from his tip and dribble down. Your legs twitch when he rubs his mushroom head up and down over your slit, gathering your slick. He groans.

“Look at that. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” You watch him bite his lip. You buck up again. Finally, he guides the head down, teasing your rim for a few seconds before sliding the head inside.

Your jaw goes slack as he slides in, inch by glorious inch, until you feel the base of his pelvis meet your skin. You can feel him throb even inside you, your walls squeezing and releasing over and over to try and get used to the massive intrusion. Above you, Vernon’s face is pinched, and he curses loudly.

“Don’t- please don’t do that.” His voice is strained. “I’m gonna cum too soon.”

You can’t help your breathless giggle, but you try to relax a little around him. You both breathe deeply, and finally, you feel the alpha move.

The pace is stable and reverent from the beginning, like he wants to feel every nook and cranny of your cunt around him. He fucks you like he’s making up for lost time, speeding up and then slowing down, watching his cock disappear inside your needy, sopping pussy and pulling out, the shaft shiny with your juices. Your eyes roll up at the feeling, how he carves through your opening, in and out, brushing over all the good spots as he moves. He changes the angle every couple of minutes, and you gasp loudly when he hits you just right.

He reads your body like an open book, immediately honing in on the spot and picking up speed. Skin slaps against skin, a plopping sound that fills the room and only turns you on even more, if that’s even possible. Vernon’s eyes run over every part of you hungrily, like he wants to commit all of it to memory, and you feel like you’re on fire under the heat in his gaze.

“I’m gonna cum again.” You whimper, feeling tears sting at your eyes as your pleasure crests to heights you have never felt before. Your whole body feels like it’s molten lava, bubbling up inside you until it overtakes your every nerve. Your hands scramble for purchase, and Vernon sees. He winds his fingers through yours and pushes up, pressing your intertwined hands above your head. Your back arches, body laid open for his eyes only. And under his watchful gaze, his soft words, you cum hard, wailing as you drench his cock with your juices, squeezing around him so hard that you almost black out. Something swollen catches on your opening. He thrusts rough a few more times before he surges forward, bullying his knot deep inside you. Your eyes roll. Your omega keens.

Vernon releases your hands, running his own carefully down your body, like he wants to milk the rigidity from your limbs. You breathe heavily, trying to blink the tears away. He nuzzles into your neck, nosing at it and inhaling deep. When you feel his tongue lick over your scent glands, you shiver.

“Sorry.” He whispers when feels it. “Too much?”

You shake your head and turn it the other way, baring your neck to him. You feel his shaky exhale. He runs his tongue over your neck again, scenting you properly. You bask in the feeling.

You’re so completely at peace here, with his knot inside you and his tongue on your skin. This is exactly what you needed. And it’s clear to you now that Vernon knows actually what you need, always.

because you’re here, drenched in sweat despite the air conditioner blasting on the lowest setting, skin sticking to seungkwan’s as you grind down on his lap like you’ve lost all sense of fucking control. and yeah, you kinda have, haven’t you? you can’t even keep your thoughts straight, his cock is buried so deep inside you, throbbing and wet from how many times he’s already cum, how many times you’ve already cum.

“fuck, why is it so fucking hot?” seungkwan grits out under you, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave bruises, not that you give a shit. the bed’s fucking soaked, sweat mixing with slick and spit and whatever the hell else that fucking potion is doing to your bodies. it’s like… it’s almost like you’re burning from the inside out, every nerve on fire, every touch setting you both off like it’s your first time all over again.

“i swear to god, i’m gonna kill minghao,” you pant, pushing your hands flat against seungkwan’s chest as you bounce on him, feeling his cock hit that sweet spot inside you that’s got you rolling your eyes. “this is his fault—fuck, seungkwan—his fucking fault.”

he groans beneath you, head falling back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to keep still, but you can feel him bucking up into you, thrusting harder like he can’t stop either. you both know this is fucked up, like your bodies aren’t even listening to your brains anymore, just locked into this endless, desperate rhythm, chasing that high again and again. you don’t even remember how many times you’ve cum at this point, but you can feel it—legs shaking, pussy clenching around him so tight you think you’re about to snap.

“i’m gonna fuck him up when this is over,” seungkwan growls, fingers digging into your ass now, pulling you down harder onto him, making you cry out. “fucking… stupid fucking potion—shit, y/n, you’re so fucking tight, so hot—fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum again.”

you lean down, chest pressed to his, sweat-slick skin sliding against his as you move. “do it, please, I fucking need it!” you whisper, voice wrecked from all the moaning, all the screaming his name earlier. you can’t even pretend to be teasing anymore, not when every nerve in your body is on overdrive. “cum for me again, baby. fill me up.”

that’s all it fucking takes. you feel him twitch inside you, his hips slamming up hard enough to make the bedframe creak, and then he’s spilling inside you, hot and thick, and the sensation makes you lose it too. your whole body tenses, and you collapse onto him as your orgasm rips through you, shaking and gasping as you milk him for everything he’s got.

for a minute, it’s like you both just… float there, bodies tangled together, coming down from the high but still not quite there, still needing more, still too hot, too wet, too fucking needy. you think maybe that’s it, maybe you can take a break, but then seungkwan shifts beneath you, pulling out with a slick, messy sound, and you feel his hands on your hips again, flipping you over onto your back like you weigh nothing.

“not done,” he mutters, voice rough as hell, he’s already getting hard again, his cock brushing against your thigh as he settles between your legs, lining himself up without even asking, not that you’d say no anyway. “need more, fuck, y/n, i need you.”

you barely get a chance to respond before he’s pushing back into you, slow at first, like he’s savoring the way you stretch around him again. but it doesn’t stay slow for long, because he’s just as fucked up from that potion as you are, just as desperate to keep going, to keep fucking until the heat burns itself out.

“fuck… fuck, seungkwan,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts to move, hard and fast and relentless. your body’s so fucking sensitive, every thrust hitting different, every drag of his cock making you want to scream. “i swear to god, when this is over, we’re never drinking anything he gives us again.”

he huffs a laugh, but it’s strained, his breath coming in heavy pants as he picks up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “no shit,” he mutters, dropping his head to press his lips to your neck, sucking a mark there that you’re definitely gonna have to explain later. “i can’t even fucking think right now.”

“you don’t have to think,” you tell him, voice all shaky and fucked out, hands sliding down his back to grab his ass, pulling him deeper into you. “just fuck me.”

and he does, he really fucking does. the bed’s rocking now, slamming against the wall with every thrust, and you’re both drenched in sweat, panting and swearing and cursing with every breath, but you don’t stop. you can’t. not when it feels this good, not when every time you think you’re done, another wave of heat crashes through you, making you both start up again.

you don’t know how long it goes on. you don’t even care anymore. you just keep moving together, fucking through the sweat and the heat and the endless, overwhelming need, chasing that high again and again until your bodies give out.

and when you finally collapse, tangled in each other, sticky and exhausted and completely spent, the only thing you can think is…

“nah, you look ridiculous in the best way.” he grins, propping himself up and giving you a once-over. “if you’re worried, i’ll lend you my jacket for the ride there. gotta protect my favorite attention magnet.”

that earns him a middle finger as you step back, but secretly, the idea of having mingyu’s huge jacket draped over you makes you feel a little more… armored. it’s one thing to strut around like this in the mirror, but another entirely when you’re gonna be walking into a party full of his friends, all of whom you know aren’t above throwing a snarky comment or two.

the cab ride to the party is a whole other level of weird. mingyu’s jacket hangs heavy on you, smelling like his cologne, like he’s smothering you in that woodsy scent that, admittedly, is kinda comforting. “feel like i’m cosplaying you,” you laugh, crossing your legs and watching his reflection as he watches you.

“yeah, yeah, just wait till we get there. you’re gonna be the highlight of the night,” he says, leaning back, eyes on you, like he’s planning something you don’t know about yet.

finally, you’re standing outside the house party, which is already buzzing loud enough you can feel the bass thumping up through the driveway. you hesitate for a sec, knowing the second you step inside, that jacket’s coming off. mingyu nudges you with an elbow, grinning.

it’s like a reveal, honestly. the minute you slip out of his jacket, it’s a ripple effect—heads turning, eyes widening, and then, just for a sec, silence falls across the group near the door. like the scene pauses for just one breath, and then someone’s like, “oh damn, y/n really came out tonight.”

mingyu just rolls his eyes and puts a hand on your shoulder, a little too casual, like he’s trying to ground you. “get your eyes off my friend, you creeps,” he laughs, but there’s a glint of pride there too, like he’s proud he dragged you out of your comfort zone.

and that’s when you see him—hoshi. he’s across the room, talking to some guy, laughing, and it takes you a second to realize he’s wearing…

bunny ears too.

only hoshi would have the audacity to go full playboy bunny, with the bow tie and all, shirtless, and he’s grinning, completely unbothered, his gaze wandering until he finally, finally spots you.

his grin freezes, and there’s a split second where you see his eyes drag down from your ears to your bodysuit, to the pompom swaying on your butt, and then back up to meet your eyes. and the look he gives you? god, it’s something straight out of a bad rom-com. he’s laughing, clearly in disbelief, mouthing something like “no way,” shaking his head. but then he just goes, “y/n? really?” crossing the room, and the grin on his face makes you feel like maybe you’ve outdone yourself.

“don’t laugh!” you say, smirking, and crossing your arms, even though the movement makes your boobs practically spill out of the bodysuit.

there’s no denying hoshi’s gaze keeps wandering, landing just below your face, like he’s trying not to be obvious about it and failing spectacularly.

his eyes are practically sparkling, and he’s already pulling you in, wrapping his arms around you in that way only he does, with that ridiculous amount of warmth and ease.

“you look insane!” he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek as he plants a quick kiss there, his bare chest pressing against you. you barely have a moment to react before mingyu’s strolling up behind him, still holding that jacket he promised, but instead of handing it to you, he pauses, raises a brow, and gives hoshi a smirk. then, without missing a beat, he does the oldest, dirtiest gesture in the book—index finger slipping through a circle he makes with his other hand, his eyes meeting yours with this knowing, wicked look. and god, you can feel the heat rush straight to your cheeks.

hoshi chuckles, and he glances back at mingyu, he catches it, and his eyes go wide, cheeks flushing in that cute, bashful way that’s so him. “mingyu, dude, could you be more obvious?” he laughs.

“i mean, come on,” mingyu shrugs, crossing his arms and nodding at you. “you don’t get all dolled up like this for no reason, right? thought you might as well go all the way.”

you laugh, nudging hoshi’s shoulder as he pulls back slightly, still not quite letting go. “yeah, yeah, keep it up, mingyu, and i’ll start charging for every stare you throw my way.”

hoshi grins, leaning in closer, his voice dropping a little. “they might actually make some cash tonight,” he teases, nudging your hip playfully looking at his friends in the corner, his gaze still locked on yours, even as mingyu scoffs and steps back, giving you both a moment of space.

“oh, please, hoshi,” you mutter, trying to keep your equilibrium. “you’re staring just as much as they are, don’t even pretend.”

“can you blame me?” he says, eyes drifting down before they snap back up to yours. “i mean, i didn’t expect this level of… commitment,” he smirks, giving you an exaggerated once-over, his fingers toying with the little bit of fluff on your bunny ears. “you’re really going all in, huh?”

“well, it was either this or come as a pirate,” you reply, shrugging, though you’re hyper-aware of how close he is. “but i figured you’d like this more.”

he raises an eyebrow, leaning in even closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, “oh, i do. believe me. i mean, you’re practically a professional bunny now. we might have to get you a part-time gig at some club or something.”

“ha! you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you tease back, nudging him, but your voice has this slight waver that you can’t quite control, because he’s watching you with this intent, focused look, like he’s memorizing every little detail.

“you have no idea,” he murmurs, the look in his eyes suddenly serious, like he’s not even joking. he lets his gaze linger on you, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip just slightly, and it’s impossible to ignore the warmth blooming in your chest.

“are you gonna keep staring all night, or do i get to enjoy this party?” you finally say, raising an eyebrow, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

he grins, leaning back just slightly, though his hand finds your waist, steadying you as the crowd around you shifts. “oh, i’ll stop staring, sure—right after i get my dance,” he says, voice playful again, but his eyes are still so fixed on you. “come on, you owe me one for showing up looking like that.”

“oh, you think i owe you?” you laugh, folding your arms, but before you know it, hoshi’s pulling you toward the dance floor, his hand warm on your back, guiding you through the crowd. he’s animated, so full of energy, laughing and joking as he leads you, and there’s this playful tension between you, like he’s daring you to match his pace.

once you’re in the thick of it, surrounded by bodies moving and music thumping, he spins you around, catching you off guard as he pulls you closer, his hands landing on your hips. “so… what’s the story here?” he says, voice hardly audible over the music, but his eyes are sparkling with curiosity. “is this all for fun, or is there, i don’t know, something more going on?”

“hoshi, please,” you roll your eyes, though you’re grinning, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning into him. “you really think i’d go through all this trouble for just anyone?”

he laughs, clearly pleased with himself, and there’s this smug little tilt to his smile. “so… just for me, then?” he raises an eyebrow, and you can tell he’s enjoying this way too much, practically reveling in it.

“maybe,” you shrug, though you’re fully aware of how close his hands are to the edge of your bodysuit, and the way his thumbs trace small circles on your waist is definitely not helping your focus. “guess you’ll have to keep wondering.”

“oh, that’s cold, y/n...” he says, laughing.

the music’s pulsing, and after a couple more songs, you’re breathless, finally pulling back just a little to catch your breath. “so… you planning on letting me go any time soon?” you say, grinning up at him.

hoshi just shakes his head, his hand holding onto yours and tugging you back in. “you think i’m letting someone as hot as you walk around here alone?” he says, pouting a little, his gaze dipping over you one more time, like he can’t help himself. you laugh, rolling your eyes, but it doesn’t stop that little thrill in your chest, the way he looks at you.

it’s around then that you feel a light tap on your shoulder, and when you turn, chan’s there, his usual grin stretched wide. “hey, y/n,” he greets, eyes flicking over to hoshi before he gently nudges him aside with a laugh. hoshi just shakes his head, moving back a bit, arms crossed as he watches, but that little smile doesn’t leave his face.

“hey, chan,” you say, leaning against the wall, still feeling that buzzing energy from dancing with hoshi. chan’s energy is a little lighter, a little easier, and it’s somehow refreshing. he leans close, resting one arm on the wall beside you, talking animatedly about something that happened earlier with mingyu, his other hand occasionally landing on your shoulder or arm. his fingers linger a little longer every time, but it’s friendly enough—though maybe a bit more touchy than usual.

you catch hoshi’s gaze from across the room, watching as his eyes narrow, the subtle flick of his jaw as he takes a long sip from his drink, looking way too calm. he’s still keeping that sharp eye on chan, like he’s waiting for him to do something worth stepping in for.

chan’s mid-sentence when you turn, pointing out the fluffy pompom on the back of your outfit. “look, they even gave me the tail and everything,” you laugh, turning slightly so he can see. chan’s grin widens, and he laughs, reaching out and squeezing the pompom gently with a playful chuckle.

he’s still laughing, his fingers tapping the fluffy tail, but your eyes slide over to hoshi again, and this time, he’s not sipping his drink anymore—he just downs what’s left in his cup, sets it aside, and begins walking toward you both. chan’s laugh stumbles a little as he catches sight of hoshi, and that easy confidence slips for just a second.

“hey, chan,” hoshi says, his voice light, though there’s a weight to it, an edge under the friendly tone. “mind if i steal y/n for a bit?”

chan gives a little nod, scratching his neck, though you can tell he’s unsure. “yeah, sure,” he says, stepping back, the wide smile he’d had now just a polite curve.

hoshi moves in, fingers finding your wrist, and he leans in close, his breath brushing your ear. “i’ll be waiting for you in my room,” he murmurs. he lets go of your wrist and heads toward the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder once before disappearing up them, leaving you rooted in place for a second.

“uh, sorry, chan,” you say, laughing a little to ease the tension, though your mind’s definitely upstairs now. chan brushes it off with a casual smile, telling you to go, and you slip through the crowd, making your way to the kitchen, where mingyu’s already there, nursing a drink.

you pull him to the side, leaning close. “emergency!,” you whisper, eyes wide. “hoshi told me to meet him in his bedroom.”

mingyu’s eyes go wide, practically bugging out of his head as he glances between you and the stairs. “are you serious?” he almost chokes, grinning like he’s the one who just got invited. “finally! no more listening to you go on about hoshi’s insane body and that stupid smirk he does. you elbow him, but he’s just laughing, a little too pleased about it. “so… what are you still doing here?” he says, lifting a brow. “need me to hold your hand up the stairs?”

“shut up!” you hiss, feeling the nerves hit you full force now that you’re actually thinking about it. “it’s… it’s hoshi, okay? i don’t just wanna walk up there like i’m—i don’t know, desperate or something.”

he rolls his eyes, shaking his head like you’re missing something obvious. “and you’re not desperate?” he says, giving you a look. “come on, this is the guy you’ve been daydreaming about. just go up there and knock his socks off!”

you hesitate, chewing your lip, and mingyu sighs, reaching around the counter, grabbing a bottle of tequila. he twists the cap, holding it up. “one shot for courage?” he grins, tipping the bottle towards your lips, and you let him pour, feeling the burn slide down your throat as you gulp it down.

“better?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. he places his hands on your shoulders, giving you a small shake before he adjusts your bunny ears and fixes a few stray strands of hair.

you breathe out, nerves prickling along your skin, like you’re about to float right out of your body. “mingyu, if i faint, just drag me back down here, okay?” you half-joke, still clutching onto his arm.

he laughs, ruffling your hair again, “you’re not gonna faint. i’ll walk you to the first step though.” he gives you one last nudge, and you make it to the stairs, glancing back as he calls, “promise me you’re gonna leave this party still walking, yeah?”

you roll your eyes, giving him one last scolding look before climbing up. every step feels like a whole saga, until you’re finally at his door, just barely cracked open like it’s waiting for you. you press your fingers to the handle, steadying yourself before slipping inside and closing it gently behind you.

hoshi’s already sitting there on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide, hands braced behind him. his head’s tilted back, one brow raised with this faint smirk as he takes you in, the way your chest’s heaving just a bit too fast, cheeks already flushed. you try to calm your breathing, pressing your lips together to keep from biting them as you close the door clicking the door locked, fingers gripping the door handle as you stand there.

“c’mon, you don’t have to stand there looking all shy now,” he says, tapping his thigh, the grin on his face widening. “come here, bunny. this is what you came up here for, right?”

your heart races as you walk over, feeling every nerve in your body sparking up, and you place one knee beside him before swinging the other over so you’re straddling him, knees sinking into the bed on either side of his thighs. he settles his hands on your hips, pulling you down snug against him. you try to lean in, but he just leans back, grinning even wider.

“don’t be in such a rush,” he murmurs, his lips hovering just out of reach. “you’re already here, got all night.”

his fingers slide up your sides, over the curve of your waist, tracing every line slowly, he tilts his head, leaning closer to your neck, his breath brushing against your skin. you shiver, barely able to hold back a sigh as his lips graze your neck, soft, teasing.

“you know, i couldn’t even focus downstairs,” he murmurs against your skin, pressing a lingering kiss just below your ear. “every time i looked over, there you were… flaunting that little tail.” he chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling against your collarbone. “knew you’d come find me sooner or later.”

his hands trail down to your hips, squeezing just enough to make you feel it, but he still doesn’t kiss you, his mouth just brushing along your jaw, teasing. he’s watching every reaction, every twitch, like he’s got all the time in the world.

“you look too damn good,” he murmurs, hands sliding up to your waist again, thumbs brushing the fabric stretched tight. “been wanting to tell you that since you walked in.”

your hands slide over his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin, and you’re practically holding your breath, waiting for him to just close that last bit of space, to kiss you for real. but he just smirks, still dragging this out, his lips pressing another slow, hot kiss to your neck, then another, his hands tightening around you.

his fingers dip down, right between the base of your thighs, grazing that sensitive spot over your bodysuit. “oh, what’s this?” he hums, eyes glinting as his fingers press, right there, making you jump a little, gasping as he just laughs taunting. “nervous, bunny? you’ve been putting on quite the show tonight. kinda expected you to be ready for this.”

he brings his hand back up, dragging it slowly along the side of your thigh, back to where the tail rests. his fingers play with it, tugging gently, brushing against your skin through the fabric. “got you all dolled up like this, bouncing around with that little fluff. you know what that does to a guy?” he clicks his tongue, tilting his head and letting his mouth hover so close to yours that your lips practically ache, but just before you lean in, he pulls back, smirking when he sees you bite down on a whine.

“you want me to kiss you?” he teases, eyebrows quirking as his lips almost touch yours, only to pull back again. “look at you, bunny. i can feel you shaking, can practically see how bad you want it. all this fuss just to be up here in my lap, begging for it.” his eyes get that mischievous glint, watching you intently.

his hand drifts down again, his middle finger pressing between your thighs, applying just enough pressure through the thin fabric that you feel every inch of him pressing against you. you can’t hold back the soft whimper that escapes, your hips shifting as if you could get closer. “oh?” his voice is all smooth, leaning close, whispering in your ear as he chuckles. “think i feel something here. been this worked up for me all night, hm? tell me, bunny.”

he moves his hand just enough to pull the bodysuit aside, and his fingers brush against you, bare and wet, sensitive enough that the slightest touch makes your breath hitch. he pauses, lets out a soft groan, pulling back to look down at his fingers. “damn, you’re soaked.” he lifts his fingers to show you, glistening, and then lets them trail back down, tracing circles that make your legs tremble. “you weren’t kidding, were you? knew you wanted me bad, but this…” he laughs softly, his breath hot against your neck as he presses a kiss there. “never thought you’d be this needy.”

you try to stammer something back, but words feel impossible with the way his fingers keep moving, steady and slow, as if he’s luxuriating in every reaction. “c’mon, bunny,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping inside, pussy so wet and greedy, sucking it all in, finding you so easily that you can barely catch your breath. “give me something. tell me how long you’ve been wanting this.”

“h-hoshi…” you gasp, feeling your cheeks go even redder as he laughs, clearly pleased with himself.

“yeah?” he whispers, fingers pressing deeper, making your whole body respond, legs clenching around him. “don’t hold back. i’m right here.”

you let yourself go, your body responding to the way his fingers move, slick and ribbing, the wet sounds are almost embarrassing, echoing in the quiet of the room, but he’s not even trying to hide his laughter, each laugh dripping with that dark, horned-up energy that makes your stomach twist.

“you’re really getting into this, hm? riding my fingers like a little bunny in heat. thought you were shy?” his eyes are gleaming, and you can see that he’s practically losing his mind with lust, just as you are. the way your hips instinctively rock against his fingers is making it hard for him to think straight.

“hoshi-ah!—” you manage to gasp, your body feels electrified, like every nerve is lit up, and the pressure building inside you makes it hard to focus on anything else. he laughs, that low, throaty sound, clearly enjoying the way you’re unraveling in his hands.

“what? can’t handle it? not my fault you look so damn cute like this,” he teases. “there we go, that’s my girl. just keep riding me like that. you’ve got this.”

you grip his shoulders, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin as your eyes roll back, threatening to take you somewhere blissful and hazy. it’s like the world around you fades away, and all you can focus on is him—his fingers, still buried deep inside you, pushing you closer to that edge you desperately try to reach. the slick sounds of your pussy mix with his labored breaths, a soundtrack of pure sex echoing off the walls.

“wait,” he suddenly breathes out, his voice strained. your heart races as he shifts, trying to find a condom somewhere in the chaos that is his bedroom. even as he rummages around, his fingers stay just where they are, still pressed against you.

“hoshi…” you murmur, your voice shaky as you feel that lingering sensitivity from his touch. he glances up at you completely consumed by you.

“just a second,” he manages, and you can see how hard it is for him to keep his focus as he finally finds the little foil packet. he leans back, pulling you closer, and there’s a wicked smile playing on his lips. “herre, you do it. i wanna watch you.”

you nod, hands shaking as you reach for the condom, your fingers fumbling slightly with the package. he resumes his teasing fingers, moving them inside you, and your breath hitches.

“god, you feel incredible,” he murmurs, his breath coming out in ragged bursts as he watches you, mesmerized by how easily you respond to him. your moans escape before you can hold them back, and you feel your cheeks flush even hotter.

“m’not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he warns, but his voice betrays him, coming out breathy as he gives a playful thrust of his fingers, coaxing more sounds from you.

he resumes the rhythm of his fingers, and the sensation almost makes you forget what you’re doing. “ah—hoshi!”

“feel good?” he asks, like he’s genuinely concerned for your pleasure.

“y-yeah,” you gasp, riding the waves he creates, trying to keep yourself steady as the pleasure builds again. “so good.”

hands are trembling as you reach for him, fingers fumbling over the buttons of his jeans, your breath hitching in your throat. “it’s… it’s kinda tight,” you admit, biting your lip, you can feel his excitement growing, and it only makes you even more nervous.

“don’t worry about it. just take your time. i’m right here,” he reassures, with that, you unbutton his jeans, sliding them down just enough to expose him, and your heart skips a beat as you lower his underwear, finally revealing him to you.

your hands tremble as you reach for him, the feeling of his fingers still lingering on your skin making it hard to focus. but you do your best, slipping the rubber over his length, feeling how hard he is, and the way he breathes out sharply when you finally make contact. it makes you swell with confidence.

“wow,” you breathe, your eyes widening as you take him inside the rubber. he looks so delicious, so ready for you.

“like what you see?” he teases, his breath coming out in shallow gasps as he lays back comfortably, pulling you to him. his hand intertwine with yours, guiding you as you slide the condom on him.

“yeah, i do.”

“good.”

“hoshi, please…” you plead, you want nothing more than to feel him inside you. “i need you.”

“patience, bunny,” he murmurs, teasing you with every thrust of his fingers. “you’ve got to show me how bad you want it. ride my fingers like you did before, and then we’ll see.”

you moan, the sound echoing in the room as you start to move your hips against his fingers, rocking back and forth, feeling that familiar tension building again. “i’m trying!” you whine. “but it feels so good… i don’t want to wait.”

“i get it. trust me, i want you too. just hold on a little longer,” he encourages, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you. you feel like you’re melting under his gaze.

the pace of his fingers increases, and you can feel the sweat starting to bead on your forehead, your breathing becoming more erratic as the sensations grow stronger. “i can’t… hoshi, i can’t hold back much longer,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut.

“let go for me, baby,” he breathes, pushing you further and further to that edge. “just let it all out, and then we can really have some fun. i want to feel you fall apart.”

the moment he feels you squelch around his fingers, a wicked grin spreads across hoshi's face. he uses his fingers to spread you wider, that little pompom bouncing slightly as he watches you melt. but before you can melt completely, he guides you down onto him, urging you to sink onto his waiting cock—all in. and just like that, you're sent spiraling to hell and back in the middle of your orgasm.

a scream escaping your lips as you bury your face into his chest. your cries ringing in his ears, a sweet melody.

he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, feeling the rapid thump of your heart against his chest. “you good?” he asks, his fingers slide down your back, gentle and soothing, trying to help you catch your breath as his cock twitches inside you. “you looked like you were about to explode.”

“i—i think i did,” you mumble, still a little dazed. the pompom on your costume sways with every quiver, a ridiculous but endearing sight that makes his grin widen. “hoshi, i—oh my god, it’s too much!” your voice comes out in a high-pitched whine when he grinds up.

you bury your face against him, seeking comfort in the warmth of his body, and the sound of his heartbeat thrumming against your cheek calms the storm inside you, if only just a little.

“i know it feels like a lot, but just wait. will be good, i promise. will ride me so good... my bunny..”

the thought makes u all horny again, and you can’t help but squirm as you process what he’s suggesting. “but… what if I can’t?” you stutter, glancing away shyly.

“you can, I promise,” he insists, his eyes softening as he leans closer, brushing his lips against your cheek. “I’ll take care of you, and I’ll make sure you feel every second of it. just trust me.” his words are a warm caress, soothing the lingering worries, and the way he says it makes you feel safe.

he raises your head just enough to capture your lips, and it’s like a combustion igniter between you. his tongue slips into your mouth, tasting you, teasing you with a sluggish kiss that makes you melt. it’s rousing, and you find yourself leaning into him, wanting more, craving the heat radiating off his body.

with a speedy movement, his other hand spreads your ass, giving him a better grip as he pulls you closer. “let’s get you to ride me, yeah?” he murmurs against your lips, and the way he says it makes your heart race even faster. you can barely comprehend.

“hoshi, i—” but you can’t finish your thought; he’s already guiding you, and your body instinctively responds, you can’t help but gasp into the kiss, breaking it as you try to regain your composure.

“can’t believe how wet you are for me. it drives me insane.”

“you’re so much, hoshi,” you admit, you begin to move, lifting your hips and then sinking down slowly, feeling every inch of him stretching you, filling you up completely. you can’t help but moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“yes, just like that,” he urges, his hands squeezing your hips. “you’re doing amazing, baby. keep going.” the way he praises you pushes you to ride him harder, to take more of him.

“hoshi!” you gasp, feeling the inferno pool deep in your belly. you can’t believe how good it feels to finally be connected with him like this, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

he grunts, flipping you around and positioning you on all fours, your bunny tiara tumbling onto the sheets as you crawl onto the bed. the fabric beneath you is soft but the way he thrusts into you is anything but gentle.

“come on, y/n, keep that ass up for me,” he growls, his breath heavy as he digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place. “you wanna feel me deeper, right? i need to see you like this.”

you can merely hold yourself up as his thrusts grow stronger, sending your body forward with each powerful push. “hoshi, please,” you whimper, trying to maintain your balance as your body instinctively responds to him.

“please what?” he teases, his fingers tightening around your hips, his grip possessive. “are you begging for me? ‘cause if you don’t keep that ass up, i might just stop right here.” he emphasizes the last part with another hard thrust that makes you gasp, your body aching for more.

“i’m trying—fuck, fuck!” you manage to say, he’s watching you, waiting for you to comply, adds an edge of desperation to your movements.

“good girl,” he murmurs, he thrusts again, and you can feel him so deep inside you that it’s almost too much to bear. “you’re so fucking tight, y/n. it’s like you were made for me.”

you can’t help but push back against him, trying to find that perfect angle. “hoshi, please—don’t stop. i need more,” you plead.

“that’s what i like to hear,” he says. “you’re such a little minx, crawling around in that cute little outfit. it’s making it hard to think straight.” he shifts his angle slightly, hitting your g'spot with his bulbous cockhead.

the tears fill your eyes, your face twists, turning into full-blown sobs as he hits the spot again and again, you don't have more control of your body, hips slumping on bed.

“oh, baby,” hoshi coos, his voice softening as he notices. he pauses for a moment, his movements halting, but then he grips you by the hair hair roughly, pulling you back just enough to arch your back. “don’t cry. talk to me. what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“i’m so close!” you cry, your voice cracking as you cling to the sheets, your body arching to meet his hips again.

he resumes thrusting into you, but this time it’s different—he pushes with more strength, less rhythm, like he’s trying to anchor you back to the moment. “focus on me,” he murmurs “feel every inch of me. let go of everything else.”

he smiles when he sees you react again, your eyes rolling when e lift your hips again, fucking his cock inside your swollen cunt until you spill around him. “you’re so fucking beautiful when you cry.. it makes me want to break you again and again.”

you clench tight around him, every nerve ending sparking to life, with each powerful thrust, hoshi drives you further into that delicious abyss. your body instinctively responds to him, tightening and fluttering around his length.

“oh fuck!— clench around me like that… just like that.”

you respond instinctively, clenching tighter, the action earning you a sharp intake of breath from him.

you’re clenching harder than ever, your mouth falling agape as the waves of pleasure crash over you like an unstoppable tide. hoshi can feel it; the way your body is tightening around him, squeezing him just right. he knows he’s close, too.

his fingers work their magic on your clit, massaging it furiously, until you gush around him, which he wished he could feel on his bare cock. “i can’t hold it!” you gasp, and as if hearing your plea, he speeds up, his fingers dancing over your sensitive clit.

“that’s it, y/n! let it out!”

a scream that echoes in the room even though the party's music bothered the whole time. you squirt, soaking the sheets and his body, hoshi couldn't hold after that. not here, not there. never. you looked so fucked out. because of... him?

“fuck, yes! just like that,” hoshi growls, his breath hitching as he feels you soak him, the slickness making your movements sloppier, until you fall completely on the bed.

he pulls out and heads to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. you hear the faint sounds of running water in the room.

hoshi watches you for a moment, your breathing slow and steady now, the remnants of bliss still evident on your face. he chuckles softly, shaking his head at how you’ve managed to turn his entire bed into a scene straight out of a movie.

“hey, y/n,” he says again, his voice a gentle nudge to bring you back to reality. “you still with me?”

you blink your eyes open, the world coming back into focus, and a lazy smile spreads across your lips.

“i think we need to do some cleaning.”

“cleaning?” you echo, glancing down at the damp sheets, realizing just how soaked they really are. your cheeks blush, as your mouth open. you don't even have the chance to say sorry before he's patting you.

“please, don't be embarassed! can you lift up a bit? i need to roll this off so we can get to the fresh stuff.”

“sure,” you mumble shyly, propping yourself up on your elbows. as you raise your hips slightly, he deftly pulls the duvet from under you, rolling it away to expose the clean sheets beneath.

hoshi carefully grabs a towel, its soft texture feeling comforting against your skin. he starts by dabbing gently at your body, wiping away the remnants of sex, his touch both tender and teasing. “you know, you really went all out with that costume. it’s a shame to see it go,” he smirks, as he deftly removes the bodysuit, revealing your bare skin underneath.

“it was cute, right? but not super comfy,” you admit, a shy smile creeping onto your face.

“definitely cute, but a bit too tight for my liking,” he jokes, tossing the towel aside and reaching for one of his oversized shirts hanging on the back of the door. he holds it up with a grin, the fabric slightly wrinkled but still looking inviting. “how about this? it’s way more comfortable. you can borrow it for the night.”

you nod eagerly, slipping into the shirt as he helps you pull it over your head. it swallows you whole, the fabric falling down to your thighs and making you feel cozy. “ah, much better,” you sigh, relishing the softness.

hoshi watches you with a smilling like a fool. “you look adorable.” he teases, his eyes sparkling. “um...i’m going to let mingyu know you’re sleeping with me here tonight, alright? he’ll freak out if he thinks you’re wandering home alone at this hour.”

“oh... thank you soonyoungie” you agree, flopping back onto the bed, the soft sheets welcoming you. “but don’t take too long! i might fall asleep before you come back.”

There is something about Yoon Jeonghan that always captures your attention, since the fateful night you met him in the library. Maybe you could call it a crush or something more. He’s always seemed like the forbidden fruit you weren’t supposed to have.

After graduating college you took a couple years of doing random writing jobs here and there and decided to go back for grad school. To make extra money while focusing on school you’ve started working in the campus library. Since starting your job you met Jeonghan a random late night at work. Turns out he’s friends with your roommate Mari. They went to college together, she became an elementary school teacher, and he went on to teach at the university you go to school and work at. After meeting him on campus your run-ins with him didn’t stop. A handful of times you’ve gone out with Mari and her college friends to the bar he’s been there too. He recently moved back to the city after getting hired at the university. The first time you fully got to know Jeonghan was on a random Thursday night after work. Mari convinced you to go with her to get drinks and to celebrate one of her friends' birthdays.

You learned that you have a lot in common. The night was filled with lots of flirting and Jeonghan mentioning he would love to see you sometime. After that night you had wanted to go out with him, but decided maybe you shouldn’t date one of the professors from your campus. Even though you’re closer to thirty than half the campus. You’re only a year younger than him, you were worried about his job being at risk. The last thing you would want is for him to lose his job because of you.

Three months into your grad program you’re starting to feel like you’re going insane. All of your focus has been on school and work. You feel as if you’re emotionally and sexually pent up. You aren’t sure how much more you can handle this.

Sitting in your apartment you share with Mari, she's drinking a glass of wine and texting her boyfriend Seokmin. You’ve been listening to her gossip about some of the teachers at her school. After a long tough day at work, all she wanted to do was drink a glass of wine and see her boyfriend.

Letting out a sigh you dramatically close your laptop. If you work on this project any longer you’re pretty sure your brain is just going to stop working. At this point you’re so overworked and over stressed you aren’t sure how you can keep up with this. Your school and work load this semester is absolutely overwhelming. You’re only focusing on those two things all the time. You aren’t sure how much more you can take of this.

Mari looks over at you and can instantly tell you’re on the verge of a breakdown. “You need to take the night off from any type of school work.”

“I feel like I’m so burnt out.”

“You’re juggling a full school schedule and a thirty hour a week job. I’m not shocked you’re burnt out. You need a hobby or something.” She gets up from her chair and grabs the bottle of wine from the kitchen. She sits back down in her same chair and pours herself more wine.

“You need to go out. Why don’t you go on a date or something? Something to blow off some steam.” Your dating pool is practically nonexistent with how focused you have been on school and work.

She holds out the glass of wine for you. You shake your head and let out a sigh. “I don’t know the last time I kissed someone let alone go on a date.”

“It sounds like you need to get laid.”

Without even thinking you roll your eyes at her statement. “It’s not that easy. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Tinder exist, people use that to fuck all the time.” She takes a drink of her wine, as if she didn’t just say something crazy.

“Mari—“

“Then text Jeonghan and ask him to fuck you. I know he’s pretty freaky, I bet he could fuck the stress right out of you.” Since you met him, Mari has wanted you and Jeonghan together.

“Mari—“

“Oh come on don’t act like you don’t want to fuck him.” Of course you do, most women would die to find themselves in bed with him.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“He’s a professor and I’m a student.” This is the one thing that you keep telling yourself is standing in the way of you actually having something with him.

She rolls her eyes. “He’s a professor, but not yours. He’s a god damn mechanical engineer, and you’re going to school for writing. He’s not even a professor in the same department. He’s also only a year older than you.”

Technically it wouldn’t be breaking any rule for you to hook up, but you can’t help but be concerned about his reputation on campus if someone finds out. “Isn’t it taboo?”

“No, so just text him and tell him you need to get laid. I’m going to Seokmin’s tonight so you can hook up here.” She chugs the last of her wine and stands up. “He’s picking me up in twenty minutes. You'll have the place all to yourself.”

Opening your phone you find Jeonghan contact that you’ve had saved since you met him. You’ve texted a few times and even flirted here and there.

You (8:46pm): I have a really weird proposition, and don’t feel like you have to say yes.

Jeonghan (8:48pm): What’s up?

You (8:49pm): You know how you have mentioned in the past being interested in me?

Jeonghan (8:50pm): Yes, I still am if that’s what you are asking?

You (8:52pm): I’m not really in a place to be dating or anything like that… but I feel super stressed and overwhelmed, and I’m not sure how to properly ask you this without embarrassing myself.

Jeonghan (8:54pm): Are you asking if we can have sex?

You (8:57pm): If you aren’t interested you can say no.

Jeonghan (8:57pm): I never said I wasn’t interested.

you (8:58pm): Are you going to make me properly ask you?

Jeonghan (8:59pm): I think it would be polite if you’re going to ask me fuck away your stress.

You (9:05pm): Jeonghan can you please come over and fuck me until I can’t think straight?

Jeonghan (9:06pm): Is Mari home?

You (9:07pm): No, Seokmin just picked her up. I have my place to myself until tomorrow.

Jeonghan (9:08pm): I’ll be there in twenty.

The next twenty minutes did nothing to relieve your stress as you ran around your bedroom trying to find the sexiest underwear you owned. Tearing through your dresser, hidden away you pull out your pink dildo you sit it on the top of your dress as you hunt for your lavender lacy thong you bought hoping to wear it for an occasion like this one. You find it tucked away in the back.

Sliding off your sweatpants you quickly change into the lacy material that does nothing to cover you. Originally you were going to put on a dress and attempt to make yourself look nice. What is the point in getting all dressed up, if Jeonghan is coming over with the intention of stripping you naked. You opt for wearing a silk nighty that hits high in your upper thighs. You don’t even bother trying to find a bra. Looking in the mirror you feel very exposed. Your nipples are hard against the silky material. For the first time in a while you confident and sexy.

Your phone buzzed on your bed. You throw your underwear back in the drawer and quickly grab you phone.

Jeonghan (9:32pm): I’m here.

Walking out of your bedroom you take a deep breath before unlocking the door. The sight of Jeonghan standing on the other side dressed in sweater pants and oversized shirt. He’s wearing his signature wired frame glasses that manage to turn you on even more.

“Hi.” He gives you a smile.

“Hi.” You step aside signaling for him to come in. You lock the door and lean back against it. He slips off of his shoes. He takes a moment to let his eyes fully explore your barely covered body.

“Fuck, you look hot.” His voice is low and raspy.

“I wasn’t sure what I should wear, since you’re just going to take it off of me.” You can’t help but nervously ramble. You’ve never asked someone to basically be a booty call. To be honest you've never had sex outside of a committed relationship. This entire situation is extremely new to you.

“This is perfect. Just so you know, no matter what you wear I’m going to always be attracted to you.” He places his hand on your cheek. He drags his thumb slowly across your bottom lip. “You seem nervous. If you don’t want to do this, we can just watch a movie and hang out.”

“No.” You practically shout. “I want you to fuck me.”

He narrows his eyes at you, giving you a devilish grin. “For such a pretty girl you have a filthy mouth.” Hearing him speak to you like that did something to you. You’ve never been one for dirty talk, but if he talks to you like that more, you wouldn’t be opposed to it.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, pretty girl.” He leans in closer to you. His noses rest against yours. Your lips are so close they’re almost touching. “What do you want to do?”

“I want anything you’ll give me.” Leaning up your lips brush against his.

“We need to talk about boundaries before I fuck you.” Whispers practically against your lips.

You pull back a little. “Okay.”

“What are your hard nos? I can be rough sometimes, and I want to know what you like and don’t like.” From what Mari had said, Jeonghan knows how to please a woman. One night she drunkenly told you about the time she walked in on him fucking her old college roommate. According to her he was making the girl cry while he overstimulated her.

“Please don’t call me mean names. You can smack my ass and choke me, but please don’t slap my face. Hair pulling is okay, but nothing crazy. I like to be praised. I definitely have a praise kink. I’m on birth control, I have an IUD. I’m clean, I haven’t had sex in eight months.” You’ve never had a man properly ask you about your boundaries before.

“Do you have any toys we can use, and are you okay with using them?” You’re instantly remembering your pink dildo, you left on top of your dresser.

“Yes I do, and you can use them.” You stare at him almost in shock that this whole thing is happening. “Do you have any boundaries?”

“I’m open to most things. My main concern is making sure I pleasure you. I won’t edge you or anything crazy. Have you ever squirted before?” That definitely wasn’t what you thought he was going to ask you.

“No, I don’t think I can.”

“Are you opposed to trying?”

“You can try. Can I ask you to keep your glasses on?”

“Seems like you’re naughtier than I thought you were. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me.” He leans in closer to you again. This time his lips brush your for a slight moment for a barely there kiss. “If anything gets to be too much all you have to do is say stop, and I’ll stop immediately no matter what.”

he crushes his lips into yours for your first searing kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck pulling your body close to his. Kissing him felt like an adrenaline rush you’ve never experienced before. His tongue slides against yours earning a moan from you.

Pulling away he gives you that devilish smile, “I know we’re going to have fun tonight, pretty girl.”

It takes very little effort before you’re both naked and locked away in your bedroom.

Laying on your bed with your legs spread he’s holding a vibrator, an dildo you left out is lying on the bed next to him. He’s already had his fun playing with that toy. He’s decided to use his fingers and the vibrator.

His fingers are pumping in and out of you as he holds the vibrator to your puffy clit. You’ve never had a man use a vibrator while he fingers you. His fingers are long and slender and they’re brushing the perfect spot inside of you. Arching your back you try your hardest to push your pussy closer to him.

“Tsk, be a good girl and stay still.” His teasing tone makes you want to cry in the best way possible.

“Jeonghan—“ You moan.

“Yes baby?” Him using sweet pet names on you, is enough to make you wet all on its own.

“Pl-pl-ease, I need to come.” You’re a stuttering mess. You’ve been on the verge of falling apart for the last minute. You’re desperate to come at this point.

He looks up at you giving you a look of faux innocences. “Baby, you can come.”

The flood gates break and your high hits you like white hot wave. Your wall contract around his finger. You expect him to pull the vibrator away and remove his finger, but he doesn’t stop. He presses the vibrator harder against your clit. He never slows down his movement. There is a weird pressure building inside you, you’ve never experienced before.

All the nerves in your body feel electric. Your body moves on its own trying to pull away from him. He hooks his finger making sure to focus on your g spot. It’s clear Jeonghan might not just be a professor of mechanical engineering, he might be a professor on the female anatomy.

“Behave, you’re going to feel a weird pressure. Just let it go.” His low voice helps soothe.

You follow his command and let the pressure building inside you. For the first time ever as your orgasm washes over you, a liquid rushes out of you like you have never experienced before. You’ve drenched not only the towel below you, but also Jeonghan and his hand and arm. Your whole body burns feeling oddly embarrassed. Looking up completely dazed, you see a very satisfied Jeonghan staring down at you.

“Fuck, that was hot.” He practically sighs. “You did so good.” He rubs your thigh slowly. “Can you take another orgasm?”

The idea of him not fucking you after all that is absolutely insane. “Yes.”

“Hands and knees.”

Blindly you follow his command. Presenting yourself with your butt in the air. Looking over your shoulder you watch as he pumps his length a few times behind you. His hand grips your butt cheek massaging it roughly before giving it a quick smack. The moment his hand makes contact you can’t help but moan.

Taking his already hardened cock in his hand he runs it through your wet fold, gathering some of your release. “Are you ready?” He asks.

“Yes.”

Without saying anything he slowly pushes in. He’s definitely bigger than expected. You’re going to need a minute to adjust to the size of him.

“Fuck, you’re big.” You whine as he bottoms out.

Jeonghan can’t help but smile at how whiney and desperate you sound. He could get used to seeing you like this. He rubs your hip, hoping to help relax you.

“Let me know when you’re ready.”

You need a moment, you still haven’t fully adjusted to the sheer size of him.

“I’m ready.”

He grips your hips tightly, but doesn’t start moving yet. “This is gonna be rough. If you don’t like it at any point just tell me.” This man is literally about to crack you in half, and he’s being a complete sweetheart before.

“Okay.”

He pulls his hips back, pulling his entire length almost out of your gummy wall, before immediately slamming his hips back into you. He doesn’t start out giving you a slow pace, he gets right to it. Squeezing your eyes shut you, let out whimpers you’ve never made before.

The pace he’s set is practically brutal. He’s moving at a quick and deep pace. Pushing your hips back, you try to not just stand still. The flesh of your butt jiggles with each snap of his pelvis against your butt. One hand grips the flesh of your butt, squeezing it before smacking it again. At this rate you’re going to be walking around tomorrow with his hand print on your ass.

“Fuck.” He moans under his breath. You aren’t sure if he meant to say that out loud.

“Hannie—“

“You look so good like this.” He knew from the moment he met you, that you had a connection. He knew you had undeniable chemistry together. Turns out, you make an incredible pair in bed. He wishes you could have been doing this together for the last couple months. Maybe he can convince you to do this again. He definitely wants to take his time worshipping your body.

His hand wraps in your hair pulling your head back. He isn't rough with his motions. He tugs just enough to help guide you back. “Jeonghan.” You moan his name like a prayer.

“Do you like that?” He taunts you.

“Yes.” You think you would like anything he gives you.

“Can you come for me?” Wordlessly you nod you head. “Say please.”

“Please.” You cry.

He tugs on your hair earning another moan. Your third orgasm hits you as hard as the last two. You’ve never come this many times in your life. He pulls you back to his hips, his grip is bruising. His hips stutter as he comes moaning your name. He pauses for a minute, but he never releases your hair.

The room is filled with the echoing sound of both your heavy breathing. “Can you keep going?” He finally speaks. You’ve never had a man want to keep going immediately after coming.

“Yes.”

“Time to change positions. Sit on my knees.” He tugs on your hair again earning another moan. He moves you effortlessly. He’s sitting on his knees with you plastered against him. Your back is glued to his chest. His large cock is nestled inside you. His cum from his first release is starting to leak out of you, around his length. He’s released your hair, now opting to have a hand wrapped around your throat. He’s applying just enough pressure to have you feeling drunk on lust. Rolling your hips you help move yourself up and down his length.

At this angle he’s hitting a spot deep inside of you, you’ve never felt before. Your lips are parted as a mixture of pants and moans leave your lips. His other hand grips your breast, toying with your nipple for a long moment.

“Next time you’re going to ride me, and I'm going to play with your pretty nipples.” He moans into your ear.

His hand has traveled across your body while the other keeps applying pressure to your throat.

Gliding your hips up and down his length you try to keep a steady rhythm. One of his hands grips your hips helping guide you. You’ve never had sex that had felt this good. It turns out Mari wasn’t wrong, Jeonghan is wild in bed. He’s fucking you so good you just might cry. He’s pulled three orgasms out of you, and at this point he’s going to get a fourth out of you soon.

By the way Jeonghan is making you feel, you aren’t sure this could just be a casual one time thing. You could get used to the way he makes you feel, and the sweet yet dirty words he whispered into your ear.

“Hannie.” His name is a broken cry.

“Yes?” He can’t help but smile at how whiney and needy you are.

“Close.” At this point you can’t form a full sentence. He’s officially fucked you stupid.

“Be a good girl and come.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you moan. You let the hot wave take you under. You’ll gladly drown in anything Jeonghan has to offer. Your walls flutter around his length. You aren’t sure your body can take another orgasm after this one. You’re being rocked to your core. All your muscles have relaxed. Slumping back against him, you moan.

His hand grip your hips helping guide you up and down his length. Your body is practically limp as he moves you. He’s chasing his final high. He falls apart moaning your name in your ear. He slams you down against his thigh, holding you there and he continues to fill your used core with his sticky white release.

It would be an understatement to say the sex you just had with Jeonghan was earth shattering.

Wrapping his arms around you he holds you close. He leaves a trail of open mouth kisses against your neck. He’s most definitely leaving a few marks in his wake.

He helps move you off his lap. You practically flop onto the bed, feeling exhausted. You aren't sure if your limbs even work at this point. You know between your legs is a sticky mess. Jeonghan leaves the room and comes back holding a warm wash cloth.

Laying on your bed with your legs spread he’s gently wiping away the mess he’s made of you. “Do you have a spare comforter?”

“In the top shelf of my closet.” You still feel completely dazed after four orgasms.

“Let’s take a shower and then I’ll change your bedding before leaving.” He holds his hand out for you to hold.

“You’re going to leave? You’re not staying the night?” You can’t help but be disappointed, you wanted to cuddle with him after he literally made you cry from how good he was fucking you.

“I thought you wanted causal? I thought all you wanted was sex.” Jeonghan likes you, he actually likes you a lot, but he doesn’t want to push what you’re comfortable with.

“What if I changed my mind?”

He crawls over you, so he’s caging you in with his arms on either side of your head. “What do you mean Miss Librarian?”

“Well professor Yoon, if you still wanted to date me I’m very interested in you.”

Leaning forward he presses his lips to your for a heated kiss. “Did I fuck you so good, that now you want me to be your boyfriend?”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “Yes Mr.Yoon, you and your huge dick fucked me so good I need to be in a relationship.”

“Alright baby, you’ve convinced me to stay the night and start properly dating you.”

Who would have known that letting out all your sexual frustration would lead to you finding your perfect match?

"You can beg or you can rot. I shouldn't even be giving you a choice, but I just like you so much, darling." He teases, flicking at your forehead. You frown, shoving his hand away before lowering to your knees.

"Come on! I promise I won't be a douche anymore." You exclaim, and Jeonghan just laughs.

"You said that the first time we had to do this. And tell me, Y/N, were you a douche again?" "Saerom deserved it!" You hiss, pointing a menacing finger at the god.

He smirks, a thoughtful look glazing his eyes. "Maybe I should just keep you here. You'd be a nice little pet, I think." He looks around, before you shudder.

"Hell no, you'd probably make me clean the floor with my tongue." You grimace, but sigh in defeat. You feel your cheeks burn in subtle humiliation as you adjust your knees on the gravelly terrain, touching your forehead to the hot pebbles and extending your arms out flat.

You hear Jeonghan clear his throat. "Recite the oath I wrote for you." Groaning inwardly, you feel his boot toe your rib. You scowl up at him, but the glowing maroon of his eyes tell you to get on with it. While this little odd game of Jeonghan's fruitless flirting was entertaining, his process definitely took a lot out of the two of you.

Often why Wonwoo reminds you that you should be grateful Jeonghan keeps letting you get away with it, fighting with Seungcheol constantly over you.

"I apologize." You start, and Jeonghan hums.

"What are you apologizing for?" "I apologize for allowing my pride to overcome my senses and cloud my judgment, allowing me to perform in ways I wouldn't otherwise. I see that my ego has grown further than I can control, and I ask that you allow me to prove that I can be better by returning me to the Overworld and allowing me to perform differently. If I am sent back due to my behavior, I will honor the wishes of those who sent me, and perform under your watchful eye." You're sure Jeonghan can practically hear your eyes rolling, but he sighs nonetheless. "Alright, you goblin. Get up, you're forgiven." You do so excitedly, wiping away any gravel stuck to your skin. Jeonghan smiles at you, a tilt to his head before he speaks in a serious tone, his fingers carefully wrapping around the fletching of the arrow. "This is the last time, Y/N."

You quirk a brow at him as he yanks the arrow out, rolling your eyes. You couldn't really feel anything when you were down here with him, much less did you care about the blood dripping down your front. "Right, same time next week?" He shakes his head, and you feel your brow furrow. "I talked to Seungcheol. We agreed that your presence in the Overworld, while entertaining, is fruitless. You're great at what you do, and the reason Seungcheol allows it is because he's hoping you'll eventually use it for the greater good. In your first life, you decided to challenge Seungkwan of all people. Seungkwan, Y/N." "Listen, just because he–"

"No, Y/N. This is the last time. If you're sent back, you're staying here for good." Jeonghan says sternly, and you think you see a glint of disappointment in his eyes. "You're too smart to keep doing this, stop letting your ego get in the way. You're a mortal, and you will always be a mortal." He turns away from you, and you hear the heavy gates of the Underworld open. Cerberus presents himself next to you, ready to guide you back out. You watch as Jeonghan carefully takes his seat again, and you purse your lips. Your hand rests on the open wound in your torso, feeling a bit of resentment fester in your lower belly.

"How are you sending me back this time?" "I think your original form would be good, no? I know you like the crazy hair colors but we should stick to the blueprint. Maybe then you'll behave." He says, shaking his newspaper off and opening it to the crossword. "Seungkwan regrets hurting you, you know." "Yeah, right." You scoff, feeling a pang in your chest as you recall your first time landing in the Underworld. Jeonghan had nearly sprung out of his seat, his long black hair pinned back by deep purple Gladiolus flowers. You were covered in spider's thread, wrapped tightly in the web and littered with leaves and twigs.

You'd challenged Seungkwan to a weaving contest. Your father had been highly praised amongst mortals for his talent in textiles, leading you to follow his legacy – your weaving had garnered the attention of anyone within a hundred-mile radius. This lead to your chest swelling with pride at the compliments you received, and the business you were able to bring your father. But, like Icarus, you'd flown a bit too close to the Sun. You started boasting that not even the wisest and craftiest of gods could rival your talent – even going as far as saying that Seungkwan, the god of wisdom and craft, would fail at creating something even worth his weight in silk.

Once word reached him in Olympus, he agreed to face you. He presented himself in Lydia, quickly guided to the home you shared with your father by looking for your tapestries. The owl on his shoulder blinked at you, a soft chirp from its beak as you carefully lugged out a loom to your backyard, unaware of his presence.

Seungkwan had watched you carefully from his spot behind a few bushes, something Jeonghan had later told you as he unwrapped you from the web you were bound by. You soaked up the sun in your long dress, before carefully stretching your fingers and threading the yarn through the loom. You seemed at ease with the loom, comfortably and confidently weaving the yarn through your nimble fingers.

What Jeonghan didn't tell you? Seungkwan – though turned off by your ego –  was enthralled by you, his attraction only heightened by your beauty. He would've never assumed that you would blatantly boast god-like talent without an ounce of respect. It seemed now that he was wrong, as he watched the way your pride practically seeped out of your fingers as they did what you knew best. He couldn't help but feel a bit of jealousy tangle in his stomach.

Seungkwan waited three nights to return to your home, taking shelter in the forest around your town. He returned peacefully, with a clear mind as he knocked on your door. He heard soft laughter and a gentle reassurance to your aging father as you gracefully opened the door. Your eyes were hidden behind your plump cheeks, full lips spread into a smile as you greeted him.

"Hello." He didn't respond nor introduced himself, only scanning you quietly. His eyes lingered on your lips, before noting your bandaged fingers folded neatly in front of your apricot-colored skirt.

"Can I help you, sir? Are you here on business?" You'd had no idea who was in your presence. Your warm smile almost made him forget who he was.

"You're Y/N, right?"

"That's me, sir. What can I help you with? Oh, we just got a shipment of beautiful violet yarn. It's dyed–"

"I'm Seungkwan. You said you could out-weave anyone."

Your expression changed at that, your smile turning into a smirk as you looked down at your bandaged fingers.

"A god is threatened by me?" Your voice had been teasing, but it only managed to irritate him.

"On the contrary, I quite enjoy your little act. What am I, if not a just and fair opponent?" With that, your gaze hardened slightly, and you extended your hand. He shook it carefully, watching as you walked to the center of your village, your fingers reaching for the cornucopia carefully held by a stone carving of Dionysus. You brought it to your lips, blowing what seemed to be a memorized tune.

Children flooded out of homes, followed by their parents and even some domesticated animals trailed around. Everyone smiled at your presence in the center of the village as you replaced the cornucopia.

"Everyone, I thank you for coming out. It seems we've got a visitor." You'd gestured towards Seungkwan, earning various gasps and even a scream from a young child in the crowd. Murmuring had quickly started, your bandaged hands calling for their attention as you waved them around.

"Seungkwan, the god of wisdom, craft and strategy…has come to accept my challenge." There hadn't been much speaking after that – the villagers quickly moved to watch as your father and a few other people moved looms out for you and Seungkwan. Your fingers quickly threaded the yarn through yours, watching as Seungkwan took his time unraveling it and threading it through. He noted your impatience through the flare of your nostrils.

The villagers watched in awe as the two of you wove like your lives depended on it – though, your art told different stories. The people had heard tales of Seungkwan's relentless discipline, only confirmed as he weaved those tales into each corner of his tapestry – and it caused a bit of anxiety to fester in their stomachs. His tapestry held symbols of peace, his infamous olive branch weaved into every space he could fit it.

Your tapestry told tales of Seungcheol – the god of the sky and his countless romantic escapades. You shunned him, intricately weaving each and every face of his lovers with yarn and creating a bigger battle to be faced by the god himself. You took the thrill and rush of the callout to continue onto the god of music, weaving Jihoon's lyre into the tapestry with tales of his manipulation of mortals with his song, as well as his scorn. You even went as far as involving who would one day become one of your closest friends – the god of the Underworld, Jeonghan.

You wove mercilessly, spilling truths that were unbeknownst to you. You expressed resentment against Jeonghan with your yarn, spewing hatred of his isolation and cruelty towards the damned. You implemented his manipulation of other gods and mortals, his way with words and the imposement of his feelings upon the damned.

You flew too close to the Sun.

Seungkwan watched as you fell frantic with pride, your fingers working almost overtime as you burned through yarn like there was no tomorrow. He was impressed, but his expression hardened at your disrespect of the gods. What could you, a mortal, ever understand about being a god? What could you, a simple village girl who sold tapestries for a living, understand about pressure and having to guide all those to wander to where they need to be? Who were you to judge a god for having multiple lovers – had you ever had one? Who were you to talk down on a god for being cold and isolated, when you were the very same – boasting about your pride, isolating yourself to perfect a craft that would lead you to your demise? Who were you, to complain about the blessed tune of a god, can you do anything other than weave your loud-mouthed opinions?

The damned. That's who you were, if not who you would become.

"That's enough." He'd stopped you just as you reached the end of your yarn, tearing through the tapestry you'd woven before him. Your mouth fell, watching as the god ripped your work to shreds. You, ever so human…said exactly what passed through your head.

"You gods could never imagine someone to be better than you. You, of all gods, could never accept someone that's more capable than you. Someone faster, someone wiser–"

Seungkwan decided your idea of friendly competition had taken a turn for the worse. He simply held the shreds of your work in his hands, and gave you a stern look. "Pride will get you killed, you know." And, it did. However, you didn't exactly know how, and neither did Jeonghan – just that you were wrapped in the web, with spider-like limbs protruding amongst the rubbish tangled in the spindle and your dark hair framing your tear stained face.

It seemed you couldn't get enough of the thrill, though.

You begged Jeonghan to set you free and send you back – but Jeonghan knew of your insults directed at him through your tapestry. He'd clicked his tongue at you, eyeing your clothing. Your skirt was made of only the finest thread, your fingers bleeding through the taped cloth on them. Your hair was tangled and your skin was dull, and you were truly coming to the realization that that was all you were. A human, a mortal. A plaything, if he so desired.

Nothing in comparison to Jeonghan. Nothing in comparison to Seungcheol, Jihoon and, as much as you hated to admit it, Seungkwan.

He'd made you apologize, and he kept you in the Underworld for three days and three nights. By then, Wonwoo had come to fetch you – called by Jeonghan and Seungcheol. You'd met Wonwoo several times, often trading your finest tapestries for anything he'd give you.

He'd made you and your father a special pair of scissors in exchange for a woven satchel and the cloak you'd made of hemp for him, dyed carefully with safflower petals. He wore them as he sauntered into the Underworld, bearing a gift for Jeonghan – a pomegranate, forged from bronze and riddled with garnets of all shapes and sizes. He offered Jeonghan it as a trade-off for you, and the god accepted – not saying anything about you being free to return to the Overworld. But not without a catch, and not without a punishment.

What was the catch? 

You looked nothing like yourself. You were…different. Different slopes in your nose, different curves of your ears and your legs shorter. Your fingers permanently bruised from your past life of weaving and hubris.

And it happened again, and again, and again – until Jeonghan expected you to crash into the graveled ground like a spider falling from the sky. He'd always give you the same look, the same sigh, and the same flirtatious routine. Though, the more he saw you, the more he grew fond of you. He enjoyed humiliating you, watching you squirm under his gaze – but by your eighth visit, he was tired of the act.

Wonwoo was the only one who knew how much you'd been thrust in and out of the Underworld, offering you his spare room. He and his wife had long separated, so you were simply filling the void of a companion for him.

The punishment for your shenanigans? You lost your father, and didn't get to say goodbye.

Wonwoo took care of him, from a distance, while you were routinely jostled through the experience of living and dying, and physical change. Your father was never allowed any information about you, simply being told that you'd disappeared. No one expected him to live on in peace without his only daughter –  and he fell ill with worry and stress – leaving the god of fire to beg Seungcheol to let you return to him for a final goodbye. Seungcheol refused, and your father died after three nights of hard rainfall. 

Your punishment was not the worst there was. You knew that – but it still aches deep within. You challenged anyone and anything, you didn't really care to find a cure for your pain. You fought against anyone who would allow you to – your latest quest proving that you could entice anyone into a fight far quicker than Saerom, the goddess of discord and strife.

She obviously didn't take too kindly to that, sending you back down to the Underworld with a golden arrow in your chest. Leading you to this very conversation with Jeonghan – potentially your last ever conversation with him where he doesn't banish you to the depths of hell with all those who have wronged him.

You sigh, glancing down at your fingers. The same bloodied cloth from all those years ago reappeared on your hands, your bruised fingertips softly throbbing. Your apricot skirt hung carefully on your hips, the bandage top now carefully wrapped around your torso. You felt the weight of your jewelry return to your ears and neck, the singular ruby ring sitting snugly around your right thumb.

"Are you sure? Won't they remember me?" You ask softly, and for once, Jeonghan can see inner turmoil. He shakes his head. "Everyone has either left or died. And, you're always welcome to move around as well. As far as I know…they need a weaver in Olympus."

You look up to see Jeonghan's maroon eyes glint with mischief, his smile wide as Cerberus grunts next to you. Seeing your lips curl gently, he waves his fingers at you. "I'll see you in a few decades, yeah?"

Nodding, you take a deep breath before turning your back on him, seeing the three-headed beast begin to lead the way out. "I'll see you, Jeonghan."

TWO.

Seungkwan was restless.

He promised his life to this. A life of being just, a life of being fair, a life of being a pure and sound god with nothing but the best of intentions for the mortals he helped guide. A life of losing himself, and his own desires, in order to be there for those who truly needed help, those who were truly in need of guidance and a path to follow.

He was there to answer questions and solve problems. He was there to make decisions for everyone who needed him to.

Who answers his questions? Who solves his problems, who makes decisions for him when he is too overwhelmed to think for himself? Nobody. If he doesn't do it, it simply won't get done.

He'd even attempted to take lovers in, trying to kiss and touch his way out of his own stress only to pull away before things got too heated. He couldn't, in good faith, allow himself to submit to just anyone. The mortals were just excited to be with a god, someone who could easily break them, someone who was deemed an esteemed part of their community – he didn't want them to see him like that, not during an intimate affair. He wasn't just a notch on a bedpost; he too, felt things. He'd see hurt flash through their eyes as he casted them away, shame radiating off his shoulders as they gathered their clothing and left his temple.

He felt like something was missing in all of them. He thought about it tirelessly – he felt attracted to them. He felt lust, he felt desire, but nothing got him to the point where he felt it could be quenched. His yearning for someone deeper, someone real, someone deserving of him ate away at his heart.

He sighed, hearing the echo of his shoes against the marble tile of the temple. He'd had a long day, only to be rang with yet another qualm – a mortal who searched for a job was granted access to his temple, and had been sent by Jeonghan and brought to the sacred home by Vernon, Wonwoo, and Cerberus.

Jeonghan said the mortal was good at almost anything and everything, and was looking for a mentor to take her under as she had no remaining family in all of Olympus. Vernon and Cerberus came into view as Seungkwan reached the open doors of the temple, hearing soft laughter rip through the air as Wonwoo appeared as well, but it wasn't from him.

He sees a bandaged hand resting lightly on Wonwoo's shoulder, a hint of an apricot skirt peeking from behind Vernon's leg.

"I've missed you, Wonwoo."

His ears perk at the tone of voice. It's soft, it's melodic, it's teasing. 

He clears his throat, the three-headed beast flaring its nostrils as Seungkwan takes the steps down to the gathered polycule. Wonwoo smiles at him, something mirrored by Vernon as he quickly spins around. Cerberus carefully lowers to the ground, watching Seungkwan's every move as he clears his throat again.

"Gentlemen?" He questions, and Wonwoo steps aside. He sees the long, dark hair he spun into cobwebs so long ago flowing freely down your back once more. The sliver of your honeyed skin peering through the white bandage top you wore, your taped fingers folded in front of the loose apricot skirt you wore that very day.

"Hello." You speak softly, and Seungkwan doesn't reply as your smile reaches your eyes, the same way it had the first day he'd met you. He looks at Vernon, who shrugs. Wonwoo does the same, before holding up his satchel.

"She won't take up much space, and she can help you with anything you need here. Jeonghan said to talk to Seungcheol if you have any issues." Wonwoo seems to speak as though his word is law, making Seungkwan's jaw tick. They knew how meticulous he was – a place for everything and everything in its place. His home was holy to him, his gardens crafted so not even a single blade of grass was out of place. His windows washed morning and night to let the light in perfectly, his meals like clockwork.

He wasn't sure if there was a place for you here.

Seungkwan can't bring himself to say anything to Wonwoo and Vernon, who seem dead set on leaving you here. You carefully open Wonwoo's satchel, holding out a hemp sash. It was dyed a soft olive green, likely from nettle or dandelion leaves.

"For you. They said you like green." He sucks his teeth, taking it gently from your hands and draping it over his forearm. Wonwoo smiles to himself as you move to stand by Seungkwan's side, who shuffles a bit away from you. Seungkwan was never one to shy away from a mortal, he took his job seriously.

"Well." Vernon gives a smirk, one full of mirth as he pats the scaly beast next to him. "It's best we get going, Wonwoo here has got quite the journey back to Lydia." "So you're just going to leave her here?" Seungkwan asks, a bit of a bite in his tone making Wonwoo grin.

"You'll find a job for her, right? She's good at everything, she can even make you tapestries to help decorate. Your place feels like a prison sometimes." Seungkwan scowls at this, the older man reaching to pinch his cheek gently. "We'll see you around, Boo. We'll come check on you every few weeks, try not to rip each other's heads off." The men turn on their heels and saunter off without so much as a second glance or word to either of you. He can feel you practically vibrating as they walk into the distance. He doesn't know if it's nerves or excitement, but he can't bring himself to ask as he notices your body is covered in quite a thick layer of grime. There is black streaks of dirt all over your shoulder, your arms covered in green, likely from dying the sash.

"You need a bath." He states, missing your scowl as he turns, marching back into the temple quickly. You pull your skirt up to scamper after him, your worn leather sandals clicking against the tile. He silently leads the way to a large bathroom, a clawfoot tub in the center surrounded by beautiful herbal soaps and sprigs of lavender and rosemary.

"Have you any other clothing?" He asks, carefully turning the knobs of the tub and receiving a steady flow of water.

He rings his ringed fingers under it as you shake your head. "No, just…this."

You gesture at your dirty clothing, making him click his tongue as he nods. "I'll find something. Feel free to use anything here, and I'll be back."

He can feel your eyes trail after him as he leaves, before hearing the soft thwip of your clothing being pulled off your body, the jingle of your jewelry being pooled together. He hears the splash of the water as you lower yourself into the tub, and a hum as you test the temperature.

He scurries off to his bedroom, throwing open a few of his drawers to see if he has anything he could offer you. You looked exactly the same as before, but he'd sworn that you'd died. He'd wrapped the cobweb so tight, he was sure you would have kicked the bucket at some point.

But, here you were. As if you didn't remember, as if nothing had happened between the two of you that would make you want to hate him. He had to tell you, right? It was the just thing to do, the honest and right thing to do.

He grimaces to himself, yanking a white chiton out of his drawer. It'd been a gift from a former lover, but it'd be your pajamas for the night. He shuffles around for towels, taking the softer ones out of his closet before trekking back out and hearing you hum a soft melody. One that reminded him of Jihoon, his tunes of love and desperate isolation.

When you come back into view, your entire body is submerged below the soapy water. The bandages on your fingers soaked through as your hand dangles over the edge of the tub, your thumb ring a sparkling contrast. Your legs are crossed, one foot in the air as you examine your toes. It was like it was your first time on Earth.

"Here." He drapes the items over the towel rack a few inches away, and you look up at him. Your face was stained as well, a few odd lines likely from streaming tears paving their way through the dirt on your cheeks. You give him a smile.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" You ask gently, and he sighs, folding his hands in front of him before nodding. You sit up, your bare chest peeking over the soap as he looks away. "I can't…my fingers are really messed up."

You hold your hand up, the bandages threatening to peel off before you close your fingers again. "Can you wash my hair?" This is innocent. Even seeing you in the nude, meant nothing to him. He'd done this for dozens of mortals who had worked under him. He knew he was a tough guy to please, his perfectionism often shown in the pricking of his pupils' fingers and their sore joints. He nods.

"As you wish." He moves around as you adjust, dragging a stool from behind the door to the tub and lingering at a shelf in the wall. "Rosemary? Lavender? Thyme?" He gestures at the jars of infused shampoos, and you shrug your shoulders.

"Whatever you'd like is fine." He plucks the rosemary shampoo off the shelf, opting to roll his sleeves up and sliding his rings off before he sits at the stool. He shoves the rings in his pocket, before running his fingers under the running water once more to ensure its warmth.

"Lean back for me." He murmurs, and you tilt your head back, letting the water stream over your hairline and brows. Your eyes flicker open, watching as his hands gently card through the tangled locks, carefully undoing the knots you'd acquired.

It's not long before his dull nails are working the shampoo into your scalp softly, making your shoulders sag in relief. He assumes you'd been gone for a very long time, probably under the watchful eye of Jeonghan and whatever other damned souls were down there. He scratches behind your ears softly, making you shiver and close your eyes as you lean into the touch.

"How long has it been since you've had a bath?" He asks aloud, and you sigh quietly. 

"In this form, or the others?" 

"The others?" He echoes, and you peel an eye open to look at him.

"I remember you, you know." He tries not to let relief show in his face as he nods with an unimpressed look. "I figured as much, otherwise Jeonghan wouldn't have sent you here. Your second chance is my punishment." "My ninth chance." You murmur as he tilts your head back into the running water, the shampoo running off the sides. You close your eyes again, and Seungkwan says nothing as he rakes his fingers through your hair. He gently rubs the dirt off your cheeks before you move away.

"I don't expect you to like me, nor do I expect you to do me any favors beyond this one. I'm only here because Jeonghan said he wouldn't send me back again, so I have to be on my best behavior." You mutter, sitting up before tugging your bandages off with your teeth and flinging the wet cloth onto the floor by your dirty clothes. Seungkwan grimaces, before watching as you grab a bar of soap and run it under the water.

"I can take care of myself. You can go now." You say, the gentle tone gone as you lather the soap off the bar and gently work it into your face. Your fingers are so bruised he worries they hurt. 

He stands, replacing the stool to its rightful spot and moving towards the door, stopping at the threshold. "Your room is down the corridor to the left. You are the only other person in the temple, so you will have to work with me if you want to stay here. I hope that's understood." He doesn't give you a chance to reply before closing the bathroom door behind him, almost slamming it as he walks away. He walks to his kitchen, dragging a tub of beeswax his previous pupil had collected carefully over the course of her time in his temple. She tended to his gardens, before sending her on her way back to her village with a new skill to use for profit.

He can hear you clamber about, but chooses to focus on his task. He's carefully melting the beeswax in a pot, when he hears you walking around the temple. He doesn't move except to gather his ingredients – peppermint oil, calendula infused oil, olive oil. It would help your fingers, and hopefully you wouldn't be so stuck in your ways this time that you end up hurting yourself trying to be the best.

Something he has yet to learn how to stop doing – but if he admits to imperfection, if he admits to flaws, is he a god? You're pacing around the temple and taking everything in, he can practically hear you murmuring to yourself as you wander into the kitchen, nearly bumping into the dining table.You catch yourself, and he continues to watch you out of the corner of his eye as you pick through the fruit in the bowl. You pull an apple, rubbing the skin against his chiton. 

Your teeth sink into the flesh of the fruit, the crunch satisfying to his ears as you inch closer to him. You're peering over his shoulder, when he finally speaks.

"Do you always just make yourself at home?" He asks, and you're so close to him he can practically feel the shrug of your shoulders. 

"This is home, isn't it? I'm here for a while, maybe the rest of my measly, mortal life. Might as well be a nuisance to you, oh wise one"

You're teasing him, provoking him. He knows he shouldn't buy into it, that's what landed you back here in the first place. "Watch it." He snaps, and you giggle behind him.

"Whatever you say." Your words are drawn out as you prance out of the room, a hum from your throat as you do so. He grumbles to himself as he measures out everything perfectly, heating everything just right so it will help your fingers in the best way possible. He should be freaking out. He should be storming the Underworld right now, demanding Jeonghan take you back to whatever hell you were in before he sent you to him. He should be angry that you're in his presence, your ego so hard to swallow even when now you've only been sent back as a way for Seungkwan to right his wrongs. Or so he thinks.

However, just as you are vain and you are prideful, Seungkwan is selfish and Seungkwan is intolerant of your disrespect. It could very well be a challenge not only sent by Jeonghan but by Seungcheol, to prove his worthiness and show that he can be perfect, too.

Not that any of the gods were perfect by any means.

He sighs, carefully pouring the mixture into a tin, where it'll slightly solidify and you'll be able to use it as a salve for your tired hands. And eventually, your tired feet, because you certainly won't have any downtime.

He carefully walks back towards his bedroom, the hot tin in his hand as he does so. Your head of curls is seen ducking into the room, and he tries to hold back his annoyance as he turns into the room as well.

"What are you doing here?" He announces as you throw open his shutters, the moonlight illuminating the room and your frame as you stare out the window at the rolling hills of his backyard. You don't look back at him as you take another bite of your apple, crossing your arms and leaning on the windowsill before responding around your food.

"I told you, this is my home now, too." He doesn't respond, choosing to slide the hot tin onto his vanity before carefully slipping his shirt over his head, the worn wool tossed into a woven basket by the door. You're not looking at him, but he's hoping you'll get the hint and get out as he disappears into his closet. He removes the rest of his attire, grabbing his robe and tying it around himself before exiting the closet to see you now draped across his reading chair, a lit candle in your hand as you skimmed his open books.

"You have books in your room," he calls, and your eyes twinkle with something he can't place as you blow out the candle. He watches as you replace it gently, and push off his chair. 

"Goodnight, wisest one." You blow him a kiss as you skip out of his room, and he feels like he might be stuck in a constant state of déjà vu. He shakes his head, grabbing a towel before heading towards the bathroom. He sees your clothes still gathered on the floor, struggling not to roll his eyes as he drapes his towel over the rack, carefully picking your clothes up and placing them inside a wooden basket by the door. He turns the water on, and is about to take his robe off when he hears you knock at the door.

"Kwannie? Can I call you Kwannie?" You call, and he tongues his cheek in annoyance as he flings open the door. 

"Yes, Y/N? How can I help you?" You shrug, "I don't like my bed. Can I have yours?" He scoffs out a laugh, before seeing you blink up at him owlishly. "You're not being serious." "But I am, Kwannie! I'm a guest, you wouldn't let your guest sleep on that horrible bed, would you? You're a gracious host." Your hands are holding onto the fabric of his robe, your thumbs circling it before his hands are on your wrists, pulling them off him.

"You take what you're given, threadling." His voice is stern, and he's about to close the door when he sees the pout on your lips, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose before sighs. "Fine, take the bed." "Really!?" You squeal, making him shut the door in your face. 

"Don't. Just go to bed."

Seungkwan couldn't stop thinking after that. He quietly slipped into his bedroom after his bath, seeing you sound asleep with his pillow covered in your mess of curls. Your lips were slightly parted, slivers of your teeth illuminated by the moonlight. He took the moment to look closely at your face, a few surface-level scars scattered across your skin. Your eyes were thickly lashed and you had deep bags from lack of rest.

You left the other side of the bed with the covers pulled back, almost inviting him to slide in with you. He eyes it, taking the pillow and tucking it under his arm.

He sat at his desk, watching your even breathing as he slid the pillow against his lower back. He wonders who else you challenged and why they sent you back. He wonders why they gave you so many chances as a mere mortal, and why Seungcheol didn't strike you down the moment your insults gained wind.

"Stop staring at me."

Your voice rang through the room, and Seungkwan just tilted his head.

"No." Your head moves up slightly, and you sigh. "Whatever." You roll onto your side, facing away from the open window. The moonlight now shines on your back and legs, and he notes the way your feet peek out from under the wool blanket. Your toenails are painted in a chipped carmine, and he simply sighs to himself as he crosses his arms over his chest and attempts to get comfortable in the wooden rocking chair.

"You'd be much more comfortable on the bed." You call, and he hums in response. His head rests against the wooden rest, crossing his legs at the ankles as you sit up. "Seungkwan." "Yes, threadling?" His eyes are closed, hands folded in his lap as he responds. He shows no interest in what you could possibly have to say. You're just another chore to him, another mission he must complete to prove himself. He'd be a fool to fall for your charms, or your deceptions. You could flirt all you want, you could challenge him all you want – but he won't give in to you.

Not again.

THREE.

The night had continued without another word from either of you, and you were not in bed when he woke up. He heard the soft running of water and assumed you decided to bathe once more. Seungkwan's back was incredibly sore, but he rose with the sun anyway. He stretched on his patio, before retreating into the kitchen to make breakfast – spotting you tinkering in there already.

You're not wearing what he gave you yesterday – instead, a red, glittering sash from his collection bunched and pinned, tied around your waist like a skirt. It dropped to your mid-thigh, and your chest was covered by a pinned piece of white linen you'd likely found in his closet, something he didn't have use for.

You really knew how to make something out of almost nothing.

You stood in front of his stone oven, holding the wooden peel as a staff and tapping your bare foot against the marble floor. He peers over your shoulder to see a dimpled focaccia with halved cherry tomatoes and coarse salt above the flame. Your eyes are illuminated by the fire baking it, and your shoulders jump when you hear him speak behind you.

"What are you doing?" "Making bread. We should really go to the market, you've run out of fish." You respond, gesturing to the table. He looks over his shoulder, seeing an array of fresh fruit and goat cheese neatly placed on plates from his cupboard. There is a pile of juiced oranges and a few carrot peels in his compost bin, and the juice sits in a pitcher next to the jar of honey.

"I left a salve for you on the vanity. Did you put it on?" He asks, not moving from behind you. You nod, holding up your free hand. Your fingers are freshly bandaged, this time in strips of linen. The salve was carefully spread around your fingertips.

"Why are you being so nice to me? You killed me off eight years ago, what makes now any different?" Your question catches him a bit off guard. His head whips up to look at you, and sees you already staring down at home. The flame in your eyes is just as intense, if not more, than the one in the oven. It's like you resent him.

"I'm not a human. I don't have to admit or explain anything to you, we're not the same." He speaks with confidence, and it only makes your brow furrow deeper.

"You don't have to be human to admit your wrongdoings. You killed me off because I made you look bad, Seungkwan." He scoffs, adjusting his pajama shirt. "I sent you to the Underworld because your ego was absolutely suffocating. I don't understand how anyone within a ten-foot radius wasn't crushed by the sheer weight of your hubris."

"Isn't this my land, too? Isn't this where I can express my feelings and my rights, where I can–" His hand comes up, cutting you off just like he did the day you left.

"You are a human. You can train to be the best, you can try to do whatever you desire in this world. You will never be perfect, therefore you cannot compare where you don't compete." He can tell the words hurt you as your eyes glaze over slowly, but you refuse to back down.

"I may not be perfect, but you're also far from it." You grumble, turning away from him to take the bread out of the oven. "Being a god means nothing. You're just like me, all you've got is something fancy to show for it. Something that proves that there are favorites in this world. Without your so-called wisdom, without your so-called perfect presentation, you'd be just like me." He doesn't speak, feeling a bit of fury pool in his stomach.

You carefully pull the bread out of the oven, sliding it onto the cooling rack you left on the counter. You adjust the wooden peel against the wall, before turning to him with one last slip of your tongue.

"You may be a god. You may be good at what you represent, you may be rich in wealth and you may be handsome. Your fellow gods boast your compassion, but you've shown me none. You are nothing but a frail shadow of a man playing pretend, nothing but someone who lacks what life is truly rich with – love." His eyes scan your face.

"What would you even know about love?" He doesn't like the way you smile at him.

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you? You'd want me to tell you all my secrets, to show you what it's like to be normal and not have to live up to anyone's unrealistic expectations." You're stepping closer, a finger to his chest as you speak. "You'd love to know what the touch of a woman feels like, what it's like to be coddled and kissed and touched until you can't think anymore." You're so close that your lips are brushing the shell of his ear now, and he can feel your lips curl into a smirk as you whisper.

"You want to be forgiven for your sins, but you know if you ever so much as think of telling anyone how much of a screw-up you really are, you'll be seen as less than. Less than your peers, and a disappointment to your elders. You want to be loved, but to be loved is to be known. I don't think you're ready for that."

He feels you brush past him, and his face heats in embarrassment as he hears your feet patter away, and the door of your bedroom shut tightly.

He ignores the tear that slips down his face, letting it drip onto the floor as he scans the array of breakfast once more. He's not hungry. He hates that you've chipped a bit away at his façade, he hates that you're able to read him so easily. It only means he has to try harder to dominate this relationship.