i could be your supermodel if you see it in me

Before Edward’s birth, Libby had moved out of the Smiths’ familial home and into a small, vacant dwelling near the schoolhouse. She had felt that bringing a newborn, who would surely cry through the night, into an already overburdened household was a step too far. There was only so much hospitality that could be endured.

And as Edward grew, Libby's exhaustion grew too. She spent hours rocking him to sleep or reading Shakespeare's sonnets to soothe him during the early hours when he awoke fractious and alone. Her every waking moment, when she was not teaching, was consumed by caring for Edward.

As she arrived at the schoolhouse every morning, the burden of a dual life pressed down on her shoulders. Running a home, a schoolhouse, and raising her six-month-old son left her worn out and feeling like she was barely holding things together. 

Months had passed since the news of the Triple Frontier Gang and their potential demise. Libby had grieved in private, hoping against hope that Frankie had survived, that the whole gang was alive. But no more news came and the excitement of their daring raid had faded in the minds of the Longshorn townsfolk. Stories of the Triple Frontier Gang soon became background gossip. No longer a burning topic of conversation around the township, they were passed over in favor of more recent news. Consigned to legend and folklore.

But not in Libby's mind. Deep down, she still clung onto the idea that Frankie might be alive. Perhaps he was still living in the wilderness, or hiding in bustling Sacramento. It was a shred of hope that kept her putting one foot in front of the other. But left in a state of perpetual limbo, the lack of further news was concerning.

And as the weeks passed, her hope, like the townsfolk's interest in their demise, began to wane. There was no sign of Frankie appearing unannounced on her doorstep. No evidence of him being in the vicinity. No whispers of strangers appearing in town. No letters slipped into mailboxes.

Instead, silence. Just an aching, empty void.

One particular late summer morning as all hope faded, Libby stepped inside her schoolhouse and was greeted by a letter waiting for on her desk.

It was an elegant letter, crafted with the care of someone who had put thought into every detail. The cream paper felt heavy and expensive in her hands, its texture smooth and delicate. Libby ran her fingers over the envelope reverently, But she knew no one who would use such expensive paper to write on. Her eyes dropped to the red wax seal, scanning for any identifying mark. But there was no clue as to who had sent it.

Both equal parts mystified and curious, her breath was unsteady as she carefully flipped it over, breaking the seal with trembling fingers. 

For a brief moment, she wondered if it might have come from Frankie, or perhaps from one of the other members of the Triple Frontier Gang. Maybe it contained news of his fate?

The thought was overwhelming. She had to stop, steady herself, and take a breath to recompose.

Inside, the letter was written in fine, cursive handwriting. Each word was perfectly formed by a steady, deliberate hand. She began to read, her heart hammering in her chest.

  "Dear Mrs. Green," it began.

  Libby flinched involuntarily. Although It was the name she had kept to avoid the judgment of the town, she still hated being reminded of her former husband. A name that she felt compelled to use like a shield. A shield that protected both her and her baby boy from the harsh realities of judgement, but a lie that she resented.

She read on, despite the tightness that was now rising in her chest.

  "It has come to my attention that you have been doing a sterling job in Longhorn. I have recently taken on the role of Mayor in Willow Creek in an attempt to clean up this town, and feel that the children of the good townsfolk could benefit from a teacher such as yourself."

  Libby paused, her eyes scanning the elegant script. There was no mistaking the sincerity in the words, but she felt something cold clutching at her heart. She wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread.

She skipped ahead to the bottom, hoping to recognize a name, but the letter was simply signed from the Mayor’s office. There was no signature she recognized.

Her eyes drifted back up to the next paragraph.

  "I would be willing to increase your current salary and offer you a home to live in next to the schoolhouse free of charge."

  At this, Libby’s chest tightened with an almost physical pain. The offer was too good to ignore. Too good for anyone in her position. 

Yet, as her fingers clutched the paper, a single thought raced through her mind, cutting through the haze of practicality. How could I leave?

She couldn’t do it. Not now, not ever. Longhorn was where she had told Frankie she would be. The place she had hoped he would find her, if he ever returned. Although she suspected that his continued silence meant that he was no longer of this world, she had no true way of knowing if he was indeed alive. Consequently,  at present, the thought of leaving would feel like abandoning the very thread of hope she had left. It would be tantamount to admitting her loss, but also, if she left and he was still alive, how would he ever find her? 

How could he if she moved on?

With a deep breath, Libby drew herself up. Her decision was made. She set the letter down, her hands shaking slightly as she read through the offer once more, each word an opportunity for a new life she couldn’t take. Then, with a steely resolution and shaky breath, she tore the letter into tiny pieces and threw them into the fireplace. She watched solemnly as paper fluttered into the fire. Gone forever.

The flames crackled as the tiny shreds of paper caught light and then disappeared into nothing. Libby sat back, feeling strangely empty and yet resolute.

She wasn’t prepared to let go just yet.

Not yet.

Too busy to dwell on the loss of that fleeting chance, she turned back to the task at hand, picking up the pieces of her life and carrying on just as she had been doing for the last six months. She would continue to juggle teaching with raising her child, always with the hope that one day, she might see Frankie again and that he might yet meet his son, but knowing deep down that she couldn’t let herself be distracted by dreams of what could have been.

  ****

Two more weeks passed. Two more weeks of juggling teaching, caring for her baby, maintaining her home. 

Homework marked, a baby fed, napkins changed, clothes washed. Exhaustion.

And then she repeated the process over and over again, never pausing to rest.

And then, another letter arrived.

This one was strikingly similar to the first—a pristine envelope of the same expensive, heavyweight paper. Libby felt a surge of irritation rising in her chest. Not again, she thought, her resolve hardening. She had no time for more temptation, more offers of a life she couldn’t take.

But, as her fingers brushed the delicate paper, a strange, insistent curiosity pushed her to open it. She hesitated, feeling a knot form in her stomach, but curiosity won out.

Carefully, she unfolded the letter and read, her eyes tracing the neat, looping script. The words were almost identical to the first letter, but this time, the offer was even more generous.

  "I would like to offer you an even greater increase in salary," the letter stated. "The funds I’m offering are substantial—more than enough for you to live on."

  Libby’s breath caught in her throat. The money was far more than she could have imagined. With it, she could afford help and ease the burden she carried, the endless cycle of teaching, cleaning, and caring for her son. It was a solution that made sense, one that would take a weight off her shoulders, a way to give her child the future he deserved.

She read on.

  “As a token, a small parcel of literary classics will be delivered to you as a gesture of goodwill.”

  She had to sit down at that, in shock. Who on earth would send her a collection of books? How did this person even know that she possessively clung to her books like a lifeline.

But as she sat there, the paper in her hand, the temptation to change her life, to choose a more comfortable path, whirled in her mind. Her heart, though, was still tethered to Longhorn, to the hope that Frankie might one day return, alive and redeemed. The letter seemed to promise so much, so much more than she had ever imagined for herself.

Libby read the letter once more, her eyes following the words. She could feel a conflict stirring deep inside her. It seemed so simple, the offer was so tempting and so full of possibilities. But it came with its own set of sacrifices, sacrifices that made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t quite explain. She tucked the letter carefully into her apron pocket. Tempting as this new letter was, she couldn’t afford to make a hasty decision. 

As she moved through the schoolhouse, she found that she could not focus on anything. The second letter burned a hole in her pocket. It whispered to herself all day long as a constant reminder of the decision she may be forced to make.

As the afternoon lessons wore on, her thoughts kept drifting back to the words she had read. She found herself fumbling through Latin phrases, her normally sharp mind slipping as she tried to teach her students. The children giggled at her mistakes, but Libby wasn’t really there with them. Her mind was far away, lost in the possibilities this new letter had provoked. Her natural rhythm was broken, and she kept losing her place during the afternoon story. The room buzzed, but all Libby could think of was her future. Edward's future. The choice she had to make between the life she had built and the one she might be able to create if she took the offer.

When the bell rang, she waved the children out of the classroom at the end of the day, thinking only of the letter.

She picked up Edward from Mrs. Smith. Her questions about his day were short, polite and perfunctory. Her mind was consumed with the letter.

The evening stretched on, and when Edward had finally fallen asleep, Libby sat in the dim light of her small house, brooding over the contents of that piece of expensive paper. The quiet of the house was almost deafening, and in the stillness, the weight of her decision became intolerable.

When she couldn’t bear it anymore, she moved to her writing bureau. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took out her own finest writing paper, pen poised in her hand. She had to write. She had to make a decision, or at least, take a step toward one. She dipped the nib into the ink pot and began to write. 

  Dear Sir,

  Thank you for your kind offer. I am very interested in taking up the position, but I have a few provisos before I make my decision. I would like to visit your township and meet you in person.

  Yours faithfully,

Mrs. Elizabeth Green.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. Sealing the envelope carefully, her hands became unsteady now that it was written. It was a small step, a tentative reach toward something she wasn’t sure she was ready for. As she placed the envelope on the kitchen table, she realized that even this felt like a betrayal. It was like taking a step away from everything that she had fought so hard to build in Longhorn. The thought of leaving, of moving forward without knowing what had become of Frankie, made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t bear.

Libby decided that she would sleep on it. She needed more time to think, to clear her mind. But as she slipped into bed that night, sleep refused to come. Her mind was restless, replaying scenes from her past, flashing moments of Frankie—his face, his touch, the way he had made her feel alive again, if only for a brief moment. In the quiet of the night, his voice seemed to echo in her dreams, weaving through the fabric of her sleep, telling her what she already knew deep down—that she had to take the job. You can’t stay here forever, she imagined him saying. You have a future, Elizabeth. You have to let go of Longhorn. Of me.

The dreams twisted and turned, blurring between the past and the present. Libby awoke with a jolt, her body weary and drained, as if she hadn’t slept at all. The sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, but the morning light brought little comfort. 

The weariness of the restless night’s dreams carried over into her waking hours. She felt as though she was swimming underwater. Her body felt heavy and fatigued. Every time she looked at her son, sleeping peacefully beside her, all she saw was Frankie. She saw his eyes in Edward’s. Those same dark, soulful eyes that had captivated her. Eyes that still haunted her dreams regularly.

The future she had longed for, the one she had built in her heart, was slipping further away, and she didn’t know if she was ready to let go of the hope that one day, Francisco Morales might come back to her.

She sat there, frozen in the quiet, her hands clutching the edge of the blankets as the enormity of her decision pressed down on her. 

Could she really leave Longhorn, leave behind the life she had created, just to chase the possibility of something more? Or was she simply running from the pain of her past, from the life she had wanted but could never have?

Her son stirred beside her, a tiny frown pulling at his forehead, and Libby felt a wave of love wash over her, stronger than anything she had felt in a long time. She kissed his forehead softly, a tear slipping down her cheek, as she whispered to herself, For you, Edward. I will make the right choice.

But in her heart, she still wasn’t sure what that choice was.

Before dropping Edward off at Mrs. Smith's house, Libby decided to change her usual morning route to the schoolhouse. The weight of the decision she had made the night before hung heavy in the air, and today, she would drop the letter off at the town's postal service. With Edward cradled gently in her arms, she walked through the town, the cool morning breeze waking her up fully. Her fingers tightened around the letter she had written in response to the Mayor’s offer, a feeling of unease rising within her with every step.

She stopped outside the general store clutching the letter in her hand. Before stepping inside, she stopped to ask herself if this was what she really truly wanted. Once that letter was handed over, there was no going back.

Gathering up her inner courage, she stepped over the threshold and up to the post office counter inside. Her hand trembled as she handed the letter to the Postmaster. She tried to smile a cheerful good morning, but the action felt oddly forced. Her heart thumped in her chest as she watched him take it from her, sealing the envelope with finality. It would soon be on its way to Willow Creek. She had made the decision, and soon enough, it would be out of her hands.

After dropping Edward off at Mrs. Smith’s house, she forced herself to move forward with the day. The hours at the schoolhouse passed in a blur. The lesson plans she had carefully prepared unfolded as usual, and the children settled into their studies. For a brief moment, it almost felt like things could continue on like this—her life, her routine, the quiet but steady passing of days. But even as she taught, a part of her couldn’t stop thinking about what she had done. She had taken the first step toward a future without Francisco, without the hope she’d once clung to. The idea of leaving Longhorn, of taking Edward away, felt more real now. There was no turning back, no more waiting for the man who might never return. The hope she had kept alive for so long was slipping away, and with it, the last of her dreams for the life she’d hoped for.

When the third letter arrived quickly, it caught her by surprise. This letter looked just like the others. Its beautiful, high-quality paper with elegant handwriting seemed to demand all of her attention. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest as she reached for it, her fingers shaking as she tried to slide it from the envelope. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to steady herself, sitting down at the table to regain some composure.

Her hands trembled, she carefully unfolded the letter and read its contents:

  Dear Mrs. Green,

  I would be delighted to accommodate you for a visit to our town and a viewing of our schoolhouse. I will send a carriage for you at 9 o'clock sharp on Saturday morning. If this is not acceptable to you, I await your updated suggestion. Otherwise, I look forward to meeting you on the aforementioned day.

  Libby read the letter over again, her heart pounding with each word. This was it. The offer had been accepted. It was real now, and there was no escaping it. The decision had been made. She could feel the weight of it all. The possibility of a new beginning, of leaving Longhorn behind, of starting fresh in a town where no one knew her.

The thought made her stomach churn anxiously. The idea of leaving the town she had come to call home was unsettling, but it was a step forward, a way to secure a better future for herself and Edward.

Her mind wandered to Francisco, to the man who had once held her in his arms and told her he loved her. She thought of the life they could have had, of what could have been, but she had to face the truth. He was gone indefinitely, and no amount of hoping and waiting would bring him back. She was alone, and it was time to move on. Edward needed stability, and Libby needed to build a life that didn’t depend on memories of what could have been with a better salary and prospects.

With a sigh, Libby picked up her pen and quickly scribbled a hasty reply, agreeing to the visit. She sealed the letter with a finality that made her heart ache, then placed it on the table, ready for the post in the morning.

  ****

A day after the letter, a parcel arrived at the schoolhouse. It was a small, but heavy parcel, wrapped in thick brown paper, tied with twine. The writing on the address was the same, neat script as her previous letters. She recognized the cursive immediately. She had spent hours reading and re-reading those letters over and over again. They seemed to have indelibly burned the stylish script into her memory.

She eyed the parcel with trepidation, as though it might detonate in her hands like a stick of dynamite. With a heavy heart, she carefully prised off the string and began to unwrap the gift.

As promised, it contained books.

Her heart caught in her throat as she picked up each book in turn. Several books by Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters and at the bottom, Shakespeare's plays.

The books felt like another stab of betrayal as she placed them on the bookshelf in the schoolhouse, alongside the books that had traveled thousands of miles with her. Accepting them was tantamount to admitting that she would be accepting the job in Willow Creek. And more importantly, saying goodbye to Frankie.

“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.

The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.

“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.

Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.

Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.

You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.

You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.

“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”

“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”

“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”

“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”

“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.

“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”

You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.

“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…

“Thank you very much.”

The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-

“H-hey, Mando?”

Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.

“Yes?”

“I…. w-well…”

You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.

“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”

He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.

“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”

Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.

There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach

He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.

“Alright.”

The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?

A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.

“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”

“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”

“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”

“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”

His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.

“What’s this memory?”

“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.

“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”

“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”

“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”

“Something reliable,” he adds.

“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.

You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.

His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.

He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.

Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.

“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.

In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.

There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“

“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”

Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.

You like it. You like it a lot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.

“Likewise,” you smile back.

“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”

“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.

With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.

“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.

He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.

“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”

“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”

The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.

“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.

“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”

That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.

“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”

Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.

The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.

“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.

The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.

Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.

“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”

“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”

“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”

“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”

“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”

“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”

With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.

“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”

A pause streches between you.

“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.

“Shit,” you tsk.

You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.

But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.

“Hey so… can I ask you something?”

“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.

“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.

“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.

You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.

“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?

Oh god, you really are drunk…

Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that. 

“Too much,” you broach gently.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”

He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.

“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”

“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”

“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”

Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…

Do not finish that thought…

“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"

“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”

Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.

“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”

A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.

“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”

“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”

“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”

He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.

“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”

You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…

“Yeah… Me too.”

You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.

“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.

“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.”

“I appreciate the company.”

You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.

Nope. Not doing that.

You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.

“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.

“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.

For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.

You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.

The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.

With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.

“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.

When I drink. Suuuure.

“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.

“Now I know…,” he repeats.

There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.

With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.

“Don’t invite me in again.”

And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.

…what?

•

Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…

Damn… it’s been a while.

For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.

No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.

Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.

All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.

Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.

Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.

Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.

What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?

Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.

But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.

Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.

But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.

After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.

Street food it is.

“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.

Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.

Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.

“Okay, which onesss-“

Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.

“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.

The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.

Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.

Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.

“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.

Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.

It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.

“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”

Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.

“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”

“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”

Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.

Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.

“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”

But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.

“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.

You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.

But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.

“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”

Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”. 

Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.

His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.

You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.

“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”

Shit.

For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.

“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”

Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…

“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”

“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…

No. Stop it.

“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.

“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”

That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.

“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”

A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.

“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.

A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.

You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.

“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”

Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.

You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.

What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?

The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.

What the hell is he doing?

He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.

That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.

“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”

Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.

Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.

“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”

“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”

First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.

Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.

“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.

Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.

“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”

A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.

“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”

“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”

His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.

That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.

He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.

You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.

That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.

•

You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.

I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.

The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.

That’s it, Shop Girl…

You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…

Bend over for me, Shop Girl…

That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.

You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.

Right. Simple.

After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?

It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.

And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.

There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.

On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.

A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.

The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.

"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.

“It’s been a whi-“

“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”

Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.

“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.

“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.

“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.

You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.

You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth. 

"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.

"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"

He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.

"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."

You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.

“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.

His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.

“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”

He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.

“You’re mixing… tea?”

You hum a yes and nod.

“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”

“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.

“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”

“What does it prevent?”

“Pregnancy.”

A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.

Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.

“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.

“Guess that’s on me,” he says.

“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”

“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.

“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.

“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.

“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.

God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.

“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”

And there’s the answer you’re looking for.

Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.

Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.

But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.

It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.

“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”

It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.

“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”

The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.

Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?

You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.

“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”

“It was twelve the last time.”

“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.

“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”

Ugh, great. One of those.

“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"

“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”

That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?

“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.

Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…

“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“

It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.

“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”

With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.

He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.

Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.

The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.

“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.

“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.

You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.

“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.

“What?”

“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”

His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.

“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.

“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”

Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.

“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.

“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.

You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.

“And if I said yes?”

“I’m being serious.”

“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah? What is your point then?”

He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.

“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering  his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”

That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.

You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…

“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”

“Good…”

Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.

What you’re both afraid to say out loud.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.

Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.

You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.

Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.

"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.

Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.

“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.

“Work call?”

“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”

“R-right! The pharmakits."

You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.

“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”

He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.

“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”

“Just… be safe.”

“I will…”

Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.

“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”

“Until next time,” you repeat.

He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?

You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…

“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”

“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.

Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.

For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.

An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.

You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.

And you love that he keeps coming back.

You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.

At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.

Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.

You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.

•

Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.

He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.

“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”

Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.

The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.

“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.

Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.

Well… most people, that is.

An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.

And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.

Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.

In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-

“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.

“Hmm?”

“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”

“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.

“Alright, alright.”

“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”

“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”

“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.

“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”

He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.

“It’s nothing,” he deflects.

“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.

Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.

“Sounds like you need to get laid.”

Maker...

“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.

The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.

He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.

“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”

Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.

“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”

“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“

“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.

What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.

Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.

It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.

True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.

Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…

A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.

He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.

As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.

You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.

You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.

Enough. Stop watching.

The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.

The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…

Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.

What… the fuck?

Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.

Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.

“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.

“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”

Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.

“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”

“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”

“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.

The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.

Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.

From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.

“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“

“I need to have a word with you.”

Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.

“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?

“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”

Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.

“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.

“Preferably, yes,” he answers.

“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“

”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”

You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.

Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.

He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.

“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”

Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.

“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.

“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”

“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”

“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.

“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”

Damn it… He’s such an asshole.

He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?

“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”

“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.

“I’m not,” he assures.

A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.

“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”

That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.

“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”

“Right.”

“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.

“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”

“Was it the thing about the name?”

“N-no.”

“Was it the Pantora story?

“No.”

“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“

“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”

Your quirk your brow at him.

“Curious how?”

“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.

“… Sorry, what?”

“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”

“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”

“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”

“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”

Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.

“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”

“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.

“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.

“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.

“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.

“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.

“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”

You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.

“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.

There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…

“No, you’re not.”

You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.

Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.

“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”

•

“Is all this really necessary?”

Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.

“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”

Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.

“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.

You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.

“Can you see anything?”

“Not a bit,” you answer.

With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.

“Agh.”

“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”

Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.

“Here,"  he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…

You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.

“This help?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.

From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.

And then… contact.

At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.

Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.

You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.

That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.

He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.

Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.

The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.

He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.

A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.

“Mando?”

“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.

“Is this really just about curiosity…?”

Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.

So he lets it fly.

“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”

The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.

There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.

“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.

And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.

Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.

“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”

“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.

“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”

“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”

“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.

What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.

“Next time.”

It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.

With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.

"Lay down for me."

With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.

So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.

“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.

His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.

“Mando…”

Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and  suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.

“Shop Girl…”

The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.

“Do you want this," he asks.

His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.

"Is this ok?"

He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.

"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."

She needs me.

The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.

By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.

You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.

“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”

“Right there... Perfect..."

"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.

"Then taste me, Mando."

He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.

He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.

"What are you- ah."

That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.

"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."

No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers.  The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.

You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.

“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Make me come, Mando... Please…”

He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.

"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"

Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.

Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.

You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.

It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.

Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.

There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.

What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.

And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.

•

If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.

Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.

He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.

Maker, he’s so good with his hands.

His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.

“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.

“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”

Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.

A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.

Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.

You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.

“H-hold on!”

Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.

“You want me to stop?,” he pants.

“No… Hell no. It’s just…”

How do you even begin to ask this?

“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”

Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.

Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…

Oh shit.

His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.

Oh shit.

“Does that answer your question?”

The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.

He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.

“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”

With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.

It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”

“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”

He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.

“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”

His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.

You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.

Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.

“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”

“Come for me... Let me feel you."

Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.

“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.

"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.

"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.

Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.

Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.

“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”

Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.

“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”

“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”

“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“

His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.

When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.

Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.

“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”

His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.

You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?

Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.

Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.

“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.

“Really?”

“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.

“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”

He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.

“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”

There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.

“Me too, Mando...”

•

•

•

💕 THANK YOU FOR READING 💕

In high school, there was this girl you knew who seemed to have unlimited amounts of it. She got straight A’s without even trying. When teachers pulled names for classroom chores, she always got the easy ones like sweeping or dusting, while you were, more often than not, stuck cleaning toilets. She didn’t even seem capable of having a bad hair day—her luck was that good.

You’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like that. Luck has never been on your side.

You’re no stranger to the humiliation of a humongous zit erupting on your forehead the day before yearbook photos, or your car breaking down the morning of an important job interview. Not to mention the countless instances of locking yourself out of the apartment, or spilling coffee all over yourself five minutes before work, or stepping directly into a puddle in shoes you just bought.

It certainly explains your dating life. Unlucky in love, much like everything else. 

And yet, you keep trying.

Your mom has always told you it’s one of your best qualities. Despite the way the universe insists on knocking you down, you never fail to pick yourself back up and keep going. 

Even when it hurts. Even when it feels pointless.

Still, these past few weeks have given you a new perspective. You wouldn’t say your luck is turning around, not quite, but you’re starting to feel stupid, dangerous things like hope—at least where your bedroom-related woes are concerned.

Yoongi told you he’d be there for you, that all you needed to do was ask and he’d come running, and you’ve been taking him up on the offer. Often. 

Which is to say, you’ve been having many, many, many orgasms. Ridiculous amounts, considering you were batting zero just a month ago.

It’s honestly surreal. You’ve spent so long convinced your body was fundamentally broken that every time Yoongi gets you off still feels nothing short of miraculous. It’s as if whatever weird cosmic curse has haunted your sex life since your late teens disappears entirely.

Which is why getting a text from your ex while you’re still sweaty and out of breath from three consecutive orgasms feels a little laughable. Not necessarily unlucky, but definitely ironic.

hey. found some of your stuff while cleaning. when do you wanna come grab it?

So, Sunday morning, you find yourself in the car, on your way to what’s-his-face’s place.

You honestly wish he would’ve just offered to drop your stuff off while you were at work. It would’ve been the kinder thing to do.

Because now that you’re actually in Yoongi’s passenger seat and your ex’s street is getting closer and closer, your stomach feels like it’s full of wet cement. 

“You can still back out,” Yoongi reminds you as he pulls up to a red light.

“No, I can’t.”

“You literally can. Watch.” He breaks his 10-and-2 to gesture at the road ahead of him. “I’ll just keep driving.”

Your hands twist nervously in your lap. You recognize what he’s trying to do, and normally, it’d work. At the very least, it would get a laugh out of you. You’re just not feeling it.

“No, I want my stuff back,” you say quietly. “It’s okay.”

Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eye. You can practically see him weighing whether to keep pushing or leave it alone.

Thankfully, he chooses the second option.

“Okay,” he says simply. The light turns green, and the car rolls forward.

When he finally parks on the street outside the building, you don’t make any immediate move to get out of the car. You just stare out the window with dread usually reserved for dentist appointments and funerals of distant relatives. 

A few months ago, you came here excited. Nervous in a good way. Hopeful. Now the building just looks cold.

You can see the window of his apartment from here, curtains half drawn. A succulent you bought together used to sit on the sill, but it isn’t there anymore. Which means you can probably expect to have it in your hands in a few minutes.

“You want me to come up?” Yoongi asks softly, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

Ha. Again, you appreciate the thought, but that would probably only make things worse. 

You shake your head, reaching to open the passenger door. “No. I’ll be quick, okay?”

“I’ll be here,” he says. 

You step out onto the sidewalk before you can change your mind, the car door closing behind you with a muted thump.

You walk inside, past the mailboxes, up the familiar flight of stairs because waiting for the elevator feels unbearable. Each step gives your brain another opportunity to reconsider, but you don't take it.

By the time you reach his floor, your palms are damp.

You stop outside his door and stare at it for a moment. Breathe once. Twice. Then you lift your hand and knock.

You’re greeted with your ex’s face less than a minute later.

For one awful second, your body reacts on instinct. A familiar face, familiar apartment smell drifting through the crack in the doorway, familiar posture leaning against the frame. Muscle memory tries to kick in before your brain catches up, and suddenly you’re vividly aware of how many evenings you spent standing exactly here kissing him hello.

The feeling dies almost immediately, because he looks as uncomfortable as you feel.

At least the suffering is mutual.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly.

“Hey.”

The interaction itself is painfully polite. Almost sterile.

He already packed everything into a cardboard box for you. A couple t-shirts. Your toothbrush from his bathroom. Some skincare products you forgot about. Movie tickets. Tiny remnants of a relationship reduced to clutter.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, once the hand-off is complete.

Ugh. You hate this. 

“Fine,” you say, adjusting your grip on the box. “You?”

“Good,” he says.

You nod. He nods. Nobody says anything. 

It's almost impressive.

This is someone you once spent entire weekends with. Someone you told stupid stories to at two in the morning. Someone who knew how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you preferred.

Now neither of you can sustain a conversation for more than thirty seconds. Funny how that works.

Your ex shifts awkwardly. "So..."

"So."

“I guess that's everything.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry it took so long to get it together.”

“It's fine.”

More silence. Then he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well,” he says. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too,” you say softly. Then you turn around and leave.

When you make it back to the car, you don’t say anything. You just buckle your seatbelt, cardboard box balanced on your knees.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he pulls back onto the road.

Good question.

You haven’t thought about your ex much since he dumped you. You weren’t with him for long, sure, but historically, you love to dwell. To pick apart every event that led up to the end, to catalogue all of your missteps so you don’t make them again. 

You haven’t had much time for any of that, with how quickly you fell into bed with your best friend.

Should you feel guilty for that? Maybe so. You don’t, not really, but you’re definitely feeling something. It’s weird, staring down at a neatly packed box of all of your memories with someone, no matter how long the relationship lasted, and knowing you’re the reason it ended. That it’s your fault you’re in this position. 

What’s-his-face is a nice guy. He liked you. He tried with you. 

And you failed, again. You couldn’t be what he wanted.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “That sucked.”

Yoongi hums sympathetically. “Screw that guy,” he says. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You huff. It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t really work in this case. You couldn’t screw that guy, and that was exactly the issue. He knows what he's missing and he’s perfectly fine not having it.

“He’s a nice guy, Yoongi,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over the box in your lap. “I was the problem. I always am.”

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly. “You’ve gotta stop talking about yourself like that.”

You turn your head towards him. “It’s true, though.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yoongi,” you say tiredly. “Come on. Think of all of the partners of mine you’ve met. You know I’ve never broken up with any of them? I’m always the one who gets broken up with. You seriously think that’s just a coincidence? Because I don’t.”

“I seriously think you just haven’t dated the right person.”

“How many more people do I have to date?” you snap. “It feels like I’ve been dumped by the entire population of Seoul! And I don’t blame any of them, Yoongi! Would you want to date someone who can’t fucking cum? I don’t blame them, because it’s probably insulting.”

Ugly as they may be, the words rush out of you with no hope of stopping them. A dam finally broken by years of erosion. Of heartbreak and frustration and too much time spent feeling horribly, disgustingly inadequate. Defective, like you told Yoongi before. Broken from the start.

Yoongi goes quiet. You suck in a shaky breath and, head in your hands, try to pull yourself together.

You didn’t mean to snap at him, but you’re just so tired of it all. You can only take so much of the whole ‘there are plenty of other fish in the sea’ thing. You get enough of it from your mom, from Jimin and Taehyung and Hoseok, from your fucking exes themselves sometimes. You don’t want Yoongi to bullshit you, too. Not when, for your entire life, he’s been the one person you can trust to be honest with you, no matter what.

“But you can,” he mumbles.

You lift your head. “What?”

“You can cum.”

Oh.

You don’t know how to respond to that. There’s no nice way to say ‘yeah, but practicing with you is different from the real thing’ without sounding like an asshole—not that you think Yoongi would care. 

“Look, can we just go home?” you ask instead. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Yoongi glances at you out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then sighs and redirects his attention to the road. “Okay.”

୨ৎ

When you get back to the apartment, you can tell the conversation isn’t actually over.

You both slip off your shoes in silence. Silence that continues as Yoongi sheds his jacket and hangs up his keys and you find somewhere to stow the box you came home with. But he’s being twitchy, and you can tell he wants to say something more.

It’s driving you crazy.

You shove the box in the corner of the living room to deal with later and whirl around to face him, annoyed.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”

Yoongi, who’s in the middle of adjusting the Dodgers cap on his head, freezes at the threshold of the living room, caught.

“Who said I was thinking anything?”

“We’ve known each other for how long?”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he hesitates, which just annoys you even more.

“And now I’m saying spit it the fuck out,” you snap.

Yoongi’s been on the receiving end of your stubborn streak more times than he can count, so you know he knows better than to fight you on this. 

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as his feet guide him a little further into the room. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he gathers his thoughts, clearly trying to choose his words carefully before they come out of his mouth.

Normally, you’d appreciate it, but right now it sets your teeth on edge.

“Look,” he starts after a moment, “it just pisses me off that you keep talking like there’s something, like, fundamentally wrong with you.”

You cross your arms defensively. “Well, up until about a month ago, I thought there was.”

“But there isn’t!” he says, gesturing wildly. “There’s nothing wrong with you! I mean, fuck, how many times do I need to make you cum before I finally get through to you?”

Oh, this really does piss him off.

You scoff. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You want me to?” 

“Yes!”

“Fine. Your ex was a fucking loser.”

Wow.

You’re so stunned that you visibly back down, arms dropping limply at your sides. You didn’t exactly have a quippy response locked and loaded for that one.

Yoongi keeps going.

“You keep saying he was a nice guy,” he continues, “but nice guys don’t break up with their girlfriends over shit like that. Did he even try to talk to you about it before he decided making you cum wasn’t worth his effort? Did any of them?” 

The bluntness of his words hit like a slap, forcing your eyes down to the floor where you’re suddenly very interested in your sock choice of the day. 

Turquoise with yellow stars, and there’s a tear you didn’t notice in the heel of the left one. You can try to mend it, you think, but it would be so much easier to retire them entirely.

Hm.

“I hate the way you talk about your exes. Like they’re fucking saints for deigning to touch you or something. Because you’re so hard to figure out, right? You’re not.”

You look up from studying the hole in your sock. 

“You’re not hard to figure out,” he reiterates, stepping closer. “It only took me a few minutes, didn’t it?”

Something about the way he says that makes your face instantly hot. How, how, how does he sound so sure of himself? Of you? 

It’s baffling, maddening, completely unbelievable that he can think of this as anything other than a fluke. A product of sheer luck (his, not yours), or experience (again, his).

“Because I told you what I was into,” you try to reason.

“You really think I wouldn’t have figured it out anyway?”

“You’ve known me my entire life! Don’t act like you don’t have an advantage here.”

“No, I listened to you,” he says, jabbing his index finger at his own chest, repeating, “I listened to you. I paid attention. It isn’t rocket science.”

Your brow furrows. Suddenly, it feels like you’re talking about something else entirely. 

“I’m sorry, when did this become a competition between you and my exes?”

“It didn’t! It isn’t!” he insists. He’s pacing now, feet mapping the same semi-circle over and over. “I’m just sick of you talking about your past relationships like you were somehow the only one at fault for the way they ended. I don’t like seeing you punishing yourself for other people’s shitty behavior.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Because you’re the only one who’s supposed to be punishing me, right?”

At that, Yoongi stills. Looks you dead in the eye. 

“You know,” he says, his voice suddenly dangerously low, “maybe I should.”

You blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights. Or maybe, more accurately, caught in the crosshairs. 

Oh.

“You aren’t serious,” you say weakly, because you were fucking joking. Or, at least, you think you were joking. 

But the look on his face tells you he doesn’t think shit is funny.

“I could be,” he says. “Maybe you fucking need it.”

Oh.

“What are you gonna do?” you weakly taunt. “Make me cum until I stop talking badly about myself?”

Yoongi tilts his head in consideration. 

“That’s an idea,” he admits. “But not quite what I have in mind.”

“No? Then what? You gonna spank me?”

Amusement flashes over his features, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek to poorly mask a smirk.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You’d like that too much, I think. Defeats the purpose.”

That just pisses you off even more.

“Well, are you planning on telling me anytime soon? Or are you just gonna keep me in suspense?”

“I’m kind of enjoying letting you run your mouth.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“See?”

You glare at him and he just stares back, so maddeningly calm that you’re the first to break, looking back down at your stupid socks.

You don’t know how he can even be so calm, how his head isn’t spinning like yours is. Only seconds ago, you were arguing. Something you and Yoongi don’t do that often to begin with. And then you opened a door, a door you didn’t even intend to open, a door that leads to… fuck.

Sexy landmines everywhere.

You’re not super upset about it, not really, but it’s a little pathetic, isn’t it? You shouldn’t fold this easily. You should have some dignity. 

“Who says I even want to do anything?” you mutter after a moment, because it’s the last line of defense you have. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for so long that you honestly think he’s going to back off. 

It would make sense. He’s a boundaries guy, he’s made that clear. And this is unfamiliar territory for you. Light reprimand for talking back or teasing during a scene is one thing, but what he’s suggesting? Full-scale punishment? 

Maybe he’s decided you’re out of your depth.

“Say it, then.”

At the sound of his voice, you lift your head, brows drawn together.

“What?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Tell me you don’t want it. This all happens on your terms, remember? I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to.”

His gaze drags over your face for a moment, studying you. You’re sure there are a million tells in your expression, clear as day for him to catalogue, but you have no idea what they are. You wish you knew. You wish it were easier for you to hide how much you want him.

“But I think you do,” he adds.

You lick your lips. “What makes you think that?”

He closes the distance between you, and you barely fight off your urge to back yourself against the wall. 

On a normal day, Yoongi is about as threatening as a newborn kitten, poor eyesight and all. But whenever he gets like this, you feel your heartbeat in your throat. You feel like the defenseless animal.

You don’t know what it says about you, that you like it so much.

“You mean other than you giving me suggestions on how I should punish you?” 

He cups your jaw, littlest finger pressed firm against your carotid. You wonder if he can feel your blood rushing. 

“Very cute, by the way,” he murmurs, voice so low it practically vibrates through you. “You think I need suggestions?”

Fuck.

Your eyelids flutter. You can feel yourself slipping, your body swaying into his. Whatever magnetic pull exists between you in this moment is so much stronger than the weak dregs of defiance you pathetically try to scrape together.

“Shut up,” you breathe.

“Nuh-uh.” A light squeeze to your jaw draws your eyes to his again. “Do you want it or not?”

Your throat feels so dry. “I…” you start, but nothing else comes out.

“That’s funny,” he teases. “You seemed perfectly capable of using your words a minute ago.”

Your lips flatten into a line at his condescending tone, but you’re getting wet. You can feel it, and you like it, because you’re a sicko.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “Yes or no?”

“Fine,” you grit out. “Yes.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “I think you can be a little nicer than that, can’t you?”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

“You want me to say please?” you ask. “Seriously? You want me to plead with you to punish me?”

“I think the practice will do you some good,” he says with an infuriating shrug.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I just have a feeling you’re going to be saying it a lot in about…” he trails off, checking his non-existent watch, “five minutes?”

Asshole.

Complete fucking asshole.

But you did, quite literally, sign up for this. You can’t deny that you’re more than a little curious about what he’s got in store for you, although the circumstances of the whole thing are a bit strange.

“Please,” you bite out through clenched teeth. “Will you please punish me?”

Yoongi looks so pleased with himself.

“Of course, baby,” he replies smoothly. “If that’s what you think you need.”

“I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Is your laptop in your bedroom?”

This conversation is just throwing you for a loop at every turn. You blink hard, shaking your head in confusion when you ask, “yeah, why?”

He nods his head towards the hallway. “Let’s go.”

And then suddenly you’re faced with his broad back through the fabric of his worn Supreme tee as he retreats down the hallway, just innately expecting you to follow.

Which you do.

Once inside, you tentatively grab your laptop from your desk and set it at the foot of your bed, although you still aren’t sure why you need it in the first place. The look Yoongi gives you, eyebrows raised as if to says, ‘well?’, prompts you to bend at the waist and open it up, but when the screen wakes and prompts you to type in your password, you glance at him over your shoulder.

“Is the laptop part of the punishment?” you joke. “Are you gonna smash it or something to teach me a lesson? It was expensive, you know.”

Yoongi snorts. “Are you gonna be a brat the whole time?” he counters. “You know you’re just making things worse for yourself, right?”

“I’m just making sure,” you defend with a smirk.

“Your laptop will be fine. C’mere.”

He gently grabs your wrist and pulls you to turn around and face him. Strong hands move to your hips, thumbs rubbing little circles just above the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You understand what’s about to happen?” Yoongi murmurs. 

You have the urge to continue being a brat and prolong this just to annoy him, but your curiosity wins out. You want to know what he’s planning. 

Plus, if you had to guess, this is probably the last time he’s gonna be nice for a while. So you decide to soak it in and not piss him off any more than you already have.

“You’re gonna punish me for talking badly about myself,” you say.

“Uh-huh. But I need you to know just because it’s a punishment doesn’t mean you can’t say no,” he reminds you. “You’ve still got your safewords. You can use them at any time and everything will stop. Understand?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“I understand,” you say.

“Good girl,” he says. He grips the brim of his cap and pulls it off, running his fingers through dark locks before putting it back on, backwards this time. Then, he grabs your wrist. “Come here.” 

He pulls you closer and you follow willingly until your body is flush with his. Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, and he leans down to kiss you. 

Doesn’t feel like much of a punishment, but you aren’t complaining. Yoongi is a great kisser. Maybe the best you’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow and lush, like this one, or if it’s heated and frantic. You feel it all the way down to your toes every single time, without fail.

By the time he pulls away, his hands spread over the small of your back, you’re already breathless. His forehead presses against yours for just a moment, and then he takes a step back.

“Remember when you told me about the research you were doing? On BDSM?” he asks suddenly.

You nod, although your brow creases in obvious confusion. 

Haven’t you already covered this? You don’t see why it would come up again. Is he planning on punishing you by making you talk shit to death again? Because honestly, that’d be pretty evil on his part.

“Why?” you ask.

“Well, you told me a little about the sites you signed up for. Articles. Shit like that.”

“Yeah…” you say, waiting for the point.

“And, okay, I guess it wouldn’t be totally out of character for a Wikipedia rabbithole to turn you on,” he jokes. “But I have a feeling you were leaving some stuff out. Call it a hunch.”

Oh no. 

Ohhhhh no, you have a feeling you know where he’s going with this.

Warily, you ask, “what… what kind of stuff?” 

Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt stretching over the lean muscle hidden beneath. You try (and fail) not to stare. 

“You tell me,” he says.

“I have no idea.” You’re a lying liar who lies. 

“No?” he asks. “So you didn’t, say… watch any videos, during your research?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, ABORT MISSION! IS THIS WHY HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR LAPTOP???

“Like… like porn?” you stutter.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah. Like porn.”

Dread. Dread is what you’re feeling. Pure, unadulterated, put-your-heart-in-your-ass dread.

“I mean… I might’ve watched one…? But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe I want to see it.”

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!

You laugh nervously, heat creeping up your neck. “Yoongi, no.”

“Why not? Are you embarrassed?”

Yes. “I mean… I probably wouldn’t even be able to find it,” you lie. Again. 

You’ve watched it countless times since that first night. The title is pretty much seared into your eyelids at this point. 

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “You’re a shitty liar. If you’re embarrassed, you can just tell me.”

You groan, annoyed. “Fine! I’m embarrassed.”

“Enough to use your safeword?”

Your lips part in sheer disbelief. 

Shit, he’s really on a roll tonight, isn’t he? You have no way of predicting what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

“I… no?” you finally manage.

Yoongi nods his head towards your laptop. “Prove it, then.”

Walking back over to your bed literally feels like walking the plank. You still don’t know what he’s planning, but whatever it is, you know it hasn’t even started yet. And you already hate every second.

You’re also soaking your underwear, but whatever! Whatever.

You bend down to finally unlock the screen fiddle with the trackpad as you pull up your browser (in an incognito tab, because you aren’t an animal). Meanwhile, Yoongi cages you in from behind, one hand braced on the mattress next to yours, while the other slides under your shirt to grope at your tits.

You try to type in the URL, and you get more than halfway through with immense effort, but your breathing picks up when he starts to tweak at your nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers. He kisses the back of your neck, openmouthed, and your thighs squeeze as another gush of arousal seeps into your panties.

“Focus,” he murmurs, and oh, you hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed.

He probably thinks you’re deliberately trying to prolong things, and if you had all of your brain power right now, maybe you would be. But you’re not. 

He’s just so…

You swallow hard, staring at the cursor blinking in the search bar as you fight for some composure.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and poise your hands to type again.

After a bit more effort, the garish site fills your laptop screen. Shame swirls in your gut as you locate the video, mingling with the pleasure-pain of him playing with your tits. You feel exposed, in more ways than one.

“There.”

Yoongi doesn’t even react. He just glances over your shoulder and asks, “want me to tell you what your punishment is?” 

“Please,” you pant.

He chuckles at how easily you say it as he gives your aching nipples a break to slip a hand beneath the waistband of your sweats. 

“You and I are gonna watch this video together…” He cups your pussy with his entire palm. It’s torture forcing yourself not to immediately grind down into the heat and pressure of it. “...While I play with this sweet cunt.”

Fuuuuckfuckfuckfuckfuckpleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

Pause. 

Wait…

 “That’s it?” you ask breathlessly, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment…”

Yoongi takes advantage of the position to capture your lips in a quick kiss. “I haven’t told you the rules yet,” he murmurs.

You swallow, already dizzy. “What are they?” 

Yoongi uses his free hand to cradle your cheek, kissing you again, this time with tongue. You know it’s probably a distraction, something to disarm you, but you don’t care. It’s working. He’s touching you, he’s kissing you, and you can’t get enough.

His hand moves from under your sweatpants and you whine at the loss, but then he’s turning you in his hold and kissing you deeper.

You only break apart so he can shove your shirt up and over your head until you’re bare from the waist up. Your sweatpants go next, along with your panties, pushed roughly down your legs until they’re tangled at your feet. He’s still licking into your mouth as he helps you step out of them, until all that’s left is your star-patterned socks. You take those off yourself.

When he finally completely pulls back, you’re naked in front of him. His hand slips between your legs, fingers parting your folds and gathering wetness, sliding up to circle your clit. Your knees practically turn into jelly.

“Ah, fuck—”

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps, hooking his free arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Mhmmm…” 

“You’ve gotta tell me when you’re close, okay? That’s your first rule.”

“A-ah, yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically. If he keeps doing that, it isn’t going to take long at all. “I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah?” His motions speed up enough to make your thighs shake from the force of it. “Gonna be good for me?”

“Yes!” You moan helplessly, pressing your face into the fabric of his shirt to dampen the sound.

“Promise?”

“Yes, fuck, I promise!”

“Good. ‘Cause your second rule is that you aren’t allowed to cum. Not until I say so.”

Eyes wide, your head jerks back so fast you swear you hear your neck crack. “What?” 

Yoongi doesn’t even falter. “You heard me.”

Oh, FUCK. That’s the punishment, then? 

A month ago, it would’ve made you laugh. In your mind, reaching orgasm wasn’t even in the cards, so the idea of holding one back? Unheard of. But you had a taste of it the night of the gala—when he almost made you cum just from playing with your nipples—and the memory is more than enough to know this is going to be fucking torture.

God, he’s good.

“Clearly making you cum whenever you want isn’t getting through to you,” he explains. “So maybe if I make you work for it, you’ll understand.”

“No, no, please,” you whine immediately, because he’s still rubbing your clit with terrifying precision and you’re already getting close enough that the threat feels real.

“This is the nice version, baby,” he coos, nipping at your neck. “Trust me, if you decide to break my rules and cum anyway, you’ll be getting a lot worse than that.”

Your stomach drops at the thought. You believe him. This is evil mastermind level punishment, so you don’t even want to know what his mind deems as worse.

“Are you gonna break my rules?”

“No,” you pant quickly. “I won’t.” And because you’re trying to prove it, you will yourself to admit, “I’m close.”

“That’s my good girl.” And then he pulls his hand away completely.

You make a broken sound at the loss, while Yoongi simply climbs onto the bed, settling back against the headboard with his legs spread comfortably.

“Sit,” he says, patting the space between his thighs.

You scramble onto the mattress immediately. The second you’re close enough, he pulls you against his chest so your body rests between his spread legs, the bare skin of your back pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt. Him fully clothed where you’re completely bare. You’re figuring out he likes it like that.

He reaches around you to drag your laptop closer.

“Show me,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding it to the trackpad. Making you press play yourself.

Your body feels rigid as the familiar frames play out in front of you, the low voice of the dom filling your ears as the camera adjusts. Yoongi watching over your shoulder like this makes you so much more aware.

Fuck, now that you’re paying attention, this guy’s timbre is kind of similar to Yoongi’s…

And then the sub appears, bound to the headboard by her wrists, thighs forcibly held open by a spreader bar. There’s a needy, dazed look in her eyes as she squirms just at the idea of being used.

It bothers you that you can’t see Yoongi’s face. That you can’t tell whether he’s judging you.

You snap out of it when Yoongi’s hands ease your thighs apart. You hadn’t even noticed you’d closed them, probably unconsciously did so out of embarrassment. 

“Shy?”

“No,” you lie.

“Good,” he says, and then repositions you so your legs are draped over his spread thighs, making it that much harder for you to close them again. He gestures towards the screen, at the spreader bar locked around the woman’s calves. “‘Cause I’ll get you one of those if I have to.”

Your pussy clenches greedily at the thought. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have one already?” you ask.

You know if you keep mouthing off you’re bound to face consequences, but you can’t help taking such an easy shot. Plus, you’re genuinely curious.

Yoongi hums. “I prefer using my hands.”

OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His hand dips between your thighs, fingers lightly trailing over your slit. You twitch at the contact, releasing a surprised puff of air.

“Relax,” he murmurs against the back of your neck. 

How are you supposed to be anything other than tense in this situation? Humiliated, hopelessly turned on, actively being punished—that is not a recipe for relaxation! 

Still, you don’t talk back this time. You try to do as he says, even though every inch of your skin feels as if it’s on fire.

You lean back into the cradle of his body, inhaling deeply through your nose. Exhaling slowly. Allowing yourself to finally melt just the tiniest bit when Yoongi’s fingers gently relocate your throbbing clit.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Remember your rules?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Gonna add another one,” he tells you. The hand not currently teasing you into madness snakes up between your breasts until he’s got a firm hold on your face, squishing your cheeks. He directs your attention back to your laptop screen. “You’ve gotta actually watch.”

Shit.

Right then, the man’s hand moves from the woman’s throat, rearing back to deliver a light slap to her cheek. A shiver runs down your spine. It’s exactly what you asked—begged—Yoongi to do to you the first time you were together, and now he knows where you got it from.

As if he can read your thoughts, the hand holding your face moves to gently pat your cheek, mimicking what you just watched. You gasp.

“Like that?”

Fucking obviously, you think. He knows that. But you bite it back, giving a jerky nod instead. The woman on your screen, much more courageous than you, begs to be fucked.

In response, the man delivers another slap, this time to her pussy. Yoongi’s hand on yours stops cold, and you go rigid all over again. 

“Like that, too?” he asks.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“Color?”

“Green,” you rush out.

“Answer me, then.”

You squirm in his hold, eyes still fixed on the screen. The dom has his cock out now, one hand wrapped around the base as he teases the tip up and down his sub’s cunt, drawing pathetic whines from her throat. She’s spread open so wide you can see the way her hole clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

“I think I do,” you admit shakily. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi hums, seemingly satisfied if the way his fingers continue their gentle rubbing is anything to go by. 

“Wanna find out?” he asks breezily.

You force yourself to set your shame aside, because yes. Yes, you want to find out. That’s what all of this is for, right? So you can try these things with someone you trust? So you nod.

Yoongi taps your cheek again, harder this time. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you pant. “I want to find out.”

“Mm.” The couple on your screen is fucking now, you notice. Hard not to, with the way the woman is wailing in pleasure. In relief. “Say ‘please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi.’”

Oh holy fuck!!! 

Is he serious? He can’t be serious, right?

“Yoongi,” you whine, wiggling your hips in an attempt to increase the friction on your clit and evade his request all at once.

“No,” he reprimands, swatting your cheek a third time. This one stings enough to make you moan. “Say it, baby.”

God, he’s cruel. You can’t believe he’s really making you say this shit, and you’re just!!! You like it! You like how it’s making you feel! 

“Please…” You swallow thickly. “Please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi…”

You feel Yoongi’s amused huff against your nape. “Cute,” he mocks. “You’re trying so hard to be good, aren’t you? You must really want it.”

There are so many things you want to say, but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, meekly, you ask, “are you gonna…?”

“Spank your needy cunt?” Yoongi finishes smugly. All you can manage is a nod in response. “I’ll think about it.”

Record scratch.

“But—”

Whatever pathetic plea was bound to come out of your mouth is cut short when Yoongi’s hand dips lower, a single finger breaching your folds.

His laugh is fuller this time, throaty. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby,” he rasps, dragging his finger all the way out just to thrust it back in so deep your eyes roll back into your head. “Does it feel that good?”

You’re so wet you can hear it, even over the sounds emanating from your tinny laptop speakers. Skin slapping. Ragged breaths. Their sex mixing with yours, completely at odds with one another. Yoongi is moving so slowly in comparison, dragging things out just to torture you. Punish you.

“Yes,” you pant, but you can’t help but squirm. You want more.

And thank god Yoongi has apparently been gifted the ability to read your fucking mind, because before you can even ask, another finger plunges in alongside the first. 

The angle is a little weird to start, the added intrusion throwing things off. But then you adjust your thighs, spreading them even wider where they’re hooked over his, tilting your hips up just a bit, and suddenly it’s perfect. 

“Fuck,” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut. Your head falls back against Yoongi’s shoulder, and the hand holding your face adjusts to rest lightly at your throat instead. “Please don’t stop.”

You feel his hum reverberate against your back, deep in his chest. He doubles his efforts, fingers fucking you a little faster in response, his shallow breaths tickling your ear and mixing with the slick sounds in the air. The hand at your throat squeezes, just a little. You don’t know if it’s purposeful, but it makes you moan all the same.

He’s too good at this. He’s right, it only took him a few minutes to figure you out. If there were some kind of competition to be won, he’d win it by a landslide. It wouldn’t even come close. 

Because now that you think about it, nothing you and Yoongi have done together has been too crazy, too far outside of the realm of what you’ve done with others. You’ve barely even scratched the surface of his scary-exhaustive list of Deviant Sexual Acts. You haven’t needed them.

He’s capable of getting so much out of you from so little. You guess you have his slut era to thank for that—which was, apparently, also the era where he learned how to fucking talk like he does. In that way that makes all the hair on your body stand up. 

You have to give credit where credit is due.

You feel like you’re burning up. Your muscles spasm as Yoongi’s fingers curl and rub at your inner walls, and when his thumb joins the mix to stimulate your clit in tandem, you realize with dread that you’re about to cum.

It’s kind of funny. You told him not to stop, and now you have to tell him the opposite.

Chest heaving, you moan, “think I’m gonna…” 

You hope that’s enough for him. You don’t really want to say anything at all.

In response, Yoongi—the bastard—has the audacity to laugh at you, breath puffing against the back of your neck. “Yeah, I could tell.”

The pumping of his fingers slows, and your orgasm slowly recedes. Which is enough to make you whine on its own, but it certainly doesn’t help that now that he’s worked you up so much, you’re unbelievably sensitive. Even the languid pace he’s set now is enough to have you squirming in his hold.

“Still good?” he asks.

“I kind of want to kill you.” 

He laughs again. “Mm. Are you tapping out?”

You stretch your neck awkwardly to give him a flat look. “Are you gonna let me cum anytime soon?” you counter.

“If I feel like you’ve learned your lesson, maybe.”

If he thinks you’re going to unlearn literal years of psychological bullshit just by denying you a few orgasms, he’s got another thing coming. It isn’t that easy. 

Still, you’re no quitter.

“I’m not tapping out,” you sigh. “I’m actively fantasizing about smothering you with a pillow, but I’m not tapping out.”

“Whatever works for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Green, go, get on with it.”

“Don’t be like that,” Yoongi murmurs, and you absolutely intend to continue being like that, but his lips find the side of your neck before you can, tongue laving over your pulse as his fingers continue to lazily pump in and out of you. Instinctively, you tilt your head to give him better access. “I’m doing this for a reason, baby. I’m not being mean just to be mean.”

His reason is stupid. He’s stupid.

“Your reason is stupid,” you mumble, although it’s half-hearted. Logic isn’t really on your side here. Everything feels so nice. 

“I don’t think so. You’re already proving my point, aren’t you?”

The hand at your throat slides down to grope at your chest, squeezing each breast once before settling in to tease his thumb over one of your nipples, still stiff and sensitive from earlier.  

You moan, hips wiggling to coax his fingers deeper, and Yoongi lets out a groan that sounds almost pained as he obligingly picks up the pace. You haven’t been able to see any of his reactions this whole time, forced to face away from him, so the audible evidence that he’s affected by this too—maybe just as much as you are—turns you on even more.

“You think something’s wrong with you?” he rasps, nipping at the shell of your ear and causing you to shiver. “‘Cause it doesn’t seem like it from where I’m sitting.”

You moan, preening openly at the praise.

“How could anything ever be wrong with you? Shit, I wish you could see yourself, baby. So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”

All over again, you’re so wound up you’re about to cum. He says things with such certainty it makes it damn near impossible to doubt him, and the idea that he sees you like that? That he thinks you’re perfect like this? It’s a good thing your eyes are closed, because if you were to open them and make eye contact with him in any way, you’d be a goner.

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, clearly taking pity on you this time. But unfortunately for you, this time he backs off completely, withdrawing his fingers from your aching cunt. You can’t stand it.

“Please,” you beg, eyes wide as your neck strains to look behind you. “Please, please, please let me, I can’t—”

Yoongi shushes you, the tip of his nose brushing your temple. “Just a few more, yeah?” he says, pressing a kiss there. “You’re doing so good for me. You can take a little more.”

You don’t see how that could possibly be true, but it’s not like you have much of a choice. So, weakly, you nod your consent for him to keep going.

“You sure it’s okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, swallowing hard. “Green, just… mm, please touch me, Yoongi…”

“Fuck,” Yoongi grunts, shifting behind you and immediately snapping your attention to the thick press of his cock against your lower back. Fuck indeed. You’re going insane. “Think you can take it if I get a little rough?”

“Yes,” you whoosh out instantly, uncaring of how needy you sound. Suddenly, you don’t have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. “I can take it, I promise.”

He makes a low sound in his throat, and then, sudden enough to make you cry out, he grabs a fistful of your hair and roughly forces your gaze back to your laptop screen.

“Fuck—!” 

“Remember what I told you to do?”

You can barely think, let alone speak! Three denied orgasms, and now he’s switching up on you so fucking fast, like it’s as easy as breathing for him. You whimper and blink hard as you grasp at straws for any coherent thought.

“A-ah, um, you,” you gasp, licking your dry lips, “y-you told me to watch!”

“Were you watching?” he demands.

“Yes! I-I, fuck, I was trying—”

“Then try harder this time,” he says, and then he splits you open on his fingers again.

“Ah—!”

You don’t even try to bite back your sounds—it would be useless. Up until now, Yoongi has been relatively gentle. Coaxing. Teasing. Now, the pace he sets is cruel.

“Oh my god, Yoongi—”

Your hands fly to grip his forearm just for something to hold on to. If your body wasn’t so securely cradled in his, you’re sure you’d be careening off the mattress. 

“Shit, I fuckin’ love when you say my name like that,” Yoongi groans, but even as he praises you, his grip at your scalp tightens. “Watch, baby.”

Fuck, right, you’re supposed to be doing something. Somehow, you just barely manage to keep your eyes open, your bleary vision fixed on the filthy scene playing out in front of you.

For someone who has probably never seen this video, Yoongi’s timing is sick. Because when your eyes finally focus, you’re greeted with the sight of the dom pulling out to stroke his cock fast and hard while his sub lays beneath him, still shaking with the tremors of her orgasm. You swallow hard when a throaty moan sounds from the speakers, thick spurts of cum landing all over the sub’s stomach and cunt.

Yoongi’s fingers falter just slightly, and behind you, his dick twitches hard against the small of your back.

Oh.

The overworked gears in your brain stutter back to life all at once, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed at the thought of being fucked. Of Yoongi fucking you. This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed your mind in recent memory, but it’s certainly the first time you’ve felt this desperate for it. 

You can imagine it so clearly. Yoongi flipping you over and fucking you hard, giving it to you so good you can’t help but scream into the mattress just like the girl in the video. Pulling out and marking you with his cum, maybe on your back, or your stomach, or your tits, or your face. Maybe he wouldn’t pull out at all. Maybe with his last thrust, he’d press his hips even harder into your ass to get as deep as possible.

You’re so caught up in the fantasy—mouth hanging open on a moan, eyes heavy-lidded, practically drooling—that you don’t register your screen going black. You don’t register the grip on your hair disappearing. You don’t register anything at all except the pleasure sparking hot in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through every limb in your body as Yoongi pounds you closer and closer to—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The fingers stuffing you full withdraw so fast it sends you reeling, and before you can even ask why, Yoongi’s full palm comes down hard on your aching pussy.

“Ohhh!” you wail, clit throbbing.

“Filthy slut,” Yoongi spits. “You think you can get away with breaking the rules now?”

You blink hard, tears pricking at your eyes. What? What is he talking about? “I-I… I don’t…” 

His knuckles graze the side of your face, the fleeting gentleness tethering you back to reality for a moment. “Color, baby,” he says softly.

Your chest heaves as you gulp a big breath, turning your head to look back at him. There’s a crease between his brows, but it’s in concern, not anger. Like he’s nervous he took it too far.

Your Yoongi.

“Green,” you whisper. 

You want to say more. You want to tell him how much you liked it, how much you want him to do it again. But you can’t find the words, so you silently hope that’s enough.

Yoongi lightly traces your cheekbone with his thumb. “Want a breather?”

You shake your head. “I’m okay, just…” You crane your neck a little more, tilting your head towards him in what you hope is a clear request for a kiss.

Thankfully, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down to gently press his lips to yours once, twice. On the third, he lingers, deepening the kiss just enough for you to relax in his hold. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching past your body to shut your laptop and push it closer to the edge of the bed. Satisfied, he takes a minute to rearrange your bodies so you’re laying on your back beneath him. “Let’s slow down anyway, okay? Just for a minute.”

Part of you wants to reassure him that you’re fine, that you don’t need to be coddled just because you’re a beginner, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Not when he’s finally allowing you to face him.

Instead, you loop your arms around his shoulders, pulling him back in. Your thighs spread wide to accommodate his body between them as he kisses you thoroughly, over and over until the scattered pieces of your mind lock back into place.

Satisfied, Yoongi sucks gently at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue, pulling back to admire your swollen mouth. “Feeling good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, hands sliding down from his shoulders and over his chest. “You’re mean.”

Yoongi huffs. “Too mean?” he jokes, but you can tell he’s genuinely wondering.

“No,” you softly insist. “Not too mean.” Then, you pause. “Actually, the not letting me cum part is pretty evil.”

His responding laugh is real this time, your own worries quelled by the sight of his gums showing. “You knew what you were signing up for,” he reminds you, features settling into something gentle and fond. “I make you cum literally every day. I think you’ll survive a little longer.”

“Nooooo,” you complain. “There’s more?”

“Only if you’re really okay,” he says, kissing your pout away. “Wanna taste you.”

The thought makes your body heat up all over again, your eyelids fluttering shut and hips lifting all at once. “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums against your lips. His hips roll down, his clothed cock pressing against your still-soaked cunt. “You like that idea?”

You nod eagerly, a breathy moan tumbling from your parted lips. “Uh-huh…”

“Even if I still don’t let you cum?”

“Yoongi…” you whine. 

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes, sliding his hand between your legs again. “Don’t you want me to eat this pretty cunt?”

Your head falls back against the mattress. You moan softly, looking up at him as he tenderly traces your oversensitive slit with one finger.

He drives a hard bargain, he really does. You hear what he’s really offering loud and clear—you can either say yes, and he’ll edge you until he’s satisfied enough to finally give you what you want, or you can say no, and everything stops now.

It’s still a punishment, after all.

So you take a breath, gather all the determination you can, and say “yes.”

Eyes still locked on yours, Yoongi smirks, his hand retreating. He braces his hands on each side of your head. “Do you want me to be nice about it?” he asks. 

You know why he’s asking. He’s making sure you can take it, after everything you just did.

You don’t even hesitate. “Fuck no.”

Delighted, Yoongi grins. “That’s my girl.”

And then he’s quickly sitting up, his strong hands taking hold of your hips to roughly flip you over. You gasp, bouncing against the mattress once before he yanks you up onto your hands and knees.

You don’t even get a chance to adjust to the new position before a hand cracks down harshly on your ass. You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace yourself for more.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook,” Yoongi says, spanking you again. “You think you can cum without my permission?”

“N-no!”

“No,” he agrees. “Because that was one of, what, three things I asked you to do? If you have such a hard time following simple instructions, I think I’m gonna have to punish you more often. Train you up.”

The thought makes you dizzy. Honestly, just the phrasing makes you dizzy, a reminder that while you may be new to this, Yoongi isn’t. Not even a little. 

His palms smooth over your ass, kneading and squeezing unabashedly, like it’s a simple fact that he gets to touch you however he pleases. And to prove him right, you practically mewl, pushing back into his touch.

“Oh, you like that idea, huh?” Yoongi asks, sucking his teeth. “Knew you would. Such a nasty fucking girl.”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, unashamed. 

“No wonder you couldn’t cum with anyone else, baby.”

You look over your shoulder in surprise at his words, only to find him biting his lower lip as he admires your pussy. His thumbs dig into the softness of your inner thighs, spreading you open even further. When he looks up to meet your eyes, he raises a brow.

“They didn’t treat you like the slut you are.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs, and before your brain can fully process what they mean, Yoongi surges forward to push your head back down.

“Still green?” he asks.

Cheek pressed into the sheets, you breathe your muffled consent, and then the mattress dips behind you. After some shifting, Yoongi’s hands spread over your ass again, holding you open.

“Oh, shit,” you moan when he kisses your clit.

He told you he was going to eat you out, but you didn’t know he was planning to do it like this. There’s something so dirty about it, being on all fours while his tongue darts out to taste you.

Yoongi hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating through you before he pulls back, breath ghosting over your soaked folds.

“You remember your rules?” he asks.

Your chest heaves. “D-don’t cum without permission.”

“And?”

“Tell you when I’m close.”

“Good girl,” he praises. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze. “Keep that shit up, you understand?”

“Yeah,” you pant, digging your knees further into the bed to stabilize yourself. 

Yoongi doesn’t waste any time after that. 

He licks a luxurious stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue and groaning into you at the taste, to which you respond with your own strangled moan. Fuck. He’s already so good at this to begin with, you don’t know how long you’re going to last with how sensitive you’ve become. 

Every delicious stroke has your thighs trembling, breathy whimpers spilling into the sheets as he fucks his tongue into you, using his grip on your ass to lock your squirming body into place.

Surely you must be dripping onto the sheets by now, with the way he’s devouring you. You wish you could see, but it’s almost hotter like this—only being able to hear the way he messily laps and slurps at your cunt.

And then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, he switches course.

“O-oh!” you cry, your legs nearly giving out when his lips wrap around your angry, swollen clit. 

But Yoongi doesn’t take pity on you. If anything, he doubles his efforts, sucking so ruthlessly your vision whites out. You do your best to clench your muscles in a desperate attempt to keep your orgasm at bay, but at this point, it’s only making things worse. There’s no way you can hold back anymore.

“Yoongi,” you cry, “I can’t—fuck, please, please, I’m gonna—!”

Suddenly, the warmth of his mouth leaves you entirely. Yoongi slings his left arm around your shoulders, hauling you up until you’re seated in his lap, your sweat-slick back pressed against his chest again. Your head is forced back against his shoulder when his arm tightens, bicep and forearm squeezing at your throat. You reel at the way he’s used that deceptive strength of his to manhandle you exactly how he wants you.

“What do you want?”

“I wanna cum,” you gasp, unable to control the way you squirm, grinding back against his cock.

“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi snarls into your ear. “‘Cause you know you can, don’t you? How many times would you have cum already if I let you, hm?”

“F-four…”

“Four is nothing, baby,” he mocks. “You’re already done? I can do this all night.”

Your eyes go wide. “N-no, Yoongi, please, I’ve been so good!”

“If you wanna cum, tell me what you’re gonna do to earn it.”

Fuck! You can barely even remember what you’re being punished for anymore. Your brain has gone all fuzzy again, exacerbated by the delicious pressure at the sides of your neck. All you’re able to grasp onto is your single-minded need to cum, right now.

“I…” You gulp a breath, vision swimming. “I don’t know what you want… Please…”

He loosens his hold on you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” you panic. Your hands fly up to grip his bicep, nails biting as you encourage him to squeeze again. “Nonono, green, fuck, I’m okay!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Yoongi hums. “But you want me to make you cum,” he clarifies, and you nod eagerly. He chuckles, breath tickling your ear. “You need it, baby?”

“Need it,” you moan.

“Hm.” He takes a moment to consider that, nosing the side of your neck. “Well, maybe we can switch things up a little.”

You perk up instantly, straining to look at him behind you. “Really?”

He smirks. “Don’t get too excited.”

Fuck that! You can barely contain yourself! 

You grin at him, eyes sparkling. “Sorry,” you say breathlessly, not meaning it at all.

“Uh-huh.” His arm drops from around your neck, his palm coming down on the side of your thigh. “Lie back.”

You instantly scramble off of his lap and flip flat onto your back, spreading your legs. Is he going to fuck you? You hope he’s going to fuck you. 

“Shit,” he groans, sounding amused and turned on all at once. He climbs over you, caging you in. “Look at you. So fuckin’ easy for me, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” you agree shamelessly. You tug gently at the front of his shirt, and Yoongi leans in to kiss you once, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Why’s that, huh?” he mumbles, nipping your bottom lip.

“‘Cause you make me feel so good,” you answer breathlessly. “Please make me feel good, Yoongi…”

“You make it hard to say no,” he says. “Too fuckin’ cute.” His hands run greedily over your spread thighs, stroking and squeezing. “Okay, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Thank you!” you moan, tilting your hips up towards him.

He laughs, scooting down on the bed until he’s kneeling between your legs. “Don’t thank me yet. This doesn’t mean your punishment is over.”

You sit up on your elbows, brow furrowing as you blink at him. “Wh-what?”

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes dark. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he tells you, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh just to hear you yelp. “I’m gonna eat this pussy again, and you’re gonna be loud for me. You’re gonna scream my name until our neighbors know exactly who makes you cum so good.”

Your face goes hot, your stomach swooping.

“And then you’re gonna keep cumming,” he continues. “You’re gonna cum over and over until you have no choice but to tap out. Do you understand?”

Oh, fuck. You can’t even be mad at him for this, because you’re the one who suggested it in the first place. This is just what you get for running your mouth.

“I understand,” you manage, because what else can you say? You want to cum so badly.

“Good.”

And then he’s sucking on your clit with fervor, and you’re screaming just like he told you to.

“Yoongi—!”

Your first orgasm catches you by surprise. You’re so pent up that it crashes through you within mere seconds, your body floundering pathetically from the force of it. Yoongi just grunts in satisfaction, gripping your thighs tightly to keep you spread open beneath him as he feasts on you.

Because he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down! He just adds even more, pushing three fingers inside your sopping cunt and making you shriek as they curl up to rub hard at your G-spot.

“Oooooh my god!” you cry out, another wave of pleasure wracking your body.

“Fuck yeah,” Yoongi groans against you, pistoning his fingers even harder, “cum again. Keep fucking cumming.”

And you do. 

Every time you think you can’t have any more left in you, that you can’t possibly cum again, you prove yourself wrong. You lose track, breaking over and over until you can’t tell where the last one ended and the next one begins.

“C-can’t take anymore, fuuuuck, p-please,” you plead. You reach down to push at his shoulders, but Yoongi uses his free hand to smack yours away, still mercilessly fucking you with the other.

He pulls back, the lower half of his face completely soaked. “Are you gonna use your safeword?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Then show me you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I’m sorry!” you wail. 

To your surprise, Yoongi stills his fingers inside you, watching your face intently. Something clicks into place.

“I-I’m sorry for talking badly about myself,” you continue, eyes welling up with a fresh wave of tears. “I-I don’t… I know there isn’t anything wrong with me.” You immediately shake your head, because that isn’t quite right. “I’m trying. I’m trying to know that. I’m trying to believe it.”

Yoongi’s expression softens. “I know.”

“I’ve felt this way for years, it isn’t…” Your words break off with a sniffle, your bottom lip trembling. “It isn’t easy to stop.”

“I know,” he repeats. Slowly, carefully, he withdraws his fingers.

“I need you to help me,” you say, tears streaming freely now. “I wanna stop. I wanna keep working on it, but I can’t… Will you help me?”

You don’t even really know what you’re asking for, if it makes any sense at all. All you know is that you only feel good lately when you and Yoongi are doing this. When he’s showing you exactly how not broken you are.

Maybe that was his point.

Yoongi wipes his hand off on his pants and moves closer to pull you up and into his arms, shushing you gently.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. Overwhelmed, you sob into his chest, a pathetic, hiccupy sound that instantly makes Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “You’re okay, baby. I’ll help you. That’s all I wanna do.”

He holds you for a long time, rubbing your back as you get it all out. You haven’t cried like this since the first time, and this is so much more intense. You aren’t sure if it’s from the way your day began, seeing your ex, or if it’s from sheer overwhelm. Maybe it’s a mix of both, but regardless, it’s clear to both of you that you need it.

Once your breathing evens out, Yoongi carefully pulls back, nudging your chin up so you’re looking at him.

“You’d tell me if I gave you too much, right?” he asks, his words laced with clear concern. 

“It wasn’t too much,” you reassure him. “I think you were right. I think I needed it.”

Yoongi frowns, cradling your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have started anything while we were arguing like that. It wasn’t the right time. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him honestly. “It, like… It got me out of my head, you know? I liked it.”

Something in his expression changes then, just for a moment. It isn’t there long enough for you to know what it means or how he’s feeling about that. He just rubs your back some more, deep in thought.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, nudging you, “we’re gonna have a good week.”

Oh, right! After all the drama with your ex, you almost forgot about the trip.

Hoseok’s dance crew has a big showcase happening in Tokyo, so you, Yoongi, Jimin, and Taehyung are all flying out to support him. Your vacation time officially starts tomorrow, and you’ll be there for a whole week.

Your mouth lifts at the corners. “Yeah,” you say, thankful for the reminder.

“We’ve both been needing some vacation time, I think,” he says, matching your small smile. “No work, no exes. It’ll be fun. Get your mind off of things.”

You hum in agreement, resting your cheek against his shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a long time since you’ve taken a trip like this. For a long time, neither of you were able to afford it. Lately, you’ve both been so busy—you in particular.

But you took the time off months ago, and you’re excited for it. You know Hobi’s been working hard.

Suddenly, a thought pops into your head.

“Are we telling them?” you ask. “About, uh… this.”

Yoongi looks down at you. “Uh,” he says, surprised. “Do you want to?”

You only realize how ridiculous it sounds after you’ve asked—letting your friends in on the suddenly-sexual nature of you and Yoongi’s relationship because… why? Because they’d find it interesting?

“Actually, nevermind,” you say, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I asked.”

Yoongi’s chest shakes with a laugh. “I mean, if you want to tell them—”

“No,” you say emphatically. 

He gently pulls your hands from your face, his lips twitching at the corners when you finally open your eyes. “We won’t, then.”

“Good.”

“It isn’t anyone’s business unless you want it to be.”

“Good,” you repeat.

"Besides,” he continues, his thumb tracing slowly across your shoulder. "I kind of like this being ours."

You swallow. "Oh."

It’s unbelievably stupid, you think. After everything that happened today, that's what makes your stomach flip the hardest? Not the punishment. Not the orgasms.

I kind of like this being ours.

"Yeah," you agree softly, caught off guard.

And although you both have so much left to do tonight—dinner, packing, coordinating plans—you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms for just a little bit longer.

୨ৎ

The next morning, Jimin and Taehyung arrive earlier than you expected them to.

You’ve been on trips with them before. Yoongi and Hoseok have a tendency to take point when it comes to vacations, the most punctual and practical of the group. You, on the other hand, used to be a nightmare when it came to getting anywhere early. But to your credit, that was back in college. Working in the adult world has beaten punctuality into you. Plus, living with Yoongi always meant that if there was somewhere to be, you woke up when he woke up. 

Jimin and Taehyung, though? They’ve always been the last ones out the door. Both have a tendency to preen, determined to look their best even if they’re going to be stuck in the airport (and then a stuffy metal tube) for hours. It only got worse when they started dating, because… well. Morning sex, of course.

So when you open the door still nursing your first cup of coffee, only to find both of them standing in the hallway with their luggage already in tow, it’s hard to mask your surprise.

"Good morning," Taehyung says breezily.

“Oh,” you say, eyes wide as you let them both in. “Yoongi’s not back yet.”

They both set their bags by the door and walk to the living room, dropping onto the couch.

"Where'd he go?" Jimin asks.

You shrug. "No idea."

Yoongi left over an hour ago, and all he'd said was that he had to run an errand before the flight. No explanation. No elaboration.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

That seems to surprise both of them. It surprises you a little, too.

Not because Yoongi reports his every movement to you—he obviously doesn't—but because it’s so unlike him on a day like this. He’s usually carting everyone to the airport with hours to spare, double and triple checking everyone has what they need.

The conversation drifts elsewhere—Hoseok's showcase, travel plans—until the sound of keys rattling outside finally cuts through the apartment.

The front door opens, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Suddenly, you understand why he didn't tell anybody where he was going.

The longer hair he'd been sporting lately at the behest of his eomma is long gone. It’s significantly shorter now, exposing more of his forehead.

Yoongi closes the door behind him and sets a small shopping bag on the entryway table before looking up. Immediately, he catches three people staring at him.

"What?"

Taehyung blinks first. "You got a haircut."

"Oh,” he says, as if he'd forgotten.

Jimin squints. "When did you do that?"

"This morning."

"That's where you went?"

"Yeah."

The conversation continues around you, but you're only catching about half of it, too distracted by your monkey brain going haircuthaircuthaircuthaircut.

You hate that you're noticing things like the shape of his neck. Or the cut of his jaw. Or the fact that the delicate silver hoops in his ears are more visible now. 

He looks pretty.

Yoongi catches you staring. "Do you not like it?"

The question catches you completely off guard. Shit.

Jimin and Taehyung follow his gaze to you. Double shit!

"What?" you ask, heat creeping up your neck.

"My haircut."

"It's fine," you say.

The second the words leave your mouth, you know they were a mistake. Yoongi's eyebrows lift.

"'Fine?'" he repeats.

Taehyung looks between the two of you. "I think it looks good,” he offers.

"Thank you," Yoongi says.

“It makes you look like a baby,” he continues.

"Thank you?" 

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment,” Jimin says.

"Neither am I,” Yoongi says, glancing at you pointedly, “but it’s better than ‘fine.’”

Your cheeks are so hot at this point you don’t know how much more you can take.

"Can we please leave before we miss our flight?" you ask, standing up from the couch. “We have places to be, people!”

“Damn, hello Hoseok,” Jimin says, but still, thankfully, everyone starts grabbing their bags.

Once the luggage is packed into the trunk and the four of you are finally settled in the car (Yoongi in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, Jimin and Taehyung in the back), your phone buzzes three times in your lap.

You pick it up and flip it over, squinting to your left when you see that it’s a text from Yoongi. You were wondering why he was spending so much time fiddling on his phone. You figured he might be checking the flight details one more time, or queueing up some music, but apparently not.

When you open it, your eyes widen. Oh. That’s why he texted you instead of saying it out loud, then.

Yoongi: I’m glad you like my haircut.

Yoongi: By the way, there’s a BDSM club in Tokyo I’ve been wanting to check out. If you’re down.

Yoongi: Think about it :-)

You slam your phone back down onto your lap before Jimin or Taehyung have a chance to be nosy, your cheeks going hot.

Fuck.

So much for this trip being relaxing.

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Despite sharing a wall with the exam room, you leave the door to the break room ajar to better catch any important sounds, and then you set the first of your twenty-minute alarms. The couch you stretch out on has to be one of your all-time favorites; fortunate when you and your colleagues often need quick rest. Therefore, it's not long after you've propped your head on your pillow and pulled your blue blanket over your body that you drift off. Unsurprisingly, you dream of those dark eyes.

"So, nothing else that I should know?"

"No," you say, muffling a yawn with the back of your hand as Yoongi watches. "Good vitals, should start waking up soon. I haven't taken him for a potty break yet, so he might need to go soon. That's it. I've updated the chart."

"Mhm. Okay," Yoongi says. He hasn't even bothered with scrubs, showing up in gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, pushing the most minimalist-looking glasses you've ever seen higher on his nose.

"Okay. See you."

With a parting smile, you turn. But before you can head to the locker room to get changed, a call of your name has you pausing, looking back to see what else Yoongi wants.

"Maybe I should walk you to your car?"

"It's twenty meters from the entrance," you point out.

"I know. Still."

Your slight smile grows warmer. "I appreciate it, but I'll be fine."

He gives you a short nod. "Be careful."

You return the gesture.

Only a few months ago, you'd often end your day shift with a thirty-minute walk home. Headphones at the bottom of your bag, it would be just you and your thoughts. Borderline insane in this day and age, sure, but you find that you need to process your work before you fall asleep or you won't fall asleep. Especially if the day blessed you with delightful moments such as putting someone's best friend to sleep.

These days, however, you always take the car. Especially to and from night shifts. The few minutes behind the wheel—even if spent in silence—aren't nearly enough to decompress from a whole workday, but you try.

The air is cold as you step outside the clinic, but the shiver that runs down your spine isn't a result of the temperature. Tonight, walking out of the clinic and locking the door behind you feels more like stepping out on stage, lights already on and harshly focused on you. You try to dismiss it, but you can't shake the eerie feeling of being watched. Inconspicuously, you scan the quiet area as you quickly head toward your car, but there's no one around. Either way, you hurry, locking the doors around you the moment you get behind the wheel and driving off as soon as you can.

The short drive through the sleepy town is fortunately uneventful, and you feel the exhaustion creep up on you too; it takes you three tries to unlock your apartment door. But then you remember something, sleepiness momentarily washed away.

Fishing the phone from your pocket, you begin a new text, but then you pause, thumb hovering over the digital keyboard. Was he really serious about wanting you to message him in the middle of the night like this?

Fuck it. You're too tired to overthink it: not the concept of sending a text nor the words themselves.

You: I'm home safe now :)

Pressing send, you place your phone on the bathroom sink as you reach for the face wash, beginning the process of cleansing your skin from makeup and whatever other fun things cling to it from an entire day of handling sick animals. You'll shower and change the sheets tomorrow.

Something between a minute and two passes before your phone vibrates, and you lean your dripping face over the screen to read the notification.

Jeon Jeongguk: 😀👍🏼

Staring at the odd reply until the screen goes dark again, you're not sure what you expected. A cryptic message of some kind? Maybe even something… flirty considering his last words and the way he held your hand and twirled you back inside the clinic?

You grab a towel, dabbing your face dry, and then your lips pull into a dumb smile. It's kinda cute, though.

"Hey, slept well?" Nayeon grins when you step inside the main exam room at ten p.m. the following night. You slept until three and then spent the next few hours cleaning your apartment and doing a well-needed load of laundry before you drove out to the clinic.

"Yeah, was super tired. Any plans for the night?"

Leaning back in the chair, Nayeon stretches her arms high over her head, her blue scrub shirt lifting slightly at the waist. "If I do. Carbs and TV, baby. I'm having the worst noodle cravings. Funny how I never eat noodles except when I'm like… day four into my period."

You laugh. "Yeah, I've never heard anyone period-crave noodles. I was just craving chocolate or something super salty."

"Hm. You know, I'm thinking about getting a new IUD but the last insertion was…" she trails of, grimacing. "Yours was alright?"

You shake your head, mirroring her pained expression. "Passed out."

"Fuck. Honestly, the people that claim it's not painful, I think they're just bullshitting."

"Definitely. I dread getting mine out, but it's reaching the end of its life," you answer, turning your focus to the patient before the painful memories have you hurling. "Anyway, anything I need to know?"

Nayeon rises from her seat and comes to stand beside you, her eyes following yours and landing on one of the largest dogs the clinic's probably ever seen, currently snoring in the lowest of the wall-built kennels. It's a male Broholmer; a danish mastiff type of dog with short brown fur.

"No, not really. We puked him, and I explained that the amount of chocolate isn't really dangerous for this type of dog. More specifically, this size of dog and the type of chocolate."

"Milk?"

"Yeah. Like 50 grams. Well, they weren't sure, but most likely."

You nod. "Not enough theobromine either way."

"Yeah, but they wanted us to keep him overnight regardless. He peed like… an hour ago."

"Alright. Well, I'm here to relieve you of your duty, so you're free to go."

"Thanks!" she claps her hands once before letting her quick feet take her in the direction of the locker room. "Tell Yoongi that I ate his chips."

Your eyes widen. "Wait! No, Nayeon! Oh my God."

Her laughter echoes down the hall, and you sigh. You love the woman, but she has a talent for putting you in mildly inconvenient situations. "Send a text when you're home, at least!" you call after her.

"Of course!"

Shaking your head, you sink down onto the black swivel chair she just occupied, pulling up your phone to scroll all of your social media apps. The uneventful shifts are the longest, and while you honestly wish a certain mythical creature would stop by, you haven't planned anything. You'd text him, but God, you need to preserve at least a little bit of what dignity remains, right?

However, twenty minutes into a Youtube video—an hour and a half after Nayeon left—a notification drops from the top of your screen.

Jeon Jeongguk: Knock knock

It's almost scary how your heart skips a beat and you feel your mood lift beyond what's probably good for you. Standing, you push your phone into your scrub pocket as you leave the exam room and head toward the dimly lit entrance.

Despite your previous dignity-related concern, not even embarrassment can stop your face from lighting up when you spot him outside the door. You hadn't noticed, but it looks like it's raining? Quite a bit at that.

Unlocking the door, you can't help but smile as you meet his dark eyes through the glass.

You push the heavy door open, greeting him through the first sliver. "Hi."

"Hey," he smiles confidently. "I'm here for my daily dose of attention."

You gasp, pulling the door shut before Jeongguk's even made the slightest of efforts at entering.

Though he could very well grab the door and pull it open by force, he doesn't. He just stands there, in the rain, looking down at you through the glass with a curious smile and a tilt of his head. As if patiently wondering when—or even if—you're gonna let him in.

It's such a dangerous mix; his very, very slight teasing, blended thoroughly with how gentle he is. Of course, you only take one deep breath, and then you're opening the door again.

"Don't be mean," you warn as you let him through. It doesn't help that he's wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans, and there's a few drops of water rolling down the leather and others threatening to fall from his hair.

"Mean?"

"Yeah, teasing me for being interested in you."

He chuckles, running his hand through that dark, slightly wet hair. "Wasn't my intention. I was merely referring to myself as… what do you youngins call it these days? An attention… whore, is it?"

"Okay, grandpa."

"See, now that's mean."

You laugh, cheeks still a bit warm but the unintentional offense already forgotten.

Jeongguk's heavy boots thud against the linoleum floor as he follows you past the dark reception and back into the main exam room, reclaiming his spot on the exam table. But as he starts to remove his jacket—and you see how much rain he's actually collected—you back up toward the doorway.

"I'll be back in a second."

With a nod of his, you head toward the locker room, quickly grabbing one of two towels folded on the top shelf of your locker.

Jeongguk is waiting patiently when you return. But as you do, rounding the corner to enter the room, for a brief second, it looks like he's… scenting the air. Very subtly and reminding you of a dog; just a slightly lifted head, short inhales, and an analyzing but unfocused gaze.

It hits you that you haven't asked him about his sense of smell, and he might very well be smelling… Nayeon? God, you've never been so relieved not to have a period. It's not something you should be embarrassed about, but your cheeks heat a little either way; you wouldn't want anyone to know your cycle without your consent. You'll definitely ask about his sense of smell. …Another time.

"The clinic towels—although washed—always seem to have just a bit of fur stuck to them. This is mine," you say, throwing the towel at him and watching him catch it effortlessly. "Also clean, of course," you're quick to add.

He doesn't comment on it, just bows his head in casual gratitude, and begins to dab his hair dry. Already forgetting about him potentially smelling period blood, you watch him, particularly mesmerized by his thick, bulging bicep, generously exposed by the black t-shirt he wears. At least the rain didn't soak him to the bone.

"Who's that?" he asks, gesturing toward the massive, brown dog.

"Mo. He ate some chocolate and is staying the night for observation."

"Mo?" Jeongguk questions, brows furrowing slightly.

Having just woken up, Mo looks at you and Jeongguk before he drops his head back down and lets out a sigh so big his jowls bubble in the wind.

"Short for 'Thermostat.' Apparently, he's a splendid bed-warmer. He'll be fine."

"So… fluids?" you start—hand on the back of the swivel chair—before Jeongguk can comment on your patient's unusual name, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. "You can't possibly mean that you don't have to consume fluids at all? You mean besides the blood, right?" you ask, eyes so focused on him, you almost miss the chair when you go to sit down.

He's grinning happily, surely amused by your almost-accident. You scratch the back of your neck, feeling the heat rise once again.

"No, I do mean that I don't really need to consume them. Technically, sure, certain circumstances could force me to drink even water, but normally, no."

You feel the confusion grow, and you blink rapidly, trying desperately to understand. "Huh?"

What on earth does that mean? Normally…. no? But… other times?

What?

"Okay, so we need a certain amount of fluids in our bodies, right? For our own blood and venom and whatnot."

You nod, showing that you're following along, at least so far. It would definitely be easier if his thick arms weren't on display, big hands gripping the edge of the table.

"But normally, we don't lose fluids," he continues. "We're really, really efficient at extracting all the nutrients, so it doesn't really leave any waste that needs to be flushed out. We don't really sweat either, as overheating isn't usually a problem for us. So, we don't lose a lot of fluids. In general."

Subconsciously, you lean in. "What's the exception?"

"Just because we don't usually sweat doesn't mean we can't. My body is a lot less heat sensitive than yours. I'm fine until around 44-45 degrees Celsius, after which I start to slow down."

"As in your metabolism stalls? To prevent overheating?"

He nods, and when a strand of his black, almost entirely dry hair falls into his face, he runs one veiny hand through it. "Yeah. Basically all of me slows down. I get a little sluggish, you know, my body tells me to take it easy. And then I start to sweat; It's a bit like a last resort."

"So you can die from overheating?"

"Yeah, but it's very uncommon."

You pat your pockets, realizing that you should be taking notes. "But sweating means you lose fluid."

"Right. We can lose more than a human can without it being close to severe, but if we sweat profusely, or… get injured and lose a lot of blood, we do need to replenish it. The best way is through consuming blood."

"If you don't have access to any, though?"

"It depends on how much we need. A bit, we can pull from our venom, saliva, skin… all that. If it's bad, and there's no blood, even water will do. Or anything liquid, really."

The letters you rush to put down on paper are messy to say the least, and you hide your gaze in them as you formulate your next question. "Is there a… rage element to it? Getting fluids no matter what?"

He licks his lips, looking a little… unwilling to share when you finally look up again. "I mean… it can be. But it's rare. In this day and age especially. Water or something else is practically always available; having to feed from a human just to get fluids is uncommon."

You nod. "And when you feed, you replenish whatever you might need. The rest, you pee out?"

"Exactly. So normally, there's nothing to replenish, and just… all water is peed out."

"And that means you could also consume powdered blood," you conclude, consumed by just how amazing that is. "For a long time, just powder. No liquids at all. Everything is just circulated."

"Yeah."

"That is so interesting," you speak without really thinking, pen hot against the paper.

"Thank you."

You think even your ears heat up this time. "I gotta stop," you mumble, glancing at him.

Jeongguk chuckles, leaning back on his arms. "Don't stop, please. I never get to feel special like this."

God. For a quick moment, you let yourself drink in the vision of his thick forearms, inner sides exposed and veins out for you to admire, thinking to yourself that you never in a million years would've imagined a vampire both exist and somehow be this… masculine, intimidating, and endearing.

But also…. he never gets to feel special? As if this isn't the most head-turning man you've ever seen? The inhabitants of your boring little town all practically getting whiplash as they turn to get a second look at him? You have absolutely no doubt that the effect is the same regardless of city size.

You meet his eyes, hoping he doesn't notice just how much you like to simply… look at him. "You also said something about… super strength, was it?"

"Mhm."

"So… how strong are you?"

Humming, he looks around the room, clearly in search of something. And so do you, following his gaze curiously.

"Don't really know how to show you, doesn't seem to be anything heavy in here."

You guess he's right. While you'd struggle immensely to lift the table he's perched on, you'd imagine it's not actually that heavy. The heaviest thing inside the room that isn't bolted to the floor or wall is probably you or Mo, and you're not about to ask him to toss either of you around. While you're sure the huge ultrasound machine sits unused in the next room over, a crack in that would lead to your demise.

What your eyes instead land on is a recently opened bag of dog food, slumped against the wall. 10kg / 22lbs is printed toward the bottom. You consider it, but then you look away.

"You think that's too heavy for me?"

Your eyes shift back to his inquiring ones, and you smile. "No, even I can carry that. But it's too difficult for the… test I'd like to do."

"Huh? Why would it be too difficult?"

"'Cause—" you start, but instead of explaining it to him, you decide to just let him try. It might still provide a glimpse into his physical capabilities.

"Look," you say, approaching the bag. Using both hands, you grab it at the top, swinging it forward barely above the floor as you return to him. You could hoist it into your arms, but for such a short distance, you don't bother. "I'd like you to do an isometric hold, which is already extremely difficult with something this heavy. But this bag doesn't even have any handles or anything."

The kibble settles when you lower the bag down to the floor. Jeongguk stands from the table, listening to your explanation and watching you talk with your hands.

"So you can try grabbing it at the top here and then lift it, keeping your arm straight and parallel to the floor, but it's not really a failure if you can't. You'd have to have an extreme grip strength to do it, and that's not even what the test is supposed to—"

Like it's an apple in a plastic bag, Jeongguk grabs the top of the bag you just let go off and lifts, the kibble inside shifting audibly.

"—test… Uh… Humans… aren't built to do that," you mumble, watching with wide eyes. The fact that he can even lift it off the floor with one hand is a feat in your book, and you rush to gather your thoughts.

"…Especially not for a long time, and that is a very heavy weight to attempt it with. No matter how strong, a human man's arm will start to tremble pretty soon, like way before a minute—I think—and he'll have to drop it."

"A minute?" Jeongguk asks in mild disbelief, something you find almost unreasonably attractive.

"Yeah. For a lot lighter weights. Something like a few-kilo dumbbell. Or at least I think so; humans aren't my area of expertise. But still, believe it or not, we're better at it than say, apes and gorillas, who in general are a lot stronger."

"Why is that?" he asks, unbothered, like he's not currently accomplishing a feat deserving of an Olympic medal.

You're definitely blaming biology because the showcased strength—so much worse when you're up close and can see his body working—undoubtedly has you feeling things. Either his body heat is warming you, or it's that flexed strength and those dark eyes, watching you intently.

"Humans have longer—slower, I guess—muscle fibers that make us good at endurance strength. Apes and gorillas have shorter, faster muscle fibers. They're a lot more explosive, which generally generates more 'pure' strength. But those faster fibers also burn out quicker."

"Hmm. Interesting."

You nod, glancing back at the clock on the wall. 50 seconds. Wow.

"Can I?" you ask, meeting his eyes while reaching for his wrist.

Already watching your face, Jeongguk nods. But just as you take an additional step closer, you think you hear him inhale a breath slightly stronger than before. Not like he suddenly needed more oxygen but more like… as if he was smelling the air again.

Being so close, you don't feel embarrassed. If he has a good enough sense of smell to know that someone—who was in the room more than an hour earlier—was on their period, he should for sure be able to tell that it isn't you.

But if it had been you? For a brief second, you consider what bleeding around him could lead to. Period blood is much more than just pure blood, but still… blood is blood, right? What did he say last time? When you revealed that you were still a bit nervous around him and his urges?

“I feel it. I can always smell a human this close. But… I mean, do you want to eat everything you pass at the grocery store? Or just the fresh store-grilled chicken?”

“Depends?”

“On?”

“If I’m the bruised apple or the fresh store-grilled chicken?” you answer, smiling just a tad nervously.

“Well,” he says, and you don’t miss how he very briefly looks you up and down. “You smell very nice, but you wouldn’t be the grilled chicken unless I was hungry and you were actively bleeding in front of me.”

Surely, he must come across menstruating human women all the time? But what if being alone with one happens to be the one irresistible temptation? What would've happened if Nayeon was still around when he arrived? Or… well… if it had been you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you press your fingers softly to his wrist, feeling for the radial pulse. It's slow, and while you didn't expect it to go ham from exhaustion considering Jeongguk's unaffected face and the remarkable lack of tremors, it amazes you.

With your eyes on the clock, you count the beats of his pulse while putting your other hand gently on his forearm. Doing your best not to affect his performance—not that he needs it—you softly run that other hand up his warm, naked arm.

There's no extra heat generated from what you can tell, but you definitely feel how his muscles are working. All the way from his thick forearm to his honestly huge, rock-hard bicep and then the impressive deltoid in the shoulder; they're all taut and firm under your light touch.

You feel the prominent veins spanning his arm, curious to see if there's an added palpable pressure anywhere, but there's not. Nothing that snitches on his muscles' added oxygen requirements or his blood supply straining to provide it. His skin isn't flushed red with effort, either.

"42 beats per minute," you conclude, lowering your hands and taking a small step back.

"What does that tell you?" he asks, peering down at you curiously.

"That you're insane?" you chuckle. "Your resting heart rate last time was 36 beats per minute, so—disregarding fluctuations—your muscles are working. It's just not a lot of added effort, it seems. No extra heat, no tremors, no added pressure to your veins. At least nothing noticeable."

"So you can tell that I'm strong?" He grins.

You nod. "Yeah. And it's been well over a minute, so you can put it down."

"No."

"No? How long are you gonna hold it for?"

"I don't know?"

You laugh, honestly a little speechless. Should you check the ceiling for hidden wires? Or hidden cameras?

"Okay? Do you wanna hold it while I write some notes down then?"

Jeongguk nods, and you go to retrieve your notebook and pen, but right at that moment, there's the sound of plastic ripping and then kibble meeting the floor.

"Shit," you exclaim, seeing Jeongguk already lowering the bag to prevent more of its contents from spilling out.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault," you say, kneeling to assess the damage to the bag. The hole is around ten centimeters long and toward the bottom on one side.

Fortunately, only a kilo or so has made it out onto the floor, and so you stand up, locating the trashcan and its spare bags, one of which you then kneel down to scoop the spillage into. Jeongguk tries to help, collecting and dropping a handful of kibble into the bag.

"Can you see if there's duct tape somewhere in there?" You gesture toward the white-painted cupboards that line the wall to your left.

He nods, rising to his feet, and you hear cupboard after cupboard open. Then, he's crouching in front of you again, a roll of gray duct tape offered from his large hand.

"You're really gonna throw that away? Surely it's not bad just because it was on the floor for a minute; dogs eat literal shit outside all the time, right?"

You laugh quietly. "Yeah, while our floors are kept as clean as possible, unfortunately, it's a liability. Things like these happen sometimes, but Namjoon usually brings it home with him; his sister has like… I think it's five dogs at this point. So it's not wasted."

"Okay, that's good. I was feeling guilty."

You look up at him, endeared by his admittance. The feelings your poor heart is made to feel around him are giving you a metaphorical whiplash. "Wouldn't have been your fault either way."

You tape up the tear best you can, cursing quietly when you realize that, to make it truly secure, you should wrap the tape also around the bag. It's going to be difficult since the bag is still mostly full and thus super heavy to move even without a large hole.

However…

You glance at Jeongguk, your… friend, who conveniently (or not: it was the very feat the bag was used to test) comes equipped with super strength.

"Could you… lift this for me?"

He nods, and the only hesitance he shows as he picks the bag up horizontally instead of vertically is whether the tape is sticking. It is, and Jeongguk holds the bag away from his body, giving you enough space to wrap the tape around it, your hands grazing his chest now and again as you work.

When you deem it secure enough, you lean in, biting the tape from the roll with your teeth. And then you stand, pointing to a table further into the room. "Would you mind placing it there?"

Without a word, he obeys, and you don't miss how he handles the bag with care. When it's delivered to its designated spot, he turns back to you, appearing almost like he's waiting for more assignments.

"Thank you. Clearly, you're very strong," you smile, your ears heating just a tiny bit. "Makes me wonder what your muscle fibers look like. You evidently do great at endurance type strength, but how good are you at explosiveness?"

You don't miss how his eyes light up. "Want to see?" he asks, scanning the room again.

"Definitely," you answer, trying to think of ways to test it. "You know what, why don't we start with your reflexes?"

"Sure, what do you have in mind?"

Spotting a pair of heavy bandage scissors lying on a counter, you grab them. With your other hand, you gesture toward the exam table. "Sit? Relax your legs; just let them hang," you instruct, turning the scissors around so that you're holding them by the blades.

Jeongguk takes a seat, watching as you step into his space and gently prod the space just below his kneecap until you find the right spot. As soon as you tap the heavy metal handle to his patellar tendon, his leg kicks out. Almost as if he kicked it out before you even made contact.

"That tickles."

You smile, trying to stay focused. "Close your eyes?"

Looking up at his face to make sure he obeys, you feel your heart stutter the way it so often does when you watch him.

God, he's handsome, even more so up close. You want to say that his nose—so masculine yet almost elegant—is your favorite of his facial features, but that would mean pitting it against his dark eyes or… his cheekbones—currently kissed by his black, rather straight lashes—or even his brow bone and eyebrows. And that's without even mentioning his pink lips or the sculpted area around them, including that dimple that only pops out with specific expressions.

To not raise suspicion, you force yourself to focus. Your gaze—lingering on that glabella of his, partly hidden by his black hair—drops to your hands, and you repeat the motion you did only a few seconds ago.

The effect is undoubtedly the same, and he's just as quick to kick his leg out, but he's definitely also intentionally lessening the impact of it. Maybe he's worried about kicking you?

"You have good reflexes. Very quick, even when you try to resist," you conclude, taking a step back. Being close to him is very… intense, after all. "You can look."

It's like you can feel the moment he opens his eyes, his gaze heavy and warm on your face. When you peer up at him again, he smiles. "And now?"

You dig out a paperclip from your breast pocket, stepping closer once more and holding the small item in the air between you, roughly at eye-height.

"I drop this. You try to catch it."

At the challenge, you notice how he gains a certain kind of focus you haven't really seen before. He's quick to place his fingers just below your hand, intently watching the paperclip pinched between your fingers.

"This is allowed?" he asks, referring to the small space between your hands. Is his voice suddenly… deeper?

"Yes."

As you wait for the golden moment, trying to catch him off guard, it doesn't even look like he's breathing. He's entirely still, eyes frozen on the paperclip. You don't even think he blinks.

When you drop it, he simply pinches his fingers together, catching the bottom of the clip between them, meaning… he was faster than required.

Seeing that he succeeded, he breaks out into a wide grin, holding the paperclip victoriously.

"Again?" he asks, practically beaming.

Nodding with a smile of your own—he's honestly adorable—you take the paperclip from him, returning to your previous position. This time, you wait longer.

Hyper focused, Jeongguk only opens his mouth when something like a whole minute has passed.

"Are you gonna—"

Mid-sentence, you drop it.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that," he chuckles, holding the paperclip up for you to see.

"Fine." You take it from him once more.

This time, you opt for another tactic.

After you've held it above his awaiting fingers for twenty or so seconds, you pinch your own fingers together, trying to see if you can trigger him to close his without you actually dropping the paperclip.

And you can because he does. You hurry, actually releasing the paperclip the moment you see him put his fingers together, hoping he won't be quick enough to reset and try again before it falls to the floor. But he's fast—a human would've already failed—and you laugh, seeing him fumble the paperclip. It bounces off his fingers as he tries to catch it.

"Got it," he declares a second later, finally having gotten a good grip on it.

"Barely," you comment, knowing full well you would not have achieved anything close to that.

You sit down on your chair, notebook in your lap.

"What are you writing?" he asks, approaching where you sit. "I still caught it, if you write that I didn't, you're lying."

You can't stop giggling as he tries to peek at the words you write down, still maintaining a respectable distance. More than you've given him, but you guess he's more worried about intimidating you than the other way around.

"Don't worry, I'm noting that you have above average reflexes."

"A—above average?" he repeats, blinking in playful offense. "Not 'incredible?'"

"Fine, 'possibly supernatural?'"

"'Possibly?'"

"Yeah, three times is not nearly enough to draw an indisputable conclusion. Besides, you almost didn't catch it that last time."

"I'm offended."

Smiling widely, you keep writing. "No, but honestly? Your reflexes are very impressive, especially your focus. But there's a surprising amount of… humanity? to you. And by that I mean that while you're very clearly superhuman, you're not a machine."

"Hmm," he says. "I guess I can accept that."

"Good," you agree, putting the pen and paper down on the table next to you. "It's not meant to be negative."

"Do you want to see what else I can do?"

"Sure?"

It's so effortless, the way he leans down, putting his hands flat to the floor while simultaneously kicking his legs into the air. He tucks one of his arms uselessly behind his back and then lowers himself.

Despite not being a gym girl, you're wholeheartedly impressed. Surprisingly often, your social media algorithms put gym content on your feeds, and so you watch women and (mostly) men perform absolutely insane stunts.

But you've never seen anyone do one arm handstand pushups.

At least not unassisted and this… effortlessly. The muscles of his arm are bulging, and while he doesn't look too strained, it's definitely a bit of a challenge, even for him. His entire body works, not only to carry all of his weight but to keep his form and balance. Because you're clearly not suffering enough, gravity causes his black t-shirt to slide down, exposing the lower half of his abdomen.

"Oh, wow," you mumble, eyes wide, before you even realize. To be fair, it's mostly a reaction to his performance and not his defined obliques and abs. You're more nerd than you're thirsty.

You hear him chuckle as he repeats the motion, doing at least five more pushups before he straightens up again, only a very, very slight flush to his face. Now, there's also an attractive fluff to his black hair.

"Can all vampires do that?"

He shakes his head. "No. Almost all vampires could do it if they only practiced a little, though. It's not only about strength but balance and body control as well."

"That's so cool. I noticed you used your right hand, is that your dominant hand and arm? Can you do them using your left?"

Happy to take on yet another challenge, he gets down again, repeating the motion using his left arm. You don't notice any kind of struggle, and he's practically beaming when he straightens up, even more so when he sees how truly amazed you are.

"Do you have a dominant arm and hand? Or are you ambidextrous?"

"Uh… " he looks at his hands. "I use mostly my right hand, but my left isn't necessarily worse? Maybe it's mostly out of habit?"

"Hmm. Interesting. Close your eyes for me?"

Without a word, he shuts his eyes. His willingness to follow instructions makes your skin heat and your heart skip yet another beat, and you're certainly not wasting the opportunity to admire his face again.

"Put your arms out to the sides. Good. Now, without opening your eyes, touch your nose. One hand at a time."

You watch, seeing him find the tip of his nose quickly and without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"Good."

He opens his eyes, looking down at you with amusement brimming in his black eyes. He's clearly in a good mood today. "Are you impressed?"

You laugh. "That last one isn't all that hard if you're sober and have at least normal coordination. Watch."

To demonstrate, you close your eyes and reach your arms out. Then, you touch your nose, one index finger at a time. "I can do it too."

As you open your eyes—just about to say something about hand-eye coordination—you hear something down the hall.

Rushed footsteps. A frantic call of your name.

You turn, focus shifting to the doorway and whatever situation will appear in a few seconds. "…Momo?!"

"Where are you?! Luci can't breathe; please help!"

"Main!" you call, hands already searching for the stethoscope when you suddenly remember the conundrum you've put yourself in. You have a vampire in the clinic.

"Jeongg—"

But as you turn back to where he was just a moment ago, he's gone. Your confused eyes search the room; there's nowhere for a being his size to hide.

---

Only an hour and a half later—as you lean back in the rolling chair with a deep exhale—do you remember your vampire. Exhausted and emotional, Momo sits on the exam room floor with her beloved cat in front of her on a blanket, holding an oxygen mask to his face. You pull out your phone.

You: Where did you go? And HOW?

You put the phone back in your pocket. "Yoongi should be here soon. Do you want me to stay as well?"

Momo looks at you, tired yet relieved that you managed to get Luci stable. "No, it's okay. Thank you, though."

"Of course."

In your pocket, you feel your phone buzz against your leg. Momo has returned her attention to Luci, gently petting his white fur. The phone vibrates once more as you pull it out.

Despite the heaviness in the room, the words on the screen bring a small smile your way.

Jeon Jeongguk: I ran out the room, you just didn't see me because I'm so fat

Jeon Jeongguk: *fast

The bubble pops up, indicating another incoming message.

Jeon Jeongguk: 🧛🏻

While the vampire emoji is a fun touch, you're mostly stuck on the implication that he also possesses super speed. Like, The Flash kind of speed.

You: Are you saying you're so fast you're invisible?? Can't be true??

Your logic-wired brain tries to find a scientific explanation as to how he could possibly move faster than you'd be able to see. You watched the doorway, the only doorway. He'd have to be able to move quicker than light? You might have accepted that he's a bloodsucking, fang-having vampire, but faster than light?

Jeon Jeongguk: Okay, you got me. I left through the window. I couldn't lock it from the outside though so remember to do that. I hope the cat is okay.

You roll your eyes. Still, your chest is just a little warmer, even if the warm-blooded vampire isn't physically close anymore, and a small part of you wonders whether that's a good thing. A larger part ignores it.

Also… possessing the speed and agility to leave through the window without you noticing still requires him to be something definitely superhuman.

---

"Okay. Well, besides the flu outbreak, it's great that your work is… great."

You take a bite of your Caesar salad; your favorite out of the town's five restaurants and their versions.

"Mhm," you agree. "I like my work."

"Yes, and that's lovely. Have you met a man yet?"

You cough. While it's not a surprising question from your mother; she always manages to catch you off guard. Hand reaching for the glass of water, you take a generous gulp.

"I'm not really dating right now."

"I know, but if it happens, it happens, right? I'm sure there are many animal owners coming through? Aren't there any nice men?"

You look at her with slightly tired eyes. And then you actually look at her. Golden heart pendant hanging from her neck and hair dyed dark even though it's been graying since her thirties, she looks like she always does. And you bet you look like you always do. And you talk like always. Not about the same things necessarily, but about the same things.

You don't like discussing your love life with her, finding her optimism often a little too much, and as she's looking off into the distance, at a new patron entering the restaurant, you can tell she doesn't expect you to actually share anything because you never do. But is it her fault that she married her high school sweetheart and it worked out?

"Actually," you say, pressing your fork into a square piece of grilled chicken. "There's this… man. He found a stray cat who had kittens."

Your mother's eyes widen, and your heart fills with a certain sense of relief but also guilt.

"I've helped him take care of them."

Does it matter if it's unreasonable and entirely out of the realm of possibilities? Your mom wanted to know if you're interested in anyone, and you definitely are.

"Oh? Is he nice? What's his name?"

"He's really nice. His name is Jeongguk, but you can't tell anyone, okay?"

Of course, your mother isn't going to spill your secret; at least not in any way that counts. She doesn't live in town anymore and is merely visiting her only child. What would it matter if she told her neighbor Patricia? It's not like Jeongguk would find out and tease you for it.

"And you like him?"

You nod, gaze falling casually to your plate. "I do, but it's kinda… complicated, so even if he likes me—which I'm not sure he does; he might just be a friendly guy—it's not… it wouldn't work out."

From the corner of your eye, you see how your mother tilts her head. "Why not? Your brain is so complex that sometimes you make things unnecessarily hard. Does it have to be so complicated?"

You roll your eyes subtly as you move some croutons around with the fork. Maybe you shouldn't have told her. "He's not staying in town."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you are not movable?"

You sigh. You know she's not suggesting you ask a guy who you just said might not even like you if you could please follow him across the world or wherever he's moving. She's… inquiring gently whether you'd compromise for love.

"Mom. What I have here… I have a great job that I love. I don't go too bed dreading Mondays. I have such good friends that I love, and I have an apartment that I feel at home in. It would be foolish to give that up for a guy. Maybe if it's someone I've dated for years and years or already married."

"I'm just saying. I know you love your job, but this is a very small town, and I don't want you to miss out on something. There are veterinary clinics in all cities."

"I know. I'm staying here though, at least for the time being."

Seeing that she's not entirely satisfied, still worried about you, you offer her a soft smile and something resembling an olive branch. "The perfect man might come find me first, though, right?"

The texts exchanged after Luci's emergency—that he luckily recovered from—remain the latest communication between you and Jeongguk, and you don't think much of it, even two days later. Of course, your thoughts still drift to him every other undisturbed moment; any other claim would be a lie. And while you're mostly busy cooking up purely scientific theories that fit both known biology and his peculiar anatomy, you have a hard time tuning out the butterflies that always accompany.

The flying critters are even present as you steer your car into the grocery store's parking lot, the conversation between you and your mother still occupying your thoughts.

You raise an eyebrow. There are surprisingly many cars already parked outside the store considering it's almost ten p.m. on a Thursday.

No, wait.

You reach for your phone, thrown onto the passenger seat. Shit, it's Friday; that's why it's packed. You guess not working a typical nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday sometimes messes with your perception of time (and days).

There aren't that many spots out of the parking lot open to choose from, and so you don't think much of the one you glide into. Not until you realize that the car in front of you, parked with its nose toward you, is too far ahead, and you'll have to leave the butt of yours sticking out just a tad more than you'd like. Whatever, you'll be in and out.

Should you have moved to another spot? You definitely would have, if you knew that the car belonged to your former classmates, but you don't learn that until you're stepping out of yours. Coincidentally, it's also then that you realize just how much of a lousy parker whoever parked their car is because not only is the vehicle too far into the spot, its back left wheel is entirely inside an adjoining one.

Either way, it's too late to move.

"Oh, hey!"

You curse to yourself. They're approaching the back of their car, fittingly standing between you and the store. Whatever, you'll just be polite.

"Hi," you answer, briefly taking in the sight of the three men loaded with supplies.

"How's it going?" Mingyu asks, looking surprisingly genuine.

"It's fine. You're having a party?" you nod toward the stacked pastry boxes in DK's hands that you recognize as the store-baked ones. There must be six of them, almost more than he can carry.

The biggest party clue, however, is probably the alcohol; all men carry multiple plastic bags that sound suspiciously much like glass bottles clinking against each other.

Joshua even carries an additional case of beer, grinning smugly at you. "Just a small one to celebrate the anniversary and DK's published paper."

Considering the amount of supplies, it's not that small. It's probably just you they haven't invited.

"What about you? Gotten anything published? Any… exciting discoveries? Like a… werewolf or something?"

The snickers that follow has you feeling like you're in elementary school. Not even your own—because even the nine year old kids there were nicer than this—but the stereotypical elementary school in movies.

But what can you do? Telling them about Jeongguk, even if you had his permission, which you don't, is out of the question. It wouldn't help; If anything, it would make it worse. So all you do is roll your eyes, wishing they'd either get inside their car so you could squeeze past, or just shut up so you're socially allowed to round the cars next to you and leave that way.

But even before their teasing laughter dies down, you hear a sound. It's very distinct; something heavy being dragged against asphalt.

"Having a hard time parking within the lines?"

It's Jeongguk's voice, and as your eyes find him behind the guys, at the back of their car, you also see that he's the source of the sound.

Or rather, their car is, as he's picked up the back of it with one hand to adjust within the parking space, the locked front tires dragging against the ground as he pulls it back and slightly to the right.

Your classmates turn to look too, but just as they've quieted down to take in the scene in front of them, it's over; the car casually dropped to bounce on its tires.

You're about just as stunned, but before anyone can say anything—and like he didn't just do… that—Jeongguk calls your name.

"You're going inside?"

You nod, squeezing past the speechless men, their gazes warm on your face and then your back as you reach Jeongguk's side.

The mere thirty or so meters to the store's entrance, you spend most of in silence. Only when the guys are truly out of earshot do you voice your thoughts.

"Thank you," you begin by saying, a small, surprised smile playing on your lips. Do you think your lovely friends would've hurt you? No, but seeing them anywhere is the opposite of a fun situation. "Are you… supposed to do that, though?"

"Not really. But who are they supposed to tell?" he answers with a smile of his own, his voice low as you enter the store. "They've made damn sure no one's believing anything of the kind, right?"

"That's true," you agree. It then hits you just what actually happened, and you let out a snicker. "I can't even imagine what they're thinking right now."

You glance at the wall that separates you from the parking lot. Are they still standing there or have they gotten into the car? Are they quiet? Pretending like nothing happened? Or are they desperately trying to explain among themselves what the hell they just saw? They're scientists just like you; they know what Jeongguk did isn't humanly possible. It surprised you too—you had no idea he was that strong—but you at least knew something superhuman existed in town.

Jeongguk chuckles too. "I'd imagine they at least think twice before harassing you again."

"I wouldn't call it harassing…" you argue quietly, following him mindlessly inside the store. "So many people go through worse things."

"I would. Three grown men taunting a lone woman in a parking lot? You don't do that."

You don't say anything to that because, yeah, he's right. At the least, they're assholes.

Despite cat food being like… the main thing Jeongguk would need from a grocery store, you're almost surprised when that's where he leads you. You're entirely in your thoughts, your eyes taking him in, top to bottom, as he stops at a specific shelf, grabbing container after container of wet food.

He's wearing that leather jacket again, paired with blue jeans on the looser side, and when he reaches for the last container, somehow stuck at the back of the shelf, his jacket and shirt ride up.

Although you've never considered vampires' underwear habits, it's still a bit of surprise to see the Calvin Klein letters on the gray waistband that peeks out.

He's just a man. The most attractive man you've ever seen, who undeniably draws you in like you've never felt before. But… he's not actually a man, at least a human man. Your eyes glide over his arms, carrying what must be ten containers of wet food for cats.

"I wish they'd make these containers bigger, so I don't have to buy them so often," he mumbles, balancing them in his arms. "Or at least so many."

"Would you… let me run some more tests on you?" you ask quietly. "Cause… I mean I knew you were strong, but… lifting a car?" Your voice turns to a whisper. "With one hand? I didn't know you were that strong?"

He looks at you, a slight smile on his face. "What kind of tests? It's hard to demonstrate unless you have something heavy. Car-heavy."

"Oh, no, I meant tests as in ultrasounds and maybe… taking your blood? If you're okay with that?"

He licks his lips, considering. "Are you going to show anyone?"

You shake your head earnestly.

"Okay. At the clinic then, I assume?"

"Yeah. You don't happen to be free tomorrow night?"

"Sure. Ten p.m.?"

You nod, already excited.

Jeongguk smiles at you again, dark eyes so warm against your face. "This is all I'm gonna get, but I'll wait in my car if they haven't left yet."

The heat spreads to your chest. "Thank you."

"No worries, I'll see you tomorrow."

You watch his back until he's out of view, and then you're just a woman in a grocery store, no cart and no memory of what you were even supposed to be buying. Just in case they haven't left, and Jeongguk is just waiting in his car for you to finish, you grab a seemingly abandoned cart, hoping it wasn't occupied, and try to remember what it was that you needed.

Ten minutes later, you're finished, carrying some groceries and the laundry detergent you were out of out into the parking lot. The spot in front of your car is empty, and as you look around, you don't see the black SUV you assume Jeongguk drove there either.

<previous | next>

Although the case has officially been off your hands for weeks, almost months, you can’t seem to stay away. At least not entirely. You carefully probe Jihyo for whatever updates she can give, and Jeongguk forwards any crumbs he picks up from his contacts as well.

You know the lead investigator is tired of his constant need for reassurance—whether they remembered to process a certain witness testimony or check another location’s CCTV—just to make sure they’re not missing anything.

Even his polite requests for updated time estimates are probably wearing thin. If you were the one hounding them like that, you’re sure the case would’ve been dropped, but that’s the perk of being a confident man, you guess.

Personally, you’re better off trying to find a middle ground. You’re curious and nervous, yes, but you can’t allow yourself to obsess over the case. Besides, knowing both Jihyo and Jeongguk are keeping an eye on everything relieves you of any pressure. They wouldn’t let anyone fuck it up.

A week after your visit to Hoseong, Jeongguk leads you into the garage of his home, stopping at one of the shelves where he keeps his motorcycle gear. You watch him weigh a helmet in each hand before he decides on a black one so shiny you can see your own face reflected in it, and turn to you.

Having never worn a helmet of the kind, it feels weird when he pushes it down your head, adjusting it to sit properly while your head moves under the force like a bobblehead.

“What?” you question, not missing his smile as he peers down at you through the open visor.

“You look cute, that’s all.”

“Is it my cheeks? I look like a chipmunk, don’t I?”

He chuckles but shakes his head. “No, you don’t look like a chipmunk. Just cute.”

Definitely lying, he turns to the motorcycle.

“You know, I thought you’d force me to wear, like… a scuba suit or something.”

“The only reason I’m not is because it’s barely a five-minute ride, and you’re still wearing jeans. I will force you to wear an appropriate jacket, though. Unless you want to wear full-cover gear?”

Reminded of your outfit, you glance down at it. You would've worn a dress, had Jeongguk allowed it, but he mentioned 'meat crayon' and you quickly obeyed, choosing a pair of your nicest black jeans. To go with them, you settled on a deep red long-sleeve blouse.

You narrow your eyes, watching him put his own helmet on. You can only hope to look as gorgeous and not-silly as he does.

“A five-minute ride, huh?”

Realizing what he revealed, he points a finger at you. “Don’t trick me into spoiling things.”

“Hmm, what’s within five minutes from here?” you muse to yourself.

Hearing you, Jeongguk hits you with a pout so strong you see it conveyed purely by his round eyes. “No, please don’t,” he begs, and you feel a real physical tug on your heartstrings. At first, his reaction surprises you, but then you remember who you’re actually going on a date with. Jeongguk cares.

“Fine, I won’t,” you promise, happy to see those dark eyes light up again.

“Good. Here, wear this,” he says, handing you a black jacket with a thin, white stripe along its sides. It’s obviously smaller than the all black one he chooses to wear himself, and you don’t ask why he has it or for whom he bought it. Unless left behind by someone, he’s obviously gotten it to keep someone safe while riding with him.

With the jacket all zipped up, you lift your head, meeting his gaze. 

“You ready?” he asks.

Taking in the vision of him—black motorcycle jacket, black pants, black helmet—you nod. “Yeah. You look hot.”

He laughs, and you follow him as he wheels the bike outside, listening intently to his instructions while simultaneously checking him out. You should keep close, hold onto him, lean the same way he does, and keep your feet far from the exhaust so you don’t get toasted.

You think you got it, but it's a little hard to focus when he looks like that. Big and clearly very muscular, evident even through his clothes, he's the vision of the perfect 'bad boy.' And that's with the inked sleeve hidden.

He puts the kickstand down, and then he’s turning to you, holding his hands out toward you like you’re a kid he’s about to lift. Which is exactly what he does, just like the first time he put you on his bike. It’s impressive how he lifts you by your armpits and places you in the ‘backpack’ spot like you weigh nothing, which you absolutely don’t.

“Tap me somewhere if you want me to slow down,” he instructs as he gets on in front of you, reaching back to pull your arms around his waist. Getting the hint, you wrap them around him.

“And if I want you to stop?”

He thinks for a second. “Pinch me or something?”

You grin. Looking over his shoulder at you, he reaches over to flick your visor down, doing the same to his own right after.

While you once told Jeongguk you wouldn’t want to ride with him because he didn’t seem to value his own life, you’re not scared. Not in the slightest. He steers smoothly out of the neighborhood, sticking to the speed limits, and then you’re on the highway.

It’s freeing, seeing and feeling the world pass by, so very different from looking out the window of a car. You adjust your grip on his waist, your head resting against his back. Since you already have a pretty good guess of where you’re going, you find yourself just taking the world in.

The sun set not too long ago, and despite the air being rather… refreshing, you’re not cold. Jeongguk keeps to the left lane—overtaken cars disappearing on your right—and you keep your eyes on the slowly appearing horizon as the highway takes you onto a bridge. You watch the sky and the moving lights, letting the wind clear your thoughts.

Although he told you it was a short ride, you’re still surprised when you’re already there. Effortlessly, Jeongguk parks the bike and gets off, helping you down as well. You take the helmet off, running your hand through your hair and giving Jeongguk the helmet, who sticks his arm through one, hand grasping the other.

“So… how was it?” he smiles, hopeful, and holds his free hand out to you.

You take it, smiling so wide your cheeks almost hurt when he pulls you closer. “Surprisingly nice. Very… freeing?”

“Right? It’s my favorite thing to do when I need to clear my head.”

“I get that. Though I think it would be almost too freeing for me; I’d be too deep in my thoughts and cause an accident.”

Some bystanders and a group exiting the restaurant glance your way, but then again, you’re with Jeongguk. He’s a fantasy all on his own, even when he’s not dressed in black and holding two motorcycle helmets, but you understand them. He’s definitely extra dreamy tonight; black hair attractively messy after taking off the helmet.

You peer up at him, amazed and almost fascinated that he’s there with you.

“Head inside?” he wonders.

You nod, letting him take the lead.

It’s crowded at the restaurant’s entrance, only enough space for one person to pass through at a time. Jeongguk, of course, still with your hand in his, gently pulls you behind him to keep you close. He only drops your hand to hold the door open for you, the helmets occupying his other hand.

And while you’d never expect someone to open doors for you just because they’re a man and you’re a woman, it makes you feel warm inside. Maybe even more so because it seems to come so naturally to him; he doesn’t look like he’s actively deciding to do it, he just does it. Maybe it’s 50/50. You feel special, and you conclude that he’s special.

It’s less crowded once you’re inside, and you watch Jeongguk talk to the hostess, relaying his name for the table. The woman excuses herself to go check something, and you watch a few groups exit around you, happy, buzzed, and with jackets draped over their arms. The air smells like wine and garlic and expensive candles.

Jeongguk’s warm hand pulls you closer to his side.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he says, keeping his voice low as he looks down at you.

“What?”

“How do you want me to behave?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I don’t want to risk scaring you off, but I’ve also made the mistake of not telling you how I feel before, and I’d rather not do that again.”

You look at him, seeing his earnest eyes and how he’s clearly put thought into it.

“So how do I best convey to you that I’m… really into you, but that I’m perfectly happy with taking it at whatever pace you’d like? How do I tell you that I want you even if I might not… initiate much? Or, God forbid, I do initiate something and accidentally put pressure on you when that's not my intention?”

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking his words through. “I think you just told me?”

“Yeah, but… is that enough? Cause God knows I don’t wanna fuck this up more than I already have. Or hurt you.”

Genuine regret simmers in his eyes as he bites his lip, and you feel your chest constrict.

“I think that… communication bridges all the gaps. What happened before…”

You think back to his couch. You on your back under him, your shirt and bra on the floor, and terror flooding your veins. His dark eyes as it finally clicks that there was a limit somewhere, and that he's already crossed it.

You don't blame him for what happened, but you understand him. And while you might still feel nervous around him, especially at the thought of being naked—more so exposed—it’s now a small hill compared to the mountain it was when you weren’t sure of his intentions. 

Maybe more importantly, it was before you had another near-death experience, waking up after Jeongguk saved you to the clearest revelation yet. 

You don’t want to be without him.

“I know you better now. And I’ll get over it,” you smile, spotting the hostess returning.

Jeongguk gives you what’s almost a small, sad pout, lifting his hand to gently tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I don’t want you to ‘get over’ anything,” he mumbles.

“I meant that…” you start, your voice softer too. “It doesn’t scare me as much. Even less when you say things like you just did. I meant that I’ll overcome it? And I want to overcome it.”

“I’m not pressuring you,” he says, stroking the back of your neck. His hand is slightly colder than your skin, the comforting gesture still setting you on fire.

“No, I know that. Just because you still sometimes make me nervous doesn’t have to mean it’s a bad thing.”

“Okay. Tell me if I do something wrong then. If I’m doing too little or too much.”

You nod.

“Sorry for the wait. This way.”

The hostess leads you to a small table near a window. There are lit candles in the middle and two burgundy leather menus already laid out. You’ve been to this restaurant once before but it was ages ago, and it seems to have gone through some renovations since.

You’re flipping through the menu when you feel eyes on you. Meeting his gaze, you find that Jeongguk's looking at you almost… cheekily. Maybe there's a bit of hope in there too, and it makes your face feel warm.

"What?" you wonder quietly, trying to focus despite the way candlelight reflects in his nearly black eyes and casts shadows across his face, like underneath his cheekbones.

“What made you decide?”

“To go on a date with you?”

“Mhm.”

You glance back at the menu, eyes glazing over the words without actually reading them.

“Cause I’ve tried to find literally any reason not to, but there just aren't any."

“Are you implying that you’re actually here against your will?” he raises his eyebrows teasingly.

“No.”

“Then what made you decide? What were the reasons you were looking for?”

“I can tell you what I’ve found?”

He nods, putting his menu down and resting his forearms on the table. You try not to stare at his veiny hands.

“You’re good.”

“Is that it?”

“Honestly? Yes. It’s all that matters to me. Intelligence, humor, and attraction play a part of course—though I’d say you’re almost too attractive? Like intimidatingly attractive—but it doesn’t matter if you’re not good.”

“And I am?” he asks, and although his tone is casual yet curious, you can tell he’s far from disappointed by your answer.

"What would you do if I came to you and said I had a tampon stuck?"

He blinks, the left turn of the conversation surprising him. "Like, stuck inside?"

You nod, watching his gaze drift off as he considers the hypothetical.

"I don't know, is there a specific technique? If you felt comfortable with it, I guess I would try with my fingers; all you have to do is find the string, right?"

You smile, mostly to yourself, as he tries to find a solution.

"Is that a good answer? I don't know if there would be another way—like a special tool or something—so if that didn't work, I'd probably just have to take you to the hospital?"

Your heart is so warm because you knew.

"You would help," you conclude.

The realization dawns on him—both that it was such an easy answer, and that you seemed to know somewhat what he was going to say even beforehand—and you smile warmly, even happily, as you continue.

"You wouldn't complain about it being gross and tell me to sort it out, myself. You'd help me, in what way you could."

Jeongguk is good, and that is why you're with him.

The date is by far the best you’ve had. You haven’t been on many dates to begin with, at least not of this caliber—which isn't inherently bad; your version of a good date is quality time spent together—but Jeongguk is beating them all by a long shot.*

He listens intently, cares about what you tell him, and, with the candlelight glimmering in his eyes, asks questions. Like you’re important. He asks you what you'd like to order, and when the waiter approaches, he orders for the both of you.

You eat, and when another pretty waitress comes around to ask if everything’s alright, you notice his polite but non-wandering eyes as he answers her. And when she’s gone, he continues to tell you a funny story from the police academy, rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt.

It's a gradual realization that hits you. Somehow, despite thinking so much about what Jeongguk would be like as a romantic partner, you haven't really let yourself truly see him in that romantic light until now.

And while he's clearly made an effort tonight, it's mostly when it comes to reserving a table and dressing up; he's still talking to you like he always is. He's not on this date to earn brownie points, already planning on ignoring you when you return home.

An hour and twenty minutes pass just like that, and the only small interruption comes when another couple sits down at a nearby table. The blonde woman is dressed in a skirt and blouse, and her man wears a dress shirt and pants, both in neutral colors.

She laughs loudly, gathering the attention of all nearby tables. What really catches your eye is the large bouquet of red roses she’s holding, clearly unsure of what to do with it.

You turn your head, meeting Jeongguk’s eyes. Your heart skips a warm beat at the sight of him, and something flutters in your stomach. He’s so handsome, even to the point where it’s hard to tear your eyes away to see what you’re about to stab with your fork.

“And my mom tried so hard to get me to choose something else. She practically begged me to at least consider just becoming a tattoo artist,” he chuckles.

“She loves you,” you say, looking at him softly. You can't even imagine how proud she must be.

“Yeah.”

You tilt your glass slowly, watching the red swirl around. 

“Can I ask… How old were you? When your father…” You trail off, watching him carefully in case it’s not an appropriate subject.

“Fifteen. He and his partner were called to a shoot-out. A pregnant woman happened to get in the middle of it, and he got hit protecting her.”

Your heart hurts for him. While you guessed it was a while ago, you never knew an exact age. And fifteen is such a rough age too; very possibly when you need a parent the most. You think back to what Jeongguk said about his dad after you'd just spent all your remaining energy not only lifting all the problems with men and law enforcement but also making sure he knew his part.

“My dad… He was what made me believe that there’s good in the world.”

You turn your head to look at him where he lies on the other side of the bed. His dark hair looks soft and so does the skin of his neck, shoulders, and arms.

“I did look up to him, but not because of what you said. I did it because he was kind, and strong, and helpful. He loved my mom more than anything, and he’d do absolutely anything and everything for her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s bizarre, though. To think that I’ve lived almost half my life without him.”

You rest your chin in your hand, and Jeongguk raises a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth, watching you curiously. “Is there something on your mind?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to upset you or anything.”

“It’s alright. I can talk about him.”

“...I’m just wondering whether you’re a lot like him.”

“I don’t know. Maybe? It’s hard for me to judge.”

“Your mom seemed to think so. That you were maybe too much like him, even.”

He chuckles, grabbing his glass of water. You watch, endeared and infatuated, as he drinks.

“So, do you wanna get dessert?” you ask, changing the subject. “I remember this place had one of the best cheesecakes in town. Like, easily top three.”

Jeongguk sets his glass down and looks around. “Uh, I was actually thinking that we should get going.”

“What? Why? We haven’t been here that long?”

“Yeah, but I…”

You look at him, confused. You haven’t overstayed your welcome; there’s definitely enough time for dessert.

“I have to be home in—” he checks his watch “—half an hour.”

“You’re not going to the station, are you?” you ask, feeling your stomach drop quietly yet heavily.

He bites his lip. “I might have to. Jihyo said they’re understaffed and asked me to be on standby.”

Your heart sinks further, but you know it’s not his fault. He did look at his phone a few times when you ate, so you figure that was probably her.

“Oh. Okay. Another time then, maybe.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says, and you can see that he’s sad too, biting his cheek like he’s genuinely considering letting his colleagues down just to stay and have cheesecake with you.

“I can’t believe she had no one else to ask,” you smile, gathering your silverware and napkin to put on the empty plate. “But it's okay.”

You’ve never had a date like this, with someone you like like this. And to have it cut short?

“Let’s just hope I won’t need to,” he says, flagging down the waiter.

The ride home even more peaceful than the ride there. Naturally, you don’t talk, and you’re left to watch the world pass by as Jeongguk steers the motorcycle through town again. You hug him close but not hard, even sneaking one hand underneath his jacket and shirt, rubbing your thumb gently across the warm skin of his stomach. You think he laughs; you can’t hear it, but you feel it. 

Observing the sky that’s even darker now, you hope for a shooting star so that you can wish for Jeongguk to stay. If there’s anything you want tonight, it’s you and him on the couch, snuggled up under some blankets. That would’ve been the perfect end to a perfect date, and your chest warms at the thought.

“So…” he starts as he gets off the bike, removing his helmet and turning to you. “Think you’d go on a longer ride with me sometime?”

You look at him through the dark visor, nodding. “Yeah, definitely. I liked it.”

He grins, one of your favorite sights in the entire world. Gazing at him, you hold your arms out, happily letting him lift you off the bike again, something he does without hesitation.

You hold both helmets while he wheels the bike back inside the garage. He parks it where he wants it, and you place the helmets on the same shelf he grabbed them from earlier. The jacket he loaned you, you unzip and take off, holding it out to him.

“It was an okay date?” he asks, shrugging off his own jacket and taking yours from your outstretched hand to hang over the bike to deal with later.

“Perfect. A little sad we had to leave early, but it is what it is. I just hope you don’t have to go in tonight.”

Seemingly heading your way to follow you into the house, he approaches. Your heart beats harder the closer he gets, until he’s standing right in front of you, looking down. His hair is a little wild, his eyes soft yet curious. So gorgeous and so kind. How is this man real?

You lower your eyes, keeping them on the hand you place on his chest, fingertips toying with the buttons of his black shirt.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

Maybe the bar is low, but you’ve never come home from a date feeling like this. Someone went on a date with you, happy to be there, content with listening to you, and seemingly up to do it again. Even paid for it without expecting sexual favors in return.

“My pleasure,” he says just as quietly, his warm, low voice causing goosebumps to line your arms.

Smiling, you look up at his face again, slowly moving your hand to his neck and standing on your toes. 

His lips are soft like always, and while he lets his big hands warm your waist, he doesn’t rush you when you kiss him languidly. These are the best kinds of kisses, you think. Slow, careful almost to the point of teasing. They build anticipation, conveying so much when they finally happen. 

With your lips moving against his, he matches your approach entirely. Until you’re overcome with gratitude and happiness and just press your lips against every part of his mouth, cheek, and jaw. By then, he’s grinning widely.

“So,” you say when you feel like you’ve relayed a bit of your gratitude, stepping back. “What are we doing? Are we watching something?”

Jeongguk gestures for you to go first, following closely behind as you open the door that connects the garage to the rest of the house.

“Sure. I’d like that,” he says from behind. "And maybe we can hold hands?"

Glancing back at him from over your shoulder, amused and incredibly endeared, you take the first steps into the house. It's dark when you enter it, except for a… subtle… glow coming from the living room? It’s moving? Almost like it’s flickering?

It reminds you of… fire.

Frowning, you quicken your steps, until you round the corner and… You freeze.

Candles. There must be… at least a hundred live candles in there. Not only that but candles and roses everywhere. They stand in clusters; on the floor, on the window sills, on the coffee table… everywhere. Where there aren’t clusters of five or more candles shining their warm, flickering light on one or more big bouquets of deep red roses in glass vases, there are red petals strewn. 

You don’t even know what the emotion washing over you like a tsunami is, but your chest aches and your eyes are already welling up. This is… for you?

Jeongguk’s slow steps come to a stop behind you, and you feel him gently tuck your hair behind your ear from behind. 

"Jin and Jimin went out the back the moment you unlocked the door. They helped me set it up.”

But you watch the tiny flames flicker and the way they fill the entire room with their warm light, and you can’t seem to form a coherent sentence or even thought. All you manage to utter is a “...Why?”

He runs his fingers softly through your hair from behind, and you feel his gaze on the side of your face. “You really thought I was done? That a dinner was everything?”

“Yes? It was great. Perfect. Absolutely more than enough and by far the best date I’ve ever been on. This is…” you gesture to the room, still speechless and sniffling.

“For the absolute prettiest of girls,” he continues, delivering such a hard hit to your chest and seemingly not stopping. “Bonus points if they're also incredibly smart, kind, brave, and stubborn. Now come on, there’s dessert.”

He walks past you, and you follow him with your gaze, seeing him grab a white box you hadn’t seen on the coffee table. It’s from a bakery you recognize.

“Cheesecake?” you sniffle.

“Yeah. From your favorite place.”

He scoots over to the side of the couch, pulling out cutlery from some hidden stash behind it and placing it all on the table, he even produces glasses and a bottle of wine.

But you just stand there, tear streaks along your cheeks. In fact, you haven't taken a single step since you realized the room was not on fire.

“Come here,” he says when he notices.

But you still can’t. You just look at him with teary, distraught eyes; you can’t even smile. 

You don’t get roses. You don’t even get flowers. Yet… somehow… this is for you? No one’s ever done anything remotely like this for you. And it’s not like you feel like you’ve missed out on this because no one gets this. No one normal in this day and age does this for a partner. Receiving a single bouquet of red roses—like the woman at the restaurant—is what society deems sweet and romantic and realistic. It’s unexpected and sweet and totally enough. Only the dinner would've been more than enough. But this? No one gets this, so why do you? 

Sensing that you’re stuck somewhere, Jeongguk rises from the couch and walks over to where you still stand. 

“You okay?” he asks, smiling softly as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“No.”

His smile widens, and he envelops you in his arms, letting you press your cheek against his chest. Maybe you’re dramatic, but you need a moment.

“You made us go home because you’d already gotten cheesecake?” 

“Yeah. Almost stayed with you just cause you looked so heartbroken, though.”

He’s so warm, and he smells so good. “So you’re not on standby?”

“No.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter, relieved. In turn, he sways you. Slowly, back and forth, and there's really no place you'd rather be. “Wanna eat cheesecake? And watch a movie?”

Nodding is all you can do, and when he lets you go, you watch him unbutton his shirt, leaving him in a white tank top. Of course, you're only human, and your gaze lingers a little too long on his veiny forearms and the tattoos. When you do finally follow him to the couch and sit down beside him, he reaches for the remote with one hand and holds the end of a blanket up for you with the other.

“Come here,” he instructs. “I know we don’t always know what to watch, so after careful consideration, I have picked out three movies for you to choose between.”

You scoot closer pulling the blanket over you as well.

“This must’ve been so expensive,” you say, still gazing, amazed, across the room. 

A dinner at a nice restaurant and then some candles perhaps wouldn’t be too bad, but a big, fancy cheesecake and the flowers? There’s gotta be at least three hundred roses, possibly more, and practically the only thing you know about roses is that they’re expensive.

“Not really, it’s from the flower account, already budgeted for,” he says casually, fitting the blanket over his lap.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you comment, reaching toward the closest bouquet on the coffee table, pulling a single rose from it. It’s big and without the slightest imperfection. “I mean, I knew you were a little bit crazy, but like this?”

He smiles widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly as he lifts his arm, patting his chest.

“Only for you. Now come here.”

<previous | next>

author's note: that was their first date, i hope you liked it! :,) <3

Hoseok resists every temptation. The others might be borderline overeager to get you into their practice room daily, and there are plans to have you accompany them on their premotions when they pick up. the others might take every available opportunity to see you outside of work hours. They take you to fancy dinners under the guise of making sure you're properly fed, a spa day here and there, a reward because you deserve it, shopping just to get to know you.

They just want to be good employers they say but the truth is deeper than that. To be people you rely on, to project the image of a pack you might want to be part of- they'll have to work at it. Every pack must work to properly attract an omega these days, even them as famous as they are. There are so few, especially so few that they meet in their line of work.

How much would they need to have to get you? A house and a collection of fancy cars? Or would it take a grammy and a wall of awards? A diamond collar and a penthouse somewhere?

The others might be convinced the pack is ready, but Hoseok is not so easily swayed. Hoseok is still wary; Hoseok has his reservations. For a very good reason…

He’s reluctant to engage with you. Keeping his hellos quick and short. His bows are deep but brief. Polite. Every movement is crisp and not an inch too close. He side eyes Yoongi and Namjoon when they start to customize the omega nests in their studios, even more when jackets and clothes go missing. When they come out of their studios smelling happy and sated in a way that Hoseok still isn’t used to. Eyes heavy-lidded, hands and throats smelling of sweet omega. Delicate omega. Beloved omega.

Hoseok’s omega, a hidden desperate voice says. A ridiculous voice that Hoseok tells himself does not make any of his decisions and is not in control of any of his actions. Of course not. It would be ridiculous for Hoseok, the pack alpha of the most popular pop group in the world, to give in to his instincts.

Hoseok doesn't even admit it to himself how much he wants you, not even when he pins the others to the wall after he’s seen your name on their schedule. Sniffing down the column of their throats, lapping at the berry scent all but dripping off of them. Trusted teeth t their throats, nibbling at their wrists, nosing and rutting through their hair for a whiff of your scent. This is what omegas do to alphas- they make them possessive and addicted, controlling and dependent.

Some of the packmates make it easy, others give Hoseok hell for his behavior. Remaining perfectly polite in public, so detached the pack is sure you don't even know about Hoseok's fixation, and…honestly filthy in private. Jin, Namjoon, and Jimin hardly tease, just look down at him with sly smiles on their faces, knowing, but allow his hunger to go unremarked upon.

But Tae and Yoongi and Jungkook make it fun, pushing back just to force Hoseok into that headspace. They fight until Hoseok pins them, squirm until he nips at their throats and growls in warning. Lift their heads and glare at him with those stupidly cute smirks on their face until Hoseok reminds them why he's pack alpha.

And why they're waiting. After a few months, almost all of their late-night conversations revolve around you.

The pack is used to the pack alpha getting this way around rut season (but neglects to point out that it’s months and months away, too early to be it). This is something different. This transcends Hoseok's self-control. Even when Hoseok doesn’t give in and lick your scent from them, his jealous rages.

And it only gets Harder and harder to hide.

Hoseok is very, very aware of the whispered complaints from management. The less hidden snide comments that get met with a perfectly worded reply that leaves the perpetrator wondering if Hoseok is really an enemy they want to have. Any time anyone dares to say something even slightly critical of his pack’s needs, Hoseok is unrelenting. Hoseok is their fortress.

Usually, they’re not bold enough to say anything to his face, but even he can’t help what he overhears.

It's two managers- one for Le Seraphim and the other for a pre-debut group, scheduled for announcement near the end of the quarter. You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with them recently. Hoseok doesn't mind the girls; they're polite as they should be.

At least one hour a day is dedicated to them because they're all under so much stress. Every time you leave them, you look more and more tired. Hoseok knows you're scenting all of them at once, quickly, before management notices. But it's against your contract and everything he knows about Omegas.

Most omegas get overwhelmed if they have to scent even 4 or 5 people that aren't in their pack a day. Their scents spiking wildly, uncontrollably, let alone this new group of 9 (probably 7, Hoseok knows the look of two of them- they just won't make the cut- they don't have what it takes.)

It’s a painful reminder every time he sees their name on your schedule and a bit of a slap in the face to Hoseok. Every time he's forced to remember that you're not theirs. Not officially. Not yet.

So maybe Hoseok tells the pack to be selfish with your time, to book out your time slots regardless of whether they need a scenting or not. Filling your hours with meaningless little dates when you could be scenting them. Naps in studio spaces or quiet requests for your help with something simple, like your opinion on outfits or aesthetics- to get an omegan perspective. Anything to give you an adequate chance to take a breather.

Hoseok only wants to make sure you're getting proper rest. at least that's what he tells himself.

Hoseok is moving from the meeting room to the studio (approvals on merch that needed his and Namjoon’s final okay) to a studio where a mildly distressed Seokjin probably needs his help. The new song is just an octave out of Jin’s comfort zone, all routine, all normal.

That’s what Hoseok thinks of when he comes to a screeching halt at the sound of your name. This interruption is anything but ordinary. The door to another meeting room on the 6th floor is cracked, one seldom used by the artists but commonly occupied by staff.

Maybe an ordinary alpha might not hear it, but Hoseok's always had exceptionally good hearing.

He pauses in his near-silent footsteps, recognizing the too casual way the two managers are talking and the hush to their voices as something salacious. The secrets can't help but slip through the open door and onto Hoseok’s waiting ears.

Hoseok moves quietly, his feet hardly making a sound on the carpet floor. Every ounce of him is an alpha trained to hunt. To detect threats to his pack. A hidden voice- Hoseok's alpha, reminds him that everything but the pack is a threat to Hoseok's omega.

"-They're hogging her. I don't care if they're eligible for a Grammy or a fucking Nobel peace prize. We didn't hire her to be their omega." The whisper of the beta’s voice is a pitched down. Unpleasant in it's nasality.

There’s the hiss of paper shuffling, an understanding and agreeable scoff. "I just don’t know what you expect me to do about it- I'll say something to Namjoon if you really want me too, or would you rather I say something to Jung Hoseok?"

His reaction is startled, almost hasty. "No no no, there's no reason to involve their pack alpha in this." Hidden by the shadows, Hoseok smiles. It's more of a bearing of teeth. Even not present, Hoseok's name commands respect and fear. Even quiet- he’s dangerous.

"He's sort of…scary sometimes."

Hoseok doesn’t mind being feared, might prefer it actually- if it means that his pack remains unhalted and unbothered. If it means you get to sleep where you want to sleep and nest where you want to nest. Hoseok is always keeping track of you. Watchful when you duck out of one of the meeting rooms with Taehyung and Jungkook, looking half asleep in a way that just won’t do.

Hoseok initially intended to make sure they didn't skip lunch, but now his presence is much more important.

You weren't in a session with them, but even when you're not booked, you have the habit of hanging around the pack. Gravitating to them almost naturally. An original condition of your contract with Hybe is that you were allowed to nest where you want to when you're not booked for a scenting session with someone, but there's no question of where you'll be and whose pack is most likely to be occupying your time.

Whenever anyone asks where you are in his presence, the whole company's first instinct is to look to the pack to answer that question.

Hoseok's alpha purrs every time he notices it, begging you to come a little closer, the way a wolf might stay still until a rabbit hops between its paws. The image isn't incorrect, but the truth is that Hoseok is not the alpha in the pack you're closest to. Not in the slightest.

That honor is reserved for Jungkook, and by default- jimin and taehyung.

Maybe it's just because you're closest in age to them, but there's hardly a day that you're not giggling about some video that they sent you, or wearing one of taehyung's extra large sweatshirts, a pretty bracelet of Jimin's dangling on your wrist because you'd said it was pretty and he insisted.

But you with Jungkook is another sight entirely. When he giggles you perk up, you blush at the sight of him coming close. Scent going warm and flustered whenever he takes off his shirt during practice or flashes the mirrors in body rolls. Your interest noticeable even from afar.

Hoseok hates it. Hates feeling jealous. Only barely resists the urge to snap at Jungkook whenever he picks up that you're flirting. It's ridiculous because Hoseok loves Jungkook. Jungkook is his pup, the one who reaches for him when the late nights burn low and his body aches, when there's that line of tension in his body that just won't quit, when Jungkook- like the others needs what only their pack alpha can provide.

It's hoseok's own damn fault for being so cautious.

About once a day, he’s reminded that he still hasn’t booked a session with you yet, still hasn’t gotten any more than this. Hoseok’s alpha paces the confines of his mind, waiting for the right moment to strike and gather you up.

And in the meantime, human Hoseok yearns.

He watches you from behind as you walk with Tae and Jungkook. Your first session of the day was with Jungkook (he's happy, Hoseok can smell the joy dripping off him even if he couldn't see it. Koo bouncing on his feet, body still obviously humming from his scenting session) and your second with Tae (prowling, quiet as usual, obviously needing rest. Tae always sleeps like the dead after your scenting session).

But you- you're cute. Wobbly and sleepy between the two of them. First coming up to rub your eye. Hoseok can smell the muted exhaustion on you; you're honestly dead on your feet. Hoseok wants to snap and growl at that. Are you too tired to walk? Should he offer to carry you? No, that would be ridiculous- that would be-

You sway as you walk, one step taking you close to Jungkook, the next closer to Taehyung. Hoseok trails behind. Eyes on the way that your shoulders brush each of theirs. Relaxing just a little bit when Taehyung (not Jungkook) sets his hand on the small of your back at a polite height.

You lean into Tae's casual touch (a little bit better than the way you'd let your fingers brush Kookies seconds prior). Obviously indulging in the warm splay of his fingers, the firmness of his grip on your waist as it slides to the side. Hoseok knows he must feel steady.

Hoseok watches you look up at Tae's face, fixated. jealousy twisting in his gut. You look at him like you know that if you lean into him, Tae will keep you upright. So trusting. so indulgent you don't even notice tae stare back. doing a double take when he catches you watching.

Tae pokes your nose; you go a little cross-eyed trying to look at it. Jungkook laughs and nuzzles into the ball of your shoulder. they cordinate between the two of you, walking like a many legged animal. a stalfmemeber has to press themselves flat to a wall as they pass. about to say something in hello until they spot hoseok.

and promptly duck into the nearest room rather than distrub them.

hoseok grins, behind the three of you- unseen.

“You still look a little out of it.” taehyung says, jogging hoseok's concentration.

You pout, swatting his hand away. “I’m not,” you say, but even to Hoseok it sounds petulant and bratty.

“Stay close to us,” Jungkook says, and you nod, obedient without challenging it.

(You've heard it all from alpha's before. Stay close to us. I want you and only you. I'd give you everything. But somehow you wonder why it feels different when it's these alphas, why it makes your blood heat and hum.)

Hoseok is unrelenting later at practice. Jungkook and Tae just share looks behind his back, knowing. Aware. If Hoseok won't give in to his instincts on his own, the rest of the pack will do their best to give him an incentive.

Hoseok will do anything to be feared if it means he sneaks up on you and Jimin napping.

Your legs slung over his knees, comfortable fabric pulling up to reveal inches of goosebump ladened skin. Jimin’s hand rests. under the leg of your pants, fingers wrapped around your ankle. clutching it in his sleep like a child might hold the leg of a stuffed animal. three sets of shoes lie in a haphazard pile, discarded at the edge of the nest. Heads together and hair colors mixing with how close your heads are nestled.

Beta's don’t need much, but Jimin has been so tired recently, stressed about the choreography just like Hoseok is. A scenting is just what he needs. Jimin presses up against you.

both of you are slung over Seokjin. Limbs tangling. The betas don’t get quite as territorial over your scenting sessions and often elect to do them together (if only to free up more of your time for the others). Seokjin’s not sleeping, curled around you and tapping away at a game on his phone.

You doze, chin hooked over his elbow. Pressing forward to watch him, giggling at the actions of the avatar on the screen, and Seokjin’s quiet narration. The occasional "yah don't do that" and the way he pauses when he loses or reaches the next level, hand brushing over the top of your head, playing with your hair for a second when he asks if you're ready for a nap.

"I already had one today." You say, sounding small. Jin hums, unconvinced. Your eyelids flutter, looking heavy. Hoseok bets you have minutes before you're out. Every laugh makes Jimin move a little. He looks so young like that, curled over you, nosing into the nape of your neck, hiding from the lights with his hood up.

Hoseok will do anything, will stay away from you forever. If he gets to see you jumping from couch to couch in Yoongi’s studio, socked feet slipping, your chatter at a 200 tempo like the rap track drowning out the sound of your commentary. (Hoseok's never met a person whose voice made him want to turn the music down).

You're Hyperactive from the empty coffee that Namjoon made sure to mix half with decaf (caffeine isn’t good for omega’s, you’d probably be mad if you knew he kept you from it, but they can’t help it). And Omega's are naturally a little more active once the sun goes down.

Namjoon has his hand up and is waiting for you to need him to steady you. Namjoon's dimples seem to have permanently etched themselves into his face because he just can't stop smiling. Hoseok’s never seen you with so much energy. Socked feet depressing the leather of the couches.

Hoseok watches from a rolly chair as you hop from couch to couch, Namjoon’s hands out to hold you should you fall, grabbing your waist and doing just that when you say. “This one makes me want to spin!” giggling when Namjoon holds your waist and just does that. Yoongi giggles, gums showing. Hoseok watches him and finds himself smile back.

When Namjoon puts you down, you set your hands on the back of Hoseok's chair, over his sweatshirt that he always keeps there. should he get cold- should someone else need it.

Hoseok watches your hands tangle it.

"Can you show me more?"

"More music?" He questions, quriking an eyebrow at you.

"Anything." He turns away, but your hands stay on the back of his chair. Hoseok is careful to turn slowly, so that you have something to keep you steady. Omegas are just as physically capable as alphas, can run marathons (under medical supervision) and he knows you have plans to work out with Jungkook. But Hoseok still would never dream of making you unsteady.

Hoseok will become the most feared alpha in the industry if that’s what it takes. To keep this balance. Not quite packmates, not quite coworkers. But a third, worse thing.

Friends- definitely friends. Hoseok protects his friends. He guards his important people with his life. You are the most important person in the pack’s orbit these days. (Pack alphas don’t know how to do anything in half measures.) Hoseok won’t let anything happen to you.

Their next album breaks several records, and that promise feels less and less like posturing, more like a fact. Even when he’s alone, even without the pack, he draws a hush to every room he enters. The tick of his head earns apologies, his smile a bow. Hoseok is right where he wants to be.

There’s no one to compare them to, and he knows it. Everyone does. There isn’t a single more eligible pack for an omega in the country- one better poised to take one on in a more permanent basis. All that they would have to do is contact an omega placement agency in the city, and they'd have omega's clamoring to submit applications.

They even get more than a few personal and private messages from omegas on the prowl. Content creators and well-known fans. It's a regular discussion among the fans about which omega they'll choose and yet…

 Hoseok resists the pull of his biology.

The others ask after you during practice time, quietly satisfied when you choose the very, very comfortable nest (that Yoongi might have fortified so that you could lean against the edges) during their scheduled practice time.

They've had long hours in there recently. Hoseok doesn't like it, but their newfound success necessitates that they be perfect in every way. Their careers feel like they’re only going up and up and up and show no sign of slowing down. Every foot and elbow needs to be perfect. Hoseok already thinks they're perfect- but it's the rest of the world and it's harsh critics that Hoseok is worried about.

From a very practical standpoint, there's simply no time to court anyone, let alone to do it well.

The pack is going to nail the next song, Hoseok can feel it. He's a good pack alpha but inside the practice room, he's a little bit of a slave driver. He's always measuring their condition, pausing for water breaks, and checking ankles and knees, tilting Jin's hips this way. Running it through, and then circling back to the more difficult moves again and again until their bodies know the movements with their eyes closed.

"No. That's mistimed, is foot hand finger, step back- side down. like that- good pup. Do it again. Good."

Hoseok is used to this- Pushing them by the back of the neck when they stretch. Dictating the pulse of their bodies the way that only a pack alpha can. Work time is different than pack time, and Hoseok is uncompromising with this in taking care of his pack and making sure that they show the world their best.

Each of them is equally as motivated to reach up and up and up and take their fame and performance and music as far as it will go. A height that Hoseok takes them to. Pack alphas lead, and Hoseok will take his pack to the stars.

But things are different now. Now there is a separate factor.

When you're nesting in their practice room, Head perched on the padded velvet edge of the deep side walls to watch them practice, it’s harder for Hoseok to be quite so scary. It’s difficult to be hard on his pack with you watching them, the scent of sweet berries in the air, and Hoseok feels like he’s under a microscope.

He tracks you in the corner of his vision, with your wide eyes and cutely flushed face from rubbing your cheeks against the maple story plush that Jin got you that gets toted from nest to nest. (Or maybe Jin just got you one for each of your nests?) Mouth carved into a perfect little 'oh' when they get the choreography just right. Clapping softly when they've finished. Whispering softly, "again." In a way that has each of them falling into position without a second thought.

Practice goes smoother with you there. They get the choreography quicker when they've got you to perform for.

Hoseok hasn’t commented on it because he doesn’t want to deal with the pack’s teasing, and any time he asks about you or your schedule (is the company giving you adequate breaks in-between sessions?) How you looked during your session (Are you too tired to work? Should they be letting you rest more frequently? Should Hoseok petition the company to move you from a 4-day work week to a 3-day work week?) He gets knowing looks from his packmates.

"wouldn't you like to know alpha." jimin singsongs, hoseok just pushes at his shoulder until he's pinned. the snap of his teeth playful but threatening.

The pack is sneaky; they'd noticed the very first time you attended a practice session that Hoseok wasn't as likely to push indiscriminately and was more inclined to make his requests honey-toned and soft. “If you move like that, you’ll hurt your knee, pup.” "Tell me what you did wrong."

now they invite you to every practice. hoseok noticed when he checked your schedule online. the digital portal where everyone else books you out for time, scenting sessions in red, your presence requested to 'settle the air' in blue. and every day- in the afternoon after lunch. an hour or two blocked out for them.

An hour or two that often has them all scurrying to change their shirts or do their hair, dotting concealer and grabbing drinks and snacks. That always leads to this- Hoseok's razor like focus and you behind them. always fucking watching.

"Joon-ah- you're in your head again." The pack fall still at Hoseok's voice. Choreography stuttering to a halt.

"I'm just worried, when I spin it's like- so hard not to look stiff."

"If we make sure to milk your knot before each performance it wouldn't happen."

There's no one but you 8 here in this room. Hoseok holds his breath and counts to seven, and by the time he's opened his eyes, Tae's already been scolded, rubbing his arm. Jin closes his hand around his wrist.

"What'd you do that for?" Jin just smiles, grin perfectly civil. Eyes flickering in your direction just once. A silent way of saying 'not in front of the pup.'

You stir in your nest, maybe at just the mention of knotting. Shoulders shifting under the duvet that blocks most of your body, curled into as small a ball as the nest will allow. Resettling with your elbows lying flat across the nest edge. Resting your chin on your hands as the metronome music pumps. You probably couldn't hear Tae over the sound, Hoseok elects to believe.

The alternative might be too scary for you.

The last thing Hoseok wants to do is scare you off. Even if milking Namjoon's knot until he goes boneless and dumb is something that happens once a week minimum (Hoseok just considers it packmate maintenance like studio hookups for Yoongi and kneeling sessions for jungkook, or the ropes that often get bruised into Jimin's skin when the pack has time and privacy. Everyone has their thing, and everyone gets what they need in the pack)

It's just probably for the best if you don't know about that yet.

Hoseok shakes his head, goes closer to Namjoon as he mimics the move, tilting his shoulders, his spine. Namjoon moves, obedient. Cheeks flushed, and Hoseok can tell he's thinking about it from the vaguely musky edge to his scent. His usual tomato leaf scent is earthier, grungier. Hoseok's next words are a purr that only tells the other alpha. Later. If you'll be good.

"If you look stiff I'll tell you. Leave the worrying up to me." He sneaks a peck against the nape of Namjoon's neck. the alpha's shoulders fall slack just a little.

In the nest, you wiggle a little. Shivering.

but then he's right back at it again. "No- this isn't right, we can't do this choreo every night, not if we're touring. We need to find a safer alternative. Like i'm trying to be calm about it but- if Tae bangs his chin again doing the fall to push up i'm not going to be able to be cool about it." “Not like that, bah bah bah, yes, good. Exactly like that. I want you to show me that every time. Again.”

It might be just your scent on the air that tames him, or maybe that he doesn’t want to think he’d be too demanding of an alpha to tolerate.

At least not to you.

To you, Hoseok would give everything your little heart desires. You’d never have to tolerate moving so much, not from room to room, no. You’d never have anyone herding you or snapping at you to stay on schedule. The polite but vaguely annoyed staff member who often has to come into the room halfway through practice to rouse you would be the first thing to change.

It’s something that has the alphas sharing looks as you yawn and nod, allowing them to pull you out of your nest via your outstretched hand. Looking completely asleep one second and wide awake the next- all wrong, an omega should wake up slowly (preferably with an orgasm too- although that’s not polite to comment) to do it do abruptly could be dangerous, could lead to a predicament that no one wants; an omega dysregulated, an omega upset.

Hoseok just tightens his hands and clenches his teeth and watches you leave in the mirror, close enough that he could reach out and touch your reflection. calling out your goodbyes and i'll see you later as you go.

"Text me." Jungkook asks with a wink. And you nod shyly, chin tipped down, looking at him for a singular long moment before you continue out of the room. Your manager watching and waiting expectantly.

The others hate it when you leave, and Hoseok is turned back into a slave driver, merciless and uncompromising. Even more stubborn and off-kilter than normal. He knows that they can do this, what they can be. Hoseok’s pups are good pups.

Rarely, if ever, do they disobey.

Hoseok would never confess how much he doesn’t like it. The way that they have to share you. The way Hoseok has to share you.

~-~

But having you in the practice room doesn't always work in the pack's favor; sometimes it bites them in the but, like when Jungkook gets a bit too energetic when roughhousing with Taehyung and Jimin.

The beta already has a bruised knee, an unfortunate accident involving slippery socks and the new choreo. Hoseok and Jin fussed over him long enough yesterday, took him to the doctor just to be sure.

A leg brace was ordered, and really, Jimin hadn't seemed to be in too much pain. Had said he didn't even really need the brace earlier today, and listened when Hoseok pressed a kiss to the joint and told him he'd be wearing it for the rest of the week anyway.

You'd rushed over to him this morning, first thing. Both of you still in the lobby, too close to the windows not to draw the potential eyes of paparazzi. But Hoseok didn't have the heart to tell you to be careful, your worried eyes almost teary. Mindlessly gripping the front of Jimin's sweatshirt and hugging him around his waist. Jimin looked better already. Cooing at you and telling you that your hugs are medicine enough.

But none of them are strangers to injuries. Hoseok fears the day that they just don't heal right. The day that someone hurts something too far. Yoongi already did that once, and the next time the pack might not be that lucky.

But today is not that day.

Everyone's treating Jimin gently because of it, everyone but Jungkook. he tends to be riled up unless they work it out of him. Sometimes the pack teases him for needing so much… exercise. But it's all in good fun.

Sometimes, Jungkook lets his need for dominance play out during work hours. Bothering Jimin until the beta quiets him with a look, something that doesn't always work when Jungkook's feeling bratty. Looking for a punishment and knowing that Jimin is a safe place to look for that.  Hoseok doesn't always need to do the discipline there, just like with Tae and Jin. Sometimes, Hoseok trusts Seokjin and Yoongi to do the discipline for him.

Jungkook and Jimin are especially close in the pack; Hoseok has never once felt insecure about it- if anything, it's only an asset during times like these when Hoseok has too many things on his plate. They naturally gravitate towards each other. Hassling each other until someone thinks to put them both in their place.

Hoseok's not worried about it because Taehyung seems to be taking that job today, grabbing Jungkook's hip when he picks up Jimin and instead of obeying his reply to put him down- Tosses the beta over his shoulder just a little bit too aggressively, Jungkook still has a good grip on his legs, but Jimin is stationary one second and then- looped around Jungkook’s shoulder the next.

Jungkook pushes, and Tae goes sprawling on the floor, giggling as he goes, reaching for Jungkook's legs. He's still holding Jimin. The beta crying, "Put me down!" only to be willfully ignored.

Jungkook turns to you, winks, and says, "hyung will never admit it but he likes it."

You giggle, eyes following them. Namjoon sits close to your nest, watching them too with a fond smile. Leaning up against the edge and tipping his head to whisper something to you conspiratorially. Glistening. Hoseok watches you watch Namjoon as he talks, your eyes trailing the damp and glistening column of his throat, the sweat there. Rubbing your nose against the edge of the nest. Hiding a little.

All in all, not that abnormal roughhousing. Hoseok even smiles at it.

Omegas hide when they're shy. When they're feeling things that are too big for their body. Hoseok's alpha demands that he hoist you out of your nest and sniff out the nature of your shyness. If it needs a settling or perhaps something less innocent.

Something tells him that if you stood up, he'd be able to smell the telltale whiff of slick between your thighs. He imagines how warm you get under there in the nest where things are soft and still- warm and sticky. You shift sometimes as if you ache somewhere- hoseok knows it. He doesn't know how he knows but he does.

But part of him wants to take Namjoon by the hair and let you lick him. It's a weird image. A little gross. But the twist of want is still there, insistent and heavy in Hoseok's gut.

But your desires are clearly not as hard to ignore as Hoseok's are. You look at Jungkook, Jimin, and Tae roughhousing. They do it so often, the affection in it so practiced, that it almost looks like a choreography of its own. Jimin pinches and Jungkook slaps his ass, looking up at him, tousled hair undone- but falling curly from the dampness. Jungkook steps without looking down at Tae.

All it takes is one misplaced step.

Jungook's foot slides too close to Tae's hand, and the alpha hisses, yanking his hand away a second too late to avoid pain. It's not that bad, but Jungkook moves, momentum off.

You're watching them with a fond smile until you're not. Scent spiking, Fear trickling in and pushing away the comfort.

Tae grabs one of Jungkook's ankles and his center of gravity shifts. Jimin teeters and Jungkook's grip on his legs slips. He slides almost right off Jungook's shoulder. Face-first, face down. Stopping less than a foot from the floor.

You see it happen, sitting up a little. Almost picking yourself up and out of your nest. Like you could get across the room quick enough to stop it from happening. The blanket around your shoulders flops to the floor with a quiet rustle of fabric.

Hoseok’s head snaps up with whip-like accuracy.

"The three of you. Here. Now."

He points to the floor in front of him. Jungkook very carefully puts Jimin down on his own two feet. Taehyung sits up from his spot on the floor to help him. Once they're all safely on two legs, they scurry over, already hanging their heads. Semi contrite.

Seokjin and Namjoon descend on you with snacks and water. Yoongi scoops your blanket up from the floor in seconds. Shushing you back into the nest. But the scent of fractious omega is acrid. Smarting. Hoseok cannot stop himself from barking. “What are you thinking?”

“We where just-“ “I didn’t mean to-”

Jungkook keeps glancing back at you, his own scent dulling with worry. Until Hoseok takes his chin in one hand, fingers pinching his cheeks as the pack alpha makes him look at him. “Don’t look at her, look at me.” Then, softer, but still just as stern. “You know better, Jungkook-ah.”

Hoseok takes them over his lap for that. If there had been even one manager in the room, Hoseok wouldn't have. The matter is too private for work hours. But it's just them and you here.

You should see it. See how he is. See what he's like.

Hoseok's alpha purrs worse than that. There’s only one thing that fixes an unsettled omega. A settling. A spanking. Whatever you'd want to call it. Most omegas get at least one a day; some health agencies even recommend it. Just as maintenance, just to help them go down into omegaspace.

For most omegas, a daily spanking is nothing more than a reminder that their alphas are there, they care, and however small and little they go, however much they need, their alphas will always provide.

He'd give you one, albeit gentler than the one he’ll give his pack. You might not even squeal or fuss. All at once, the idea of you here- bent over the edge of the nest, or preferably his knees, head tipped to the side, the picture of submissive contrition. Taking all of it just like the others fills his head, so intoxicating and pervasive that for a second, Hoseok has to look away from all of them.

But the rational side of Hoseok thinks you should see what you're getting yourself into at least. Hoseok wants you to see what good control he has over his pack; how good they can be with the right motivation.

Hoseok's alpha says that you need a settling too. But luckily, he has just as good control over himself as he does the rest of the pack.

You watch them and their squirming with pink cheeks, so unused to watching any alphas discipline each other that it has you mesmerized. Hoseok might be smaller than Jungkook- but he's far stronger. Jungkook strains and fights, tattoos warping with the flex of his muscles. But Hoseok hardly has to work to pin him to the practice room floor.

You push away Jin's water and Namjoon’s bag of sweets, and you know omegas who eat after chirping avoid dropping. Already, you feel sort of shaky. But you hardly care about that when you have a show going on. You crane your neck when Jungkook starts to push up against Hoseok with a snarl.

But Hobi just slings a leg over the back of Jungkook’s thighs, both wrists pinned to the small of his back in a single loop of Hoseok's hands- delicate, beautiful hands. Jungkook’s cheek pressed to the practice room floor. Lips parted in a very loud snarl that cuts off with a loud squeak when Hoseok's other hand finally descends with a swat.

Over the clothes, not under.

You gulp and hide your gaze below the edge of the nest again, but you do not look away. You can tell your scent is getting heady, that it’s sweetening as you watch. But you’ve never had very good control over your scent.

Hoseok looks so…placid, calm. The utter depiction of gentle domination as he holds a squirming alpha under his body and gives him what he needs. You even see him smile. Like Jungkook's fighting back pleases him.

You can see the moment that Jungkook gives in, a little more than halfway through his settling. Something tight is stirring in your chest as he stops fighting to get out and starts to push back just to feel Hoseok there.

You watch Hoseok’s hands more than anything, the way that they smooth down Jungkook’s spine, not even holding his hands through the last of it. jungkook lies pliant- obedient, without him holding Jungkook down. Hoseok's other hand slides from the small of Jungkook's spine to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair in a gentle but domineering caress.

Jungkook stays where he should, eyes a little glassy, picking himself up just as quickly and turning, blocking Hobi from view.

Namjoon tries once again to feed you, but fails when you shake your head. bite pressed to your mouth. You’re not even listening to his quiet croons and delicate prods. The whole exchange takes maybe 30 seconds. And then Jungkook is up, and Jimin is shuffling over, with a single nervous glance back in your direction.

He locks eyes with you, and they darken just a little.

Jin’s hand is on your chin, guiding you to suck. You blink owlishly but follow his direction. The water is bland. Somewhere on the back of your throat, you taste it- blood and mangos- Hoseok’s scent settling over you- pervasive and all-consuming. You can taste his dominance in the air.

Jimin goes less easy, squirming, trying to lift his head to look at you again- Only to have his head forced down by Hoseok’s touch. He goes easiest on Jimin, since he was sort of the victim, sort of only a fixture in the disobedience. He'll get a punishment regardless. Hoseok’s instincts don't have rules that way sometimes. 

Deep down, both of them know Hoseok’s not punishing them for the roughhousing- it's for startling their omega almost out of their nest. Nesting is sacred. A right. Protected. Nothing the alphas do should ever get you out of it. It's wrong. Goes against every single one of Hoseok's instincts.

But none of them will say it- not here. Not with you in earshot. The confession might have the same effect, might make you unsettled.

Hoseok looks at Jimin, but he's not really talking to him, not until the last sentence. "You are precious. You are mine. I expect you to be more careful with my things." Jimin nods, lower lip wobbling, head tipping down, submissive in his whole posture. Hoseok noses from his chin to his temple, teeth catching on his ear and the dangly earring there, Jimin's hitch of breath is telling. but after a second- the beta nods. agreeing.

Jimin tilts his head to your nest, and hoseok threads a hand through his hair, tugging.

Hoseok's tone leaves no room for doubt or disobedience. As if he expects the world to stop and obey. It’s frightfully easy to do just that. To stop and follow.

"Settle."

Your legs feel like jelly, and you don't think you could stand even if you wanted to. Your head feels warm and fuzzy, your body heavy as you go lax. between your thighs, heat stirs, and you feel yourself go warm and damp.

Hoseok's nostrils flare, but he doesn't look up as he begins again. Hand up, about to fall again, powerful arm flexing-

A pair of dark pants obscures your view. Slowly. Carefully. You look up.

Half of Yoongi's face is obscured by the light, a gentle but knowing smirk on his face. "Someone’s curious."

His tone is teasing, but serious. You avert your gaze. Squeaking out a "Sorry." That you don't mean.

He laughs a little, not his normal laugh, deeper and throatier. Not quite teasing. It makes your stomach feel funny.

"It's alright."

His eyes appraise you, eyes flickering up and down your body. The way the blanket is pinned beneath your knees. The subtle haze to your eyes. Next to you, Namjoon’s perched on the edge of the nest, softly petting over your head and to the top of your spine. Let go of you now that your concentration has shifted from Hoseok to Yoongi.

He doesn’t look uneasy even though you can scent it on him, hands in his pockets, the picture of control as he appraises you, not in a way that ascribes value or hunger, but a special secret third thing that you can't place.

Delight. Yoongi is delighted that you're watching. That you're enjoying it.

"Do you want me to get into the nest with you, pup?"

All it takes is your puppy eyes and a "please," and he's there. Warm body, strong and capable. His tone is the same no-nonsense intonation that Hoseok uses as he guides you to sit forward so that he can sit behind you. grumbling something you don't hear about curious little oemgas being his soft spot. You're not listening.

Is it your job to listen to their commands? Your job to get up and out of the room to give them privacy? It's so easy to just let them decide what you can see, let them say things and do as they say? Any responsibility feels very far away, at the edge of your consciousness fuzzy and warm, any worry just as distant.

If you're behaving wrong, acting wrong, alpha will punish you. it's as simple as that. Something drops in your stomach, a swooping feeling. but it's okay because Yoongi is there.

Yoongi tells you to drink your water. Feeds you little sips of it when you don't move to take it from him quickly enough. "Open up. Swallow. Small sips, what a cute messy pup we've got here, Good omega." You're pliant and obedient. Lips parting to take the water, pink tongue pressing.

A drop of water carves its way down your chin, and Namjoon reaches out to wipe it away. You don't react to either of their babying. You just sit in Yoongi's lap and take it, a faraway look in your eyes, gaze still trained on Hoseok. Yoongi's hands lie flat on your thighs, holding you still, keeping you secure.

If this is what you're like at a tiny show of dominance...they're going to have their hands full with you. 

Jin looks at you with wonder, an unbidden look of adoration in his eyes, reaching out to caress the side of your face. An omega in omegaspace. it's a special thing. very few alphas ever get to take care of an omega in omega space. Your scent- normally sweet and addicting on the air goes nearly ambrosic.

Your scent spikes so sweet, and you tilt your body to get more of the affection. Letting out a needy small sound. Still in Yoongi's lap, struggling to stay where he puts you and push into the touch. you wobble and whine, eyes suddenly teary.

Yoongi looks, lips pursed. And Jin's hand falls. "Hold up, I hardly have her. I think one at a time, don't wanna give her too much." who knows what you'll interpret as a command in this state.Jin's hand falls, and his gaze, fixated, hardly blinking like he doesn't want to miss a second of it.

His arm stays settled around your waist, keeping you in place. Rubbing simple circles to soothe you against the squishy side of your hip. You let him, aware that some physical contact from an alpha is what you need following something distressing. It's just biology, it's just them being good employers and good friends, really.

Hoseok lands several swats across Jimin's behind. The beta huffs, not a sound of indignation or displeasure, but a bitten intake of breath that leads to squirming, sagging against his hold after the first or second, and giving into the punishment until he grows teary-eyed and apologetic.

It takes a lot of his self-control, but Hoseok doesn't glance up at you once until the end, landing the final swat over jimin's behind before he pulls him up by the hair for a kiss. He glances up at you as he brings his hand down in an arc, the blow cushioned by the beta's pants.

You don't flinch. Eyes fluttering closed. Hoseok doesn't let himself drink down your flushed face; he just continues to the task at hand. Taehyung sets himself over Hoseok's knees, kicking his feet and grinning. Hoseok grabs one of his ankles and yanks it, not all that gently, drinking in the hitch of his breath. "Don't make me go hard on you pup." He warns.

"Sorry Alpha."

"Count."

You peek over Yoongi’s arm, still squirming, and the alpha shushes you, hand to the back of your head, keeping you close to his beating heart. He doesn't stop you from looking again, just pets the top of your head mindlessly until it's over. After a second, another hand joins the petting, and then another and another and another until you can't tell who's touching you.

One hand massaging the nape of your neck, mindlessly stroking over the top of your hair, another down your spine, another over your arm and down to your hand, loosely tangled with someone's shirt, perched on the side of the nest. Jin's? jungkook's? You can't tell.

It’s all normal and routine for a pack alpha to punish their packmates this way. You wouldn't do it infront of your parents, but you might do it in front of a friend. The polite thing would be not to stare.

But for some reason, you find you can’t look away.

~-~

At the end of the day no one addresses it. You falling into omegaspace around them. so pretty and easily that you'd fallen asleep on yoongi for the rest of the day, head resting against his throat, hand tangled in the front of his shirt like you're worried about him leaving you. you hadn't even been all there when you'd woken up and yoongi and jin and hoseok took you home. Jin walked you up to your apartment and got you inside safely while yoongi and hoseok waited for him outside.

They hadn't said anything to each other then or after. Returning home to a quiet but nervous house. Deciding individually that they won't bring it up to you again. Won't ask about it.

But on hoseok's phone later there's a single text. just one line of text from an unknown number.

Unknown (11:40pm): Thank you for looking after me alpha <3

Hoseok doesn't say that it was technically yoongi who looked after you. Hoseok hardly thinks about the line between his packmates and himself that way. He knows you've probably already texted yoongi- that the two of you text all the time. Sending songs and memes and cat videos back and forth between the two of you. The same way that he knows you and Namjoon send each other flower pictures back and forth.

Hoseok instantly renames your contact to the only thing that makes sense to him. There's only one woman in his life who means this much to him. He thinks of Namjoon's song lyric on their last album. 'I call you her, her, cuz you're my tear, tear.'

Alpha <3 (11:40pm): Of course

Alpha <3 (11:40pm): You never have to thank me for that.

Alpha <3 (11:40pm): You can ask me for anything.

Hoseok looks at the text, stressing over it feeling too mean, too demanding. Too...everything. But before he can get too in his head about it another text comes through.

Her (11:41pm): Okay

Her(11:40pm): <3

Hoseok screams into his pillow to cover the sound from the rest of the pack.

~-~

In the late afternoons, before Namjoon's done working out and far before Yoongi usually arrives at his studio. In between when the pups flock to you after morning practice and when you're usually wrapped up in the other groups. You have the habit of occupying Hoseok's practice room.

Perched there in the (new) omega bed, made of the softest cotton, a big fluffy blanket over the top if it's cold and tucked down if it's getting warm by the windows.

Watching him as he runs through the moves again and again (it's a little eerie, but omegas don't need to blink as often as alpha's.) He's polite. Greets you and asks if you need anything or want anything before he starts working. You don't laugh at him when he stumbles; in fact, you hardly say anything. You hardly talk.

Sometimes, he catches a bit of your smile in the mirror.

Usually, you're a chatterbox around the rest of the pack. Hoseok has grown used to the sound of your voice at all hours of the day, your giggle, your teasing. But around him, you're so quiet. The silence companionable instead of awkward.

Sometimes he doesn't say anything until the end of practice, sometimes he doesn't speak to you until he's getting his things together to go to the recording studio with Jungkook and Taehyung, to a health check-up with Jimin, or out for dinner with Seokjin before they get some work done with Joon and Yoongi, or you're in the process of untangling yourself from the nest. Usually because your manager has come to the door, knocked, and reminded you that you're due for a session in 15 minutes.

"Can you walk up on your own? I have like so much work to do." Hoseok shoves his water bottle, phone, and wallet into his bag with extra force. His pissy expression is hidden when he turns away. Jesus- these new staff members.

You're so agreeable too, "Oh, it's fine, you don't have to it's just a few floors." Hoseok hurries, packing up his bag quicker.

"Great- really, you're a lifesaver."

Hoseok turns away and shakes his head, instincts prickling. Annoyed.

Making his paces shorter as you get up to leave. Falling into step beside you. That same plushy tucked under your arm. "Are you going up to the 8th floor?" He asks. The 8th floor is where his studio is, as well as Joon's and Yoongi's. The floor isn't theirs officially, but it's always felt like it is. This elevator is going down to the car park dangerously exposed in Hoseok's mind- who knows who could come up and-

You smile at him. Hoseok smiles back. Can't help it.

"Yeah, Yoongi's getting in in a few minutes, he texted. Gave me the code too." Hoseok grumbles a little bit at that; even he doesn't have the code for Yoongi's studio.

"God hyung loves to spoil you." The admission bursts from his lips, and he doesn't have time to feel flustered- like he shouldn't have said that- before you're grinning up at him.

"You gonna give me yours too or?" Hoseok flushes, holds out his hand for your phone while you wait for the elevator, bouncing on your heels.

"Only if you promise to use it." You smile, "Really, no one will bother you there." Your smile falters just a little but you don't address it any more than that. It's a part of your contract that if you don't want to do a scenting, you can cancel without any notice, you can just not show up. But Hoseok knows that you take this job seriously, but sometimes he wishes you wouldn't.

His finger hovers on the buttons as he keys in the code to your notes app, a list of their numbers, house addresses, stuff like that. Hoseok does not snoop, but it’s kind of hard to ignore all the emojis you have next to Jimin’s name. His gaze flicks to your bag, the way it weighs on your shoulder. Dimpling the fabric of your comfy sweatshirt. It’s big on you, so it must be someone else’s. Not the packs because Hoseok can’t scent them on you, and he doesn't recognize them. "Do you want me to walk you up there?"

"It's okay, Hobi. I know the way."  He’s never told you to call him Hobi. But somehow, you’ve started too anyway. You’ve probably picked it up from the others. The elevator dings and opens, you step inside and tell him goodnight.

But do you want me too? Do you want me to be your shadow?

There's a lot that goes unsaid between you two. You go up, and he waits for the next elevator that will take him down to the car park (where his Lamborghini waits). But he doesn't get on it, he just watches the numbers on the elevator go all the way up to the 8th floor, watches the number blink dull yellow, and then descends back to him before finally he steps away.

You make it your routine without officially asking him. You always spend time with Hoseok in the afternoons in his private dance studio. When the sun has begun to set over the city and light has turned all yellow-orange-red, like mangos. like his scent.

You see him dance when he's frustrated, when he's happy, when his body is broken down and too tired for much more than a warm-up. You see Hoseok dance when he doesn't even want to.

Sometimes his mind just gets too full, running too fast for his feet to keep up. Until he's so frustrated, he cuts the music with a click of the remote in his pocket, and you stir from the nest. Hoseok gets his water bottle and then all but collapses to the floor beside it.

He's sweaty, his throat glistens. addams apple bobbing as he gulps at his water and runs a tired hand through his hair. He's not intending on saying anything to you, not at all, until you stir a bit, sitting up properly in the nest.

"You're having trouble with this choreography."

"Yeah," Hoseok admits, working up to it, there's no one here but the room smells like alpha aggression already. But Hoseok is angrier at his body than anything. "It's easier to get it right when I practice in front of you. I thought it would help, but-" he rubs a hand over his face. "Maybe tomorrow."

You still, and he flushes, realizing it's something he’s admitted. Because he’s never told you that before. But now you know. Hoseok can smell how pleased the confession makes you and he shivers all the way to his aching knees.

"After you've gotten some sleep?" His head jerks in your direction, eyebrow-raising. Hoseok thought he was being sneaky. You look a little chagrined when you confess it. "Jungkook said you and Seokjin didn't sleep at all last night."

Hoseok huffs, rueful. "The pups telling on me now, is he?"

Your hands press into the border of the nest, pushing up on your hands. overly excited. "He said you were worried about the award show, that you stayed up with Jinnie to help him with the choreography. But that I shouldn't worry and that it's your love language and your job to worry about your pack."

Hoseok doesn't know what to say to that and sips his water. And pretends he's not watching you from the corner of his eye as you suck on your lower lip. Just being here next to your nest is already helping. His knee doesn't feel so tight, and his ankle hardly aches. He lets the silence hover, then looks at you.

"Ask."

"Can I come?"

"No."

"Why?"

Hoseok reaches out to tuck your hair behind your ear. "Because it's not safe."

Hoseok hands you a fresh water bottle, cracking it slightly before he gives it to you. You make a face at the plainness but do not comment. (You have a special note in your contract- that sweet drinks will be provided to you often. But Hoseok thinks that it can't be healthy for you to consume basically nothing besides sugary water and coffee)

And Hoseok eyes the moisture on your lips, glancing away before you have a chance to catch him. He caps it for you when you hand it back, almost so routinely that he doesn't notice.

"There will be a lot of people there. A lot of alpha's that we don't know. I'll be really distracted and I won’t necessarily be there to protect you if something happens; it could be dangerous."

You snort. "It's an award show with a 100 cameras, I'd be fine. And of course, you wouldn’t be around you’ve got like- all your responsibilites and the pack and…"

“Yeah…” Hoseok says carefully, You fuss with your nest. you can't look up at him, can't meet his eyes.

“All’s I’m saying is I could be there- if you wanted me to be. For the pack.” You stress, He just stands up, ruffling your hair on the top of your head, and you chance a glance at him.

Hoseok's smile is resplendent. Gentle and comforting. His thin features and the crinkle of his eyes so willing, affectionate in every second. It's so unbearably tender that you can't stop the noise that rises from your throat, Somewhere between a chirp and a purr.

“You don’t have to. I can handle it.”

You'd stayed home. But hoseok is already thinking about inviting you to the encore show of the last tour. It will be a big audience, one of the biggest they've ever had. A month or so away with enough time for him to properly prepare himself mentally. Enough time for him to take Mr. Lee and the rest of the staff aside personally and insist that no one lets you out of their fucking sight. To drag the others in for extra practices and make sure they know that this isn't any normal performance. This is an audition. It will probably be safer for you to be backstage rather than out in the crowd.

But even through the award show, he's distracted, distant. Before he'd gone on stage, he'd checked his phone to find another text.

Her (10:22): I'm watching. You'll do well, I can already tell. Fighting!

Hoseok had given in to the temptation to flirt back.

Alpha <3 (10:23): Oh, you're watching me now, huh? Does that mean I can watch you back?

You'd sent back nothing more than a picture. And he’d almost dropped his phone. Hiding it hastily underneath the unfair eyes of a busybody makeup Noona.

To say it was bordering on pornographic would be an understatement (at least to alpha sensitivities and Hoseok’s overactive imagination). For an omega to let an alpha even see their personal private nest. It's something undeniably intimate. A private nest is something you only let a pack see.

Some…magazines showcase them. Delicate men and women curled in baby blue sheets and fluffy hollows. Half-bare bodies stripped clean of everything. Flushed faces and plush thighs, close-ups of wrists dragging along the edge of the nests, open hands offering fantasy in every pixel. The kind of magazine that you need to be over 18 to purchase, that's put at the back of stores with blacked-out covers meant for alpha's ruts and alpha's ruts only.

It was a shot of you, or part of you. Just your bare legs and one hand wrapped around the edge of a wine glass. The short hem of your ruffled PJ’s and bunny slippers. Feet resting against the edge of a nest, partially swathed in a big dark blanket. The walls of the nest surround you, high and deep red, almost plum. In front of you a big TV shows the award show playing, a caption 'and to close out our show- the performance you've all been waiting for, Bts!'

Behind that is a windowed view of the city, sparkling. Hoseok zooms in on the reflection in the window, blurry bits of your life that he dissects. There A stuffed animal big enough to be human-sized to the left of you, probably simulating the weight of a packmate behind you.

Hoseok had done the choreography to a T. Every step crisp and perfect, the others too had snapped into place at the cheer of the crowds. Hoseok had kept the photo for himself. Too selfish to show the others quite yet. Looking at it longer than he'd ever admit during his private studio time, drinking down the little details. The tuck of your knees, how close and snuggled you are to that plushy.

Do you get lonely at your nest at home? Does such a big space feel empty? You have room for one or two alpha's, but maybe not 7 people in your private nest. The white high walls of your apartment are unadorned with art or decoration. Your curtains are wide open (not a penthouse, too close to the ground floor to be safe).

There's no one else there in your picture. Not even in the reflection of the glass. Hoseok's never asked if you have an alpha, or even a lover. someone around to look after you. But Hoseok doesn't know any person, alpha or beta, who'd ever let their omega nest alone at night.

A few days from then, Hoseok had gone into his practice room again, at the same time. Your little unspoken routine. He doesn't approach you about the photo and doesn't ask you about it at all. Just says his usual hellos before he runs through the first few songs. Exulting in the stretch of his body. The exertion of it. He needs to get tired, to get more settled, before you and he talk. You smile when he glances your way, and it makes Hoseok feel.

Calm? Angry? Possessive? Flustered? It's a confusing mixture of all. Hoseok doesn't know what or how to feel when he's around you.

When he walks over to you after the 4th song, properly sweating and panting, he holds out his own water bottle for you. He doesn't get on his knees in front of your nest; he just stands there and holds it out. "Want a drink?"

There is a half-sipped smoothie next to you, syruppy and yellow. Hoseok knows that it's mango juice without having to taste it. It's your go-to order these days. Probably with a lychee and peach base if he had to guess. But you still take what he offers without comment or disobedience.

You let him feed you sips before he lifts the bottle and takes a swallow of his own, the dampness on the edge of the bottle sweeter somehow, knowing your lips have touched it.

"You made my performance better. I wanted to thank you for it." He says before he chickens out.

Your wink is a little telling; it makes Hoseok feel flustered and hot down the back of his neck. He's never had an omega flirt with him. Omegas don't need to flirt to get what they want. "Now imagine if you let me scent you instead of just watching you."

He just huffs and falls to the floor, leaning his back up against your nest, a soft thing, intimate to touch it here. Where normally Hoseok steers clear. “Aren't you going to ask why I haven’t booked a session with you?”

You shrug, “You’re waiting until your pack is properly taken care of, it makes perfect sense to me. And even if it's not that you probably have a very good reason, you’ll come to me when you’re ready.”

Hoseok's hand tightens on the bottle. Throat thick as he swallows. But some invisible weight is lifted from his shoulders. Instead of saying anything, he takes another sip of water and then hands it to you.

"Do you want anything? Any more juice or food?"

"No. I'm not hungry." You keep watching him, and he keeps watching you, tongue flicking out to lick at your lower lip.

Later, he'll stress over it. He should have brought you some snacks, yakgwa maybe. You’d confessed you liked the taste of honey, and Taehyung had teased you for being old-fashioned. Sometimes, when Hoseok checks the nest in the recording booth, he finds it full of wrappers or hears the crinkle of one in the background of an audio. Yoongi makes a trap beat out of it when a producer mentions it offhandedly and implies that maybe- the recording booth is not the place for an omega.

But lowkey, fuck that.

“She just like things that are sweet.” Jimin had teased. “Like Hobi,” Jungkook said quietly, not teasing at all.

You're always asking them to get you little things like that, snacks from the employee room downstairs. A pillow you'd left in Yoongi’s studio. One of Namjoon’s baggy sweaters or Tae's cardigans when you get cold. Hoseok doesn't know how courting normally happens, but he does know that it feels wrong…unsafe. To deny you any of your requests.

Hoseok can't help but notice, privy to the pack's schedules as pack alpha, that you're more likely to ask them to do things for you after your name has appeared on their schedules. Namjoon, especially, is much more inclined to bump into a wall afterward, dazed, hazy, dopey, almost. You always ask him to come sit by you until the effects of the scenting have worn off. Sometimes you even hold his hand over the edge of your nest while he stretches.

Now Hoseok looks at you in that nest, watching him watch you, smiling. Like you're not alone in a room with an alpha. You've never talked like this before. Pleasantries sure. But you and Hoseok do not talk about his pack.

"Why are you always asking the pups to get you things? You make a special effort to ask them to do things for you." And not me, am I not enough? Why won’t you ask me for things too?

"They like it, it makes them feel better, haven't you noticed?"

"I have," Hoseok admits, feeling like he's under your thumb. Wondering why he doesn't mind it. Why does his alpha not feel challenged? Hoseok pauses, blushing when you just look at him, smiling still. He nudges the edge of your nest with his knee. "Aren't you going to ask me to get you something? Takeout or a blanket or something?"

"No," you'd hummed, leaning your head against the edge of the nest. "You're not so easy to settle, tricks like that won't work on you."

He leans in, over the edge of the nest. "What works on me then if you have me so figured out?"

You hum, thinking on it thoughtfully. "Dancing, you liked it when I asked you to dance for me." You tap the top of his water bottle. "And keeping me hydrated lol."

Hoseok rolls his eyes, "Oh my god, did you just say Lol."

"What? It's not that weird."

"You can't just say lol without actually laughing out loud, that’s like- not a thing." You tuck your smile under the edge of the nest, and Hoseok instantly wants to tilt your chin up so he can see more of it. An omega like you should never have to hide your smile.

"You are such a millennial." You poke his knee, and Hoseok finds himself overacting to the touch, overly animated. Falling backwards onto the floor. Your giggle is a reward. "Say something funny then if you want me to laugh so bad."

“I can call Jin hyung.” Your next laugh is a bark, and Hoseok can’t stop himself from smiling too. This, this ease- is something he never ever has with people outside of the pack. Your laughter quiets and you sit in companionable silence again. Just you and him and the sunlit practice room.

“Your next performance.” He looks over you and finds you’re hiding your face below the edge of the nest again. “Can I come?”

Hoseok reaches out. Your face is warm, and so is his palm. Your skin is supple and soft beneath his touch as he directs your face above the edge to look at him. “Ask me properly.”

Your eyelashes flutter, and his thumb rubs soothing circles against the ball of your jaw. “Can I come to your next performance alpha?”

Hoseok’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, and he gets the terrible feeling that you could ask for anything and everything- and he’d find some way- through blood and claw, to give it to you.

“Yes.”

You almost pop out of your nest with how excited you are, baggy clothes fluttering until a bit of your stomach peaks out. Hoseok can’t shake the feeling like he’s agreeing to something he shouldn’t, but gets back up with a smile on his face. Alpha chasing its tail with how happy he is, how satisfied fulfilling your requests makes him.

Hoseok is in deep deep shit.

“Want a preview?” he offers. You nod and settle at the edge of the nest, pressed closer to the walls to watch as he queues up the next song.

~-~

Hoseok had kept his composure until he'd gone home, and had screamed into a pillow in front of the whole pack. And had woken up at the first light of morning to craft an email to the architect working on the pack house and asked very politely if there was still a chance that a nesting room could be incorporated into the floor plan. Large, ground floor, somewhere more interior in the house.

Price was hardly a consideration.

He easily relocates his studio to the upper floor. shifting the square footage of all their bedrooms. There will be four upstairs, Jin and Yoongi will share the largest bedroom, and Jimin and Jungkook will share the next. It doesn't make sense for them to each get their own room since they end up in the same bed every night anyway. And even when they don't, it's most often Yoongi and Jungkook that sneak around together- and Jimin and Jin who need a bit of beta time. The rest of them are floaters from bed to bed.

But the nesting space- Hoseok knows it needs to be large enough just like the 'pack bedroom', His bedroom on the ground floor, that will need to be regularly able to accommodate all the packmates. It's closest to the entrance of the house and the kitchen too so that Hoseok can keep track of their comings and goings.

And an outdoor space, right? Omega's benefit from sunlight and fresh air, don't they? They'll need an updated security system too, and a larger kitchen if they're going to be cooking for 8 instead of for 7. He mentions the idea to Yoongi offhandedly, and the alpha agrees. Jimin also sat at the kitchen table makes a face. "Omegas don't eat that much, hyung. Not any more than us anyway."

Yoongi had placed the plate full of breakfast infront of him. "But still- maybe we should, just in case."

Hoseok finds himself repeating that a lot. Just in case.

~-~

“You need to book a session with her hyung.”

Hoseok peers up at Taehyung, having stooped to tie his shoe, mid-Stretch. The others are due in the practice room any minute. Hoseok had left the pack house early this morning. It’s the 3rd time this week he’s done the same.

Jimin followed closely behind Taehyung, at the door now, unpacking his things, bottles of water for practice. There are staff too- Hoseok sent them away, but he knows soon they’ll want to be in here to block out positioning and check the audio. His manager and Taehyung bicker about something inconsequential in the hallway. They aren’t in private, even if it feels like they are.

The truth is, Hoseok hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been trying to hide it, but once Hoseok’s awake, there's only one place he wants to be, and he feels riled up, unsettled until he’s here. Often pacing around the pack's apartment- closing the windows and doors, and checking the locks twice before he leaves.

Maybe it's the impending move into the pack house (near complete), or the stress of a looming tour. At least at the company, he can watch from the windows of the 7th floor and wait for your car service to loop around the circle outside. Wait to see you step out.

And then Hoseok hides. Just like now. He checked your schedule. You won’t be around until later. Tonight maybe. Hoseok knows you have a habit of ending up in either Yoongi or Namjoon’s studio before you leave for the night, often staying later just to hang around. Even when you’re not having an active session. People bother you there less.

But Hoseok knows that Taehyung has noticed, and the others have too. Last night, he found himself bookended on all ends with packmates. something abnormal leading up to comeback time, when they're all so busy, the idea of missing out on even a moment of sleep is deplorable. He’s been pushing himself a bit too hard lately. He’s barely been spending any time at home. He tells himself he’s just focused on the album. But that’s not just it.

The fact of the matter is that Hoseok's alpha just won't settle without all his pups in one place. And that only ever happens in the practice room now.

Hoseok tilts his head and considers Taehyung's words. Even though he might be right. Hoseok’s alpha is riled up just looking at him. Black slacks, red shirt- Taehyung always looks so good in red. “Whose giving orders to who now pup?”

Tae crosses his arms, flushing at Hoseok’s obvious appreciation of him. “I’m serious. You’re like- it’s negatively affecting your health-”

Hoseok sighs, pushes up from the floor without using his hands. Tugs on Tae's shirt, hand grasping over his chest, grabbing just to grab, holding just to hold. Tae can’t help but smile. “I’ll worry about my health Tae, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, sniffing it from us doesn’t do what a real scenting would do and you know it.” Jimin’s been quiet, quiet maybe because he knows what’s going through Hobi's head, what he’s tried to hide but failed to do. he pads over gently. Unzipping his sweatshirt as he goes.

Jimin's so careful with his words, pragmatic. “What are you so worried about? You know you’re not anything from her that she's not paid to give.  She’s getting compensated for this, and if she didn't want to do it- she wouldn't.”

Hoseok flinches at it. That word, taking. He doesn’t like it.

Jimin notices. Rushing to reassure, “Hyung, it’s not taking- it’s literally a monetary exchange. She’s our employee, practically.” A hidden voice in Hobi's head says that no, you’re so much more than that.

He doesn’t really get to talk about it until later. With Yoongi in Hoseok’s bed. Alphas don’t really nest; it doesn't really make any sort of difference biologically to them, not the same way that having an omega's nest would. It’s been years since the two of them giggled (a little drunk) and mimed making one together, dreaming about one day having an omega in their pack, joking, "You can take the evenings, and I’ll take the mornings."

"What about the others?"

"They’ll do what we tell them."

First in their little dorm, then their apartment, and now soon the pack house. There are boxes by the front door. They have to start packing soon if they want to be moved in by lunar new year.

Hoseok’s hand plays with the happy trail on Yoongi’s stomach absentmindedly while he unloads on him. He’s always a bit resistant to confiding in the others. Namjoon has just as much on his plate as Hoseok does, and the baby betas shouldn't be burdened with this. Jungkook and Taehyung- the pups. Yoongi has always been Hoseok’s second. His partner in dominance, in corralling the pack.

“I think if I start getting scented by her, it will only be a matter of time before I want her every day, before I’m jealous of you guys and everyone else, before I crave it more than I crave anything. Every time she walks by me, it feels like my alpha is going to sniff down her throat and then roll onto my back and show its belly.”

Yoongi laughs a little at that. Because the idea of Hoseok's alpha showing its belly to anyone is ridiculous. But Hoseok is serious. And he doesn’t laugh. Yoongi realizes this after a moment. Smile falling. “Scenting addiction has never been a problem with you and other omegas before.”

There are treatment centers around the city for them, lower-brow facilities tucked into back alleys that chain up alphas until the omega pheromones run through their systems. You’ve never made an alpha go scent addicted before. Hoseok had checked your file to make sure. But the risk feels like it’s there. Forever just scratching beneath Hoseok’s skin.

“No- it hasn’t.” Hoseok’s fingers rub Yoongi’s tummy in smooth circles. The alpha groans a little, legs falling open just incrementally. It's been years since either of them has felt the need to go more than once in a single evening.

Back just after they'd presented, and they'd been so full of pheromones that not fucking or hooking up once a day felt like a waste. Yoongi's spunk is still cooling on Hoseok's skin. It's just a habit that has him opening his legs for his pack alpha, bending in a way that Yoongi doesn't bend for anyone else. And Hoseok smiles despite himself.

“But you’re worried it might with her.”

“The way my alpha wants her- my instincts- It makes me feel like a monster.”

Yoongi nuzzles into Hoseok’s shoulder. “You’re not a monster.” Hoseok hums, unconvinced. Yoongi’s hands loop around Hoseok’s waist, rubbing up and down his ribs, attempting to comfort. But comforting another alpha is hard.

Hoseok remembers the way they’d stumbled through it at first, the heavy looks, the needy nuzzles that felt a little less than platonic. The bite of the others' teeth- oh so sweet, oh so needed. Before the pack had decided that this- every hungry and animal urge, was mutual, shared. Desired. And Hoseok started doing everything that he could to please them.

And look at where it's gotten them.

He went over to the pack house earlier, just to check. The house is really more of a villa. It's got a pool out back and enough balconies off the front and back that namjoon will not have trouble expanding his plant collection. It's not on that much property. But it feels less small than it is because of how it's perched on the hill. It gives every window and balcony a view. It's got the right number of traditional touches on the inside, wood accents.

The building is a hollow square. The bottom floor is the garage. The middle has the kitchen, nesting room, and Hoseok's bedroom. Every room opens to a well landscaped patch of earth that will become Namjoon's passion project. The studio and workout room are just before the back deck and pool. The top floor has the rest of the pack's bedrooms and Tae's art studio.

The whole house is perched on a steep grassy hill ringed by hedges that the architect assured would grow in a few years, perched in the hills above Seoul. Private but not a prison. Open, and yet protected.

Hoseok's dedication has gotten them everything.

The pack has cute ways of letting him know how thankful they are. Hoseok watches Yoongi very carefully as he leans down and bites his pectoral. Slowly committing the imprint of his teeth to memory.

“Ow!”

“Shut up, that did not hurt.” Hoseok smiles, rubbing the mark, feeling the ache there- and it feels like love. It is love- Hoseok knows. Even if Yoongi struggles to say it sometimes. Prefers to say it when the moments are light and less heavy, when they’re bickering over tracks, or when he drives Hoseok home from the company when Hoseok is too tired.

They don’t say I love you when they’re talking about making changes to the pack. Being scented by you remains a line that he can’t cross over. Hoseok won’t let himself have it because he knows what will happen after.

~-~

The morning after Jungkook trips during a performance, Hoseok is not surprised to find the other alpha in your nest.

He's just retreating to your usual comfort space, intent on making sure he can get a particularly loud choreography nailed down before you get back from your usual morning vocal lessons with the vocal line. It wouldn’t be a big deal- accept that it’s the end of the day. As per your contract and the general labor laws outlined by the government and OHS, you’re not allowed to have more than 4 hours of scenting scheduled per day.

You had two hours with the other groups and pups, one with Jimin and Tae, and then another with Jin. You’re already overloaded, already overbooked. If management finds out or if anyone in the company reports it to Omega Health Services, it would be a strike against them and could lead to them losing their license as a registered safe haven omega organization.

But he pauses at the scent on the air, you- happy soothing berry, and Jungkook- upset black tea. Stilling. Hoseok sneaks towards your omega nest in the corner, carefully, without turning the lights on.

At first, Hoseok thinks that Jungkook’s just sneaked in there to be closer to your scent, that you're not underneath him at all, but then he spots the movement of your hand, small against Jungkook's back, stroking up and down. The alpha's breathing is deep and measured.

Almost entirely hidden by Jungkook's body, he's smothering you. freshly tattoed arms wrapped around your waist, big body pinning you to the nest. His head tucked below the barrier out of the light, curly dark hair a mop, your small hand gliding through it.

Hoseok makes an alarmed noise, treading close. Reaching to rouse him from sleep. But you squeak, squirming up through the blanket, making poignant and panicked eye contact with him once your face is clear around his shoulder. Shaking your head quickly and keeping your voice down.

"Don't. I just got him to sleep."

Hoseok retracts his hand slowly. Still whispering. "Can you even breathe?"

"It's okay, I kind of like it actually."

"Of course, you fucking do," he grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. "You shouldn't let him do that." Hoseok is hushed. An omega's nest is a very, very intimate space. Hoseok is more nervous than upset. More worried than anything else. Eyes flicking from him to you in quick succession, an apology already building on his lips.

But when Hoseok pulls back more, he sees that Jungkook’s cheeks are damp, that his eyelashes are still clumped together from tears, his skin all red and puffy. You just comb your hands through his hair. Gently parting it around his face. Looking at him with a glance so intimate and fond that Hoseok feels like he should look away.

 "What was I supposed to do? Just let him cry?"

Jungkook always looks so youthful in his sleep, with none of his harsh edges and confusing lines. He presses into your hand, letting out a sleepy alpha growl. Nose at the scent gland on the inside of your wrist, mouth open to breathe it in more deeply.

"I told him he could, ordered it when he said you'd be mad." Hoseok huffs, tentatively reaching in to brush Jungkook’s dark hair back from his forehead, too. His hand is close to yours; he watches your fingers flex, like you might be reaching out to him. "He was so sad alpha."

Hoseok just sighs and gets up on his creaky knees. He looks down at the two of you, how nice your body fits around his, how your body is just as boneless, and your eyes are already starting to grow heavy. You look comfortable and warm and cozy.

Hoseok debates between what he knows is right and what his alpha wants. Looking down at the two of you satisfied. Hoseok's alpha wants to cuddle up underneath you or maybe on top of Jungkook. The only thing better than one alpha on top of you is two. The only thing safer would be to stay here and watch over you, but…you look sleepy. Tired. And Hoseok knows that if he stays, you probably won't sleep. Will probably want to keep an eye on an alpha not in your nest.

You're always complaining about management lingering around when you're doing a session, that you wish they'd just leave you be. Maybe staying…will do more harm than good.

 If you notice the change in his scent, nearly heady. You don't say anything at all. You nibble on your lower lip, question on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t ask.

Stay.  

"Is your phone charged?" He asks. You have a wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're confused, Hoseok reaches down to smooth it out. You recoil from his thumb rubbing at the spot with a pout, and he can't stop his smile. 

"Yeah, it's got like 70%, why?"

"I'll lock the door from outside." This is his practice room. And no one will question it if they find the lock clicked; no one will bother you here. "You text me when he wakes up or if you need something, and I'll come get you. Management won't find out that way."

Jungkook would just get another scolding, and you would too. That's the last thing Hoseok wants. He turns and makes to leave, keys already in his hands. Jungkook hardly stirs through all of it.

"Alpha?" You call softly, and Hoseok turns back,

"Yes pup?"

You shrink back below the edge of the nest. Suddenly shy for whatever reason. "Nothing." Hoseok waits for a second, waits for you to change your mind, and then nods.

"Thank you."

Hoseok blinks, "Of course." The keys feel sweaty in his hands. Hoseok means it more than he’s ever meant anything in his life when he says. "Anything you need."

~-~

The pack house is quiet at this hour, late at night on a friday, practice tomorrow and the day after looming. their friday nights often don't look like regular 20 somethings do. The sound of the pack settling into their steadiness comforting as it is familiar. Hoseok scrolls through social media while he brushes his teeth in the kitchen.

The take out all put away. The sound of Seokjin showering in the ensuite and singing one of their new songs softly, lulls him into a false sense of security with the quiet gravel of namjoon's tone a room away, punctuated softly by the sound of the headbord rocking into the wall.

Although that might just be Jimin and Jungkook hitting the table, shouting at their respective screens as they game in the living room.

This late at night, hoseok so often thinks about you. Your apartment must be oh so quiet.

Tae left a little while ago to hang out with his friends. With clear instructions as to the time he was expected home and the amount he's allowed to drink. Hoseok is just considering if he wants to hunt down Namjoon and Yoongi in the other room or if he wants to wait up for Tae to come home when his phone dings.  

A text from your number.

Basically, Hoseok’s worst nightmare in print form.

It’s a picture of two dresses, one black and leather, the other red and sparkly, lying on the edge of your nest.

Her (9:59): Can you help me choose alpha?

Hoseok sends a second dumbly staring at it, brain short-circuiting, before another text comes through.

Her (9:59): Sorry, wrong alpha.

Hoseok immediately tries to call you. But it goes to voicemail. He sends another call, rapid fire, but that one also gets declined after a second. He calls into the kitchen.

“Jungkook ah- can you call y/n for me?”

Jungkook and Jimin stick their heads around the corner. Headphones from their gaming setup off their ears. “What? Why? is something wrong?” Hoseok is thankful that Tae isn’t around and that the others are occupied in their own rooms. Fucking from the sound of it. Namjoon and Yoongi tend to get noisy. The others would be able to scent it out on him in a second. It’s only through pure self-control that Hoseok manages to keep his scent normal.

“No reason, she just hasn’t responded to me.”

Hoseok watches Jungkook call, the furrow of his eyebrow. staring at his phone for a second. “That’s weird, she always picks up when I call.”

Hoseok keeps his scent steady. He grabs his coat, tells, and then orders Jungkook and Jimin to stay put. He wraps the trench coat tightly around him, glad for its length to block out his pajamas. “It’s probably nothing. I might go and like- make sure she’s not still at the company.” It’s a flimsy excuse, but Hoseok doesn't have time to make another one.

Hoseok tries to call you another dozen times on the elevator ride down to the garage, but you leave every one of them on voicemail. Eventually, Hoseok gives in.

Alpha (10:02): Who are you going out with?

Alpha (10:02): Tell me right fucking now.

Her (10:02): Wouldn’t you like to know alpha ;)

Alpha (10:03): Tell me.

Her (10:03): Or else what?

Alpha (10:03): Or else you won’t like what happens.

Her (10:03): Don't threaten me with a good time.

Alpha (10:03): I'm serious. I'm not fucking around.

Alpha (10:03): Where. Are. You.

The next text makes his alpha gnash it's teeth, nearly howling. hair standing on end. And Hoseok feels his alpha win out a little, giving into the chase.

Her (10:04): Come and find me <3

You don’t send any more than that. But you don’t need to. It’s really not all that hard to find out where you’ll be. The fact of the matter is that Hoseok is very, very well-connected, and he’s not exactly averse to using those connections to his advantage. He could reach out to your manager- you have a tracker on your phone like all the other employees.

But all it takes is a well-worded question in the search bar on Twitter to find a photo, a flash of red, your hair curled behind your shoulders as a bouncer helps you step aside the long queue. Most of the picture is blurry, but the profile of your face is something Hoseok would recognize anywhere.

Yeonjunsleftnostril: Isn’t this the omega that works for txt?

Jikookfivever: No, that one works for HYBE.

Yeonjunsleftnostril: isn’t that the same fucking thing?

Hoseok isn’t in disguise; he didn’t think to grab anything. But he gets out of the car infront of the club without thinking about it. He’s spotted almost instantly underneath the neon partition. He wonders if omegas even need tickets to get in here- probably not, they probably just let you right in without even asking for an ID.

He tosses a wad of bills to the valet. “Leave it here.” The beta scurries; he knows Hoseok’s face, the whole city is covered in it. The hush to the crowd that his voice commands is audible. somewhere in the line someone whispers "is that j-hope? why is he wearing pj's to the club?" The bouncer just nods at Hoseok and lets him through without any hassle.

A camera flashes. And Hoseok winces.

You’re really very easy to find, sitting at an empty booth in the corner. Everyone's giving you a wide berth. A dozen bottles of champagne around you and various other alcohols and empty glasses. Hoseok knows you got it all for free- any club would be lucky to host an omega for even 10 minutes, let alone the hour that it took for him to find you.

Hoseok isn’t surprised to find you alone. No alpha. Not the one you dressed up for. Whoever they were, they’ve left you alone, and it’s their loss. The clubs that usually cater to pack clientele are quieter. But this is a club through and through. Edm from the sound of it. Hoseok weaves his way through the churning crowd towards you, passing a group of alphas peering into your booth.

“You can do it bro, that’s just an omega.” “Yeah, the only omega here.” “I didn’t know they were like- even allowed to drink-” “you’ve got this bro-” “yeah go woo her” “bro you’re like so desirable.” “yeah, id fuck you and i'm not even an beta-" "that's like a little weird bro" "sorry bro" "go get this bro- "

Hoseok walks by them without a single glance in their direction. They shrink back when he smirks, his aura intimidating and anger melting off of him in waves. His usually sweet mango scent is sour and strong, making the crowd part around him.

He’s thankful this club has a famous no phones policy, otherwise this would make headlines. At best, he knows a few photos will circulate on the back corners of the internet. Probably excused away.  

Your legs are crossed at the ankle, the hem of your sparkly red skirt hiked up to the upper thigh. Almost high enough to flash the people here. Leaving miles of your skin on display. Hoseok has never seen you in anything other than nesting clothes; he's never seen you in so little. Your eyelashes are curled long and dark, your cheeks rouged, your lips lined and filled bright, bright red, making his blood boil for several reasons.

Whoever the alpha is that you dressed up for is one lucky fuck.

Hoseok's alpha feels world-ending rage. The kind of rage that makes people kill. The kind of rage not appropriate for an alpha of his caliber.

The worst part is, your face still lights up when you see him. The joy on your face is plain to see. Hoseok realizes that you’re drunk, absolutely wasted as your expression loosens into a dopey grin. He knows the expression on his face is pinched and pissed. But you don’t even seem to care as you reach for him, purse spilling, its contents falling everywhere. (Lipstick and a wallet and expensive chocolates and... is that a stuffed animal? One of the ones Jin got you?)

Hoseok catches you before you fall to the floor, all but jumping into his arms in drunk animation. Excited. Sweet scent rippling.

“Hoseokie! You made it!”

~-~

Notes:

on second read hoseok reads so imature in this fic, i know it's a flashback, but it's very clear i think from his behavior and internal monologue that he really really wants to be a good pack alpha and is struggling to find his grove. i hope you got that without me explicitly saying it? but it's true that the m/c really does make him flourish.

this may feel like a filler chapter- not because it is- but because it and the next chapter originally were connected to each other and now they are not! the next chapter and the one after it focus more on her relationship with the others as well as hobi (building very heavily on the m/c/jk dynamic and showing how that sort of started) and my god the sexting with tae- it's taking everything in me not to spoil it.

i split this because once i hit like 12k in the word count my mental health gets very dodgy (basically the level of effort i put in doesn't reach the amount of feedback i receive and i start to feel like my writing is crappy SO that is why i try not to publish parts that are longer than 12k.

i really hope people won't be disapointed :/ especially because there's nothing really really juicy that happens in this chapter.

i think it's clear that i'm not sticking to the irl timeline of enlistment and albums in this fic but incase you needed it said! things are happening out of order! also there's no pandemic in this universe lol- i figured since we have the omega plague we don't need covid. in my mind this takes place in like 2018 when bts's popularity really took off like- DNA era. realistically this would mean that bts are younger than like 26-27-28. but you know- if the pandemic hadn't happened but they'd still enlisted when they where 30- you get the picture. the timeline works if you ignore it and the timeline really doens't matter to me.

wow i'm at the point in editing this where i hate this- it's so fucking meandering and i feel like you can really tell there was supposed to be another part to this (there is it's just next chapter)

whatever.

i have not verbally said it in the last chapters but the packmates scents are as followed namjoon: tomato leaf, Jimin: lychee, Jin: peaches, m/c: blackberries, hoseok: drippy sticky mangos, Jungkook: black tea, Taehyung: toffee like faintly smoky but sweet, Yoongi: citrus, but deep and mellow instead of bright

i love how hoseok's inner monolouge is "i'm a monster- i'm going to hurt her." and the second she sees hoseok actually dominating she's just like "wow he's pretty" like ugh- their dynamic is so <3333

i love outro her and i love that hoseok's referencing that here. newer armies might not know the song.

this is the first chapter where i'm like- does the forced caretaking tag really fit? because honestly the m/c willingly gives up control of her whole life to hoseok. like- all of it. i think that this is a very soft foray into the world of forced caretaking.

~-~

Mini playlist:

Bella Kay- Steady

Tate mcrae- Revolving Door

Tate mcrae- the hills

Demi Lovato- met him last night

Annabelle Dinda - Satellites

"Are you wiping it off first?" he grins, watching your face as you put the list down and step away to rummage through one of the cabinets.

Fighting a smile, you roll your eyes at him over your shoulder as you grab a thermometer from the container of brand-new ones and rip it from its plastic.

You wave it in the air as if a thermometer that hasn't measured the inner temps of a hundred dog butts is a luxury reserved for the few. "Unused. Just for you."

Chuckling, he watches you approach, opening his mouth obediently to let you place the metal tip on his tongue, his lips closing around it.

"Keep it under the tongue. It takes a few seconds."

While you wait, you lift your hand, tentatively resting the back of it against his forehead just to feel again. His dark eyes are on you every second, but you try to focus anyway. Estimating a temperature by touch is hard, but he's definitely warmer. A fever this high often makes a human's skin feel clammy, but Jeongguk doesn't look ill, and his skin feels normal to the touch. Just warm.

A moment later, the thermometer beeps and you retrieve it carefully from his mouth. Jeongguk keeps his warm gaze on your face, more interested in your reaction than the actual result. And there's definitely a reaction. The moment you read the numbers off the small screen, your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink in disbelief.

"I'm… gonna try another one," you mumble, tossing the probably faulty thermometer in the trash and heading to the cabinet to grab a replacement.

"What did it show?"

"42 degrees Celsius."

He looks at you with a small, knowing smile.

"You knew?"

"I think I'm usually around 41.8 to 42. But it's been a few decades since I last tested. I think the last thermometer showed 107.7."

"Fahrenheit, I take it?"

He nods.

"At least it's consistent then. Would you mind…?" You hold up the new one.

This time, he reaches out to take the offered device from your hand. "You don't believe me?" he asks, but the amused smile playing on his lips tells you he isn't actually offended.

You shake your head, watching him casually slide it between his lips. The way he shifts it into place, hands-free, under his tongue is insanely attractive, highlighting both his sharp jaw and sculpted cheekbones.

"I want to believe you, but… everything I know says that this is impossible. A human, showing 42 degrees would… would be dead." You shake your head in disbelief. "Or at least hanging on by a thin damn thread."

Two seconds later, the thermometer beeps. He plucks it from his mouth, glances at the number, and hands it to you. Like the last time, you stare at the result, trying to make sense of it. 41.9.

"And I take it you didn't drink anything hot right before knocking on that door?"

"You mean like coffee?"

You nod, waiting for the answer that explains his abnormal temp.

"I don't drink coffee. All I've had today is blood, heated to 37 degrees. And that was…" he trails off, lifting his eyes to look at the clock. "Four hours ago."

You study him and his slightly lopsided smile for a few seconds, thinking deeply. Then, unceremoniously, you shove the thermometer under your own tongue. He watches you, still amused and maybe surprised, while you hold the end of it, waiting for the beep.

It comes, interrupting the silence, and you pull the thermometer out.

"36.5," you state. "It checks out; I'm usually a little on the colder side. But if you really are 42 degrees, I should've noticed. In that bathroom, when you put your hand over my mouth, why didn't I notice?"

He shrugs, thinking back to that night. "I… held the cold, metal railing while we were outside? My hands were probably chillier than usual."

Quietly, you revisit the memory too. And yeah, you remember him standing next to you, large hands gripping that iron bar as you spoke. It was cold, and it's a scientifically plausible explanation.

"But if you're… If you're really 42 degrees…" You trail off, trying to process exactly what a body temperature that high would entail. "Do you mind if I listen to your heart? And lungs?"

"Be my guest."

Returning to the table where all your stuff has accumulated, you scan the area.

"Stethoscope?"

"Huh?" you glance back at him.

He nods toward your neck. "If you're looking for the stethoscope."

"Oh." Your hand flies up, fingers brushing the rubber tubing of said stethoscope.

Jeongguk smiles. Surely, he knows exactly that he's the reason you're slightly off your game. All day practically every day, the stethoscope hangs around your neck, yet his mere presence has you forgetting.

Cheeks burning, you put the earpieces in place.

"I'll have to go under the shirt," you inform, looking at him for permission.

He nods, and you step closer, trying to decide where to go in from. The neckline of his t-shirt is rather high, and doesn't look to be very stretchy. With no better option, you grip the hem, lifting it to just underneath his chest.

Even as he's seated—his golden skin creating two truly tiny skin rolls on his stomach—there's an outline of abs.

"This might feel cold."

"It's okay."

Beginning to notice a pattern, you're very aware of his quiet gaze on your face, all until you actually put the chestpiece against the left side of his chest, and your focus changes.

Popping one of the earpieces out, you look at his face with wide eyes. "You're bradycardic?"

"If that means my heart is beating slowly, yes."

"Yeah. A temperature like yours indicates a very high metabolic rate, which in turn means a huge requirement for oxygen. It would make more sense for your heart to beat faster just to keep the tissues from starving."

He only hums in return, a low sound that vibrates up the stethoscope and into the one ear still connected.

"Yet your heart is beating slowly, even for a human. You don't happen to know how big it is?"

You don't realize what you asked him until he smiles at you, his eyebrows raised.

Cheeks burning once more, you resist the urge to slap his shoulder. "Your heart."

"I think it's relatively normal-sized" he says, and you can tell by his cheeky smile and the glint in his eyes that he hasn't quite let go of the accidental innuendo yet.

"You're just a guy, aren't you?" you mutter, rolling your eyes yet fighting a smile as you put the earpiece back in. Good to know that men are men, no matter human or vampire. "I'm gonna listen some more."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest, and you close your eyes in order to focus on something else than his pretty face and the happy grin.

Although the sound is slightly… muffled, Jeongguk's heartbeat still sounds strong. It's slow, almost heavy, but not like it's struggling at all. In a way, his heart is almost soothing to listen to. With a soft hand, you move the chestpiece around, listening to his heart from different angles. Besides the low frequency of its beats, it sounds normal.

"Lift your arm slightly for me?" you mumble, moving your hand and the chestpiece around to his side when he does, satisfied to find the sound clearer there.

You flutter your eyes open to look at the wall-mounted clock, counting every heartbeat.

The seconds pass in silence. Everything is so quiet, except for the rhythmic thumping of Jeongguk's heart in your ears. Count for 30 seconds, then double it.

36.

You count again, letting another 30 seconds pass. He doesn't move, and neither do you.

"Your heart beats 36 beats a minute," you inform him, meeting his gaze and stepping back, his shirt falling back down.

Jeongguk doesn't say anything, he just watches you with those dark eyes and a soft and curious, yet calm, look. To listen to his lungs, you circle the table, carefully lifting his shirt again, from the back this time, and sliding your hand and the stethoscope's chestpiece up the wide expanse of his back. It's like you can feel the heat radiating off him.

You close your eyes again, tuning out the room. "Take a deep breath for me?"

He complies, and the sound of air rushing in is deep, clear, and seemingly bottomless.

"Again, please. Until I say."

While he continues to breathe slowly and deeply, you slide the chestpiece around, listening to all parts of his left lung. Then, you move it across his spine, examining the right lung as well before you step back, letting his shirt fall back down. Even though you didn't touch him skin-to-skin, merely stepping away from his body makes you feel… colder.

"Okay, thank you. You have good lungs," you conclude, walking back around the table to face him. "They don't quite sound… supernatural; just like you have great capacity."

You return the stethoscope to its default position around your neck, locating the notes on the table with your mind reeling. You then stare at his chest, watching the slow and rhythmic rise and fall as you try to form your thoughts into coherent words.

"Since your heart and lungs sound… relatively normal—and by that I mean your heart isn't beating as quickly as a hummingbird's to deliver enough oxygen, and you don't have air sacs providing a far more… continuous stream of oxygen—the magic must be in your blood."

Subconsciously, you tap your pen to the paper in a rhythm similar to that of his heart, your mouth pressed into a thin line as you think.

"But the thing is that… the temperature is also a symptom of an extreme metabolism, but also what would destroy the blood needed to power that metabolism. Hemoglobin and enzymes and all that are all proteins, and proteins are essentially cooked at the temperature you are."

"Human blood."

You meet his eyes. "Yeah, human blood and human proteins would be cooked. Which means… You probably have… different structured proteins or something."

You rub your temple, mind in overdrive. "There are beings around your temp. Birds, specifically volant birds—meaning those that fly—are hotter than mammals, some of them reaching up to 43 degrees, and they have a lot of these… Heat Shock Proteins that protect their proteins from the heat."

You think hard, wondering why a vampire would share features with birds. "Maybe you rely on those as well? Or maybe you just run on… Mountain Dew or something."

Jeongguk chuckles at your slightly desperate joke.

"Sounds cool," he says, tilting his head in an incredibly attractive manner. "The bird proteins, I mean. Why are birds warmer?"

"Flying requires an almost absurd amount of energy and therefor a higher metabolism, and a higher metabolism generates heat. Could I look at your eyes for a bit?" you ask, fighting to keep your nerdiness somewhat at bay.

"Sure." He waits while you fish a penlight from the breast pocket of your scrubs. "What is it that you're hoping to see? Or… not to see?"

"I honestly have no idea." You reach up to turn the overhead light off since you'll need a more controlled light. "You could tell me you either have the vision of a hawk or that your sense of smell is so developed and your vision so useless that you're legally blind."

He grins. "Like a T-Rex?"

"I think that was confirmed to be a myth, actually. Supposedly, T-Rex had very good vision."

He blinks, then laughs softly. "Sorry, seems my dino knowledge isn't up to date."

"No worries, I'm probably too up to date, but then again, animals are sort of my interest." You smile sheepishly, moving on. "Would you say that you see well?"

"Yeah. I think I saw pretty well as a human too, but I honestly can't really remember. I definitely see better now, though."

You nod, pressing a button that lowers the table he's sitting on two notches just to get a better angle.

"That's interesting. In that case, I'd say it makes sense that you see well. Again, birds—coincidentally also dino-descendants—are well-known to have sharp vision. Hawks and eagles specifically have the most advanced eye-sight out of any vertebrae."

"Is there a specific reason?" he asks, gaze tracking the penlight as you bring it to his face.

"Well, they hunt small animals from usually high in the sky—"

But the moment you click the penlight on and shine it at his left eye, the pupil shrinks. A lot.

You stumble back.

"Sorry," you mumble. "That surprised me."

"My pupil?" he wonders softly.

"Yeah, I didn't expect it to constrict that much. Because they're not always that small, right? Your eyes are so dark that I—" you stop, a realization hitting you.

You wouldn't have noticed. He could've walked around with pupils the size of pin pricks, and you would've been none the wiser.

"They're not, no. But I guess it could be a reason there are practically only dark-eyed vampires."

Still a little shaken, you bite your lip, watching him. Without the bright light pointed directly at his eyes, they look human. Very, very dark, but human.

"Deliberate camouflage?"

"Yeah. Our eyes can clearly be jarring."

Clearly.

"Possibly," you mumble. "Tell me, do you see well in the dark, too?"

"I'd say so. I can't remember the last time a place was too dark for me to see anything in."

You nod, your gaze drifting off as you consider the meaning. "Maybe there are multiple reasons? Brighter eyes let more light through, but eyes capable of good night vision are usually more light sensitive. Darker eyes with more melanin block some of that light."

A thought hits you, and you back away from him. "I wonder…"

At the door, you reach your hand out, flicking the light off. In an instant, you're swallowed by darkness, and for the first few seconds, you don't see anything at all. Then, gradually, your vision returns as your eyes do their best to adjust. The small amount of light in the room comes from a window further in, behind Jeongguk. It's of course dark outside as well, but there's a tiny bit of moonlight that leaks inside, and it clings to his dark, motionless silhouette.

Jeongguk sits there. He doesn't do anything in particular that warrants your reaction, but his unmoving shape, watching you, makes goosebumps line your arms and a chill run down your spine. It feels like when you're waking up in the middle of the night, for a second frozen with fear and wholly convinced that the dark mass of clothes on a chair is a man, watching you.

It does not get better when you raise the penlight, holding it next to your face and clicking it on to aim for his eyes. They shine back. Two big, round, bright reflections, like walking in the woods late at night and accidentally shining your light on a silent, unmoving creature, nothing but their eyes reflecting.

You think that's when it actually hits you. Swiftly, you flick the switch back on, relieved when light floods the room. Jeongguk hasn't moved; still watching you like he has the entire night, but the growing discomfort in your stomach is hard to shake.

"You have tapetum lucidum," you state, finding the note to write the findings down. The letters are a little more squiggly than those from fifteen minutes ago. "And your pupils definitely expand."

"Tapetum…?" he echoes. "That's the reflections?"

"Yeah. Present in species that need to see well in the dark."

You keep your gaze locked onto the paper, trying to calm your heart. Faking the teeth, the temperature, and the heart rate would've been hard, but this…? The man sitting on the exam table behind you is not human.

Not human.

Not only that. While present in both prey and predators, Jeongguk's tapetum are not the wide band of prey animals worried about getting eaten, but the circular shape that helps predators track their target in the dark. Just like some sort of shape shifter, he's taken on the look of his prey, both to blend in and to deceive. The name skin-walker flashes in your mind.

"I'm not a threat to you."

His low and soft voice gathers your attention. Of course, he realized. He has his head slightly tilted, looking at you when you lift your gaze from the paper.

"Yeah," you manage to say, forcing your voice steady. "It's just very weird to see all of this, realizing that I am your intended prey. All of these physiological feats just to kill me."

"You're scared."

"I wouldn't say scared, maybe more… nervous."

You don't hold eye contact, instead diving back into your notes even just to collect yourself. Is it a lie to say that you're more nervous than scared? Who knows.

"I'm sorry for what I did at the bar, but you don't have to be afraid of me. I promise."

You bite your lip, weighing the pros and cons. Risk vs reward. You've already established (to yourself) that he probably hasn't had the intention to kill you because if so then he would've already, but things can change. And that's regarding intention; you're sure… accidents happen.

"It's up to you of course," he adds softly, moving his hands over his thighs as he shifts on the table. "But if there's anything else you'd like to see, I'm all yours."

I'm all yours.

You look at him, your gaze traveling down his body in a purely (or at least mostly) curious and clinical way. His neck, his wide shoulders and chest, his muscular arms and legs. You shut your eyes for a brief moment, trying to deny how his subtle submission has yet another little spark igniting. Sure, you might be nervous, but what is the alternative? Send him away?

'You're the most interesting being I have ever and will ever see, but I'm a bit of a wimp even though you've only really been nice, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. Bye!'

Yeah, right.

"Am I the dumbest human you've ever met, or what?" you ask, awkwardly approaching him again. "With the self-preservation sense of something like… a leaf. But… Could I look at your lymph nodes?"

"Out of the relatively few humans I've gotten to know over the years, you're by far the smartest," he answers easily, making your heart flutter. "But yeah, you can. Where?"

You stifle a sheepish smile. "Are you trying to butter me up? Your neck."

He chuckles, shifting on the table to give you more access. While you wouldn't have considered it necessary, he also happens to spread his thick thighs, giving you room to stand between them. If you'd like.

Although you could reach his neck without it, you do decide to take that additional step, putting you between his legs but without touching them. Slowly, you then lift your hands, carefully placing them on either side of his neck.

He's so warm, and it radiates through your entire body and melts you in more ways than one. With one hand on each side, you move your fingers gently, feeling for the lymph nodes under his jaw.

"Your skin feels… different," you murmur, thinking aloud. "It's soft and… smooth, but it feels just a little more… dense? Not something I would've noticed if I didn't already know you were different…" You find the nodes, pressing a little firmer. "This doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No. It tickles a little, though," he smiles. You keep your endeared gaze on his neck, already aware that he's watching you. No matter what you do, his eyes seem to always be on your face.

"Your lymph nodes are much harder than a human's," you frown, moving your index and middle fingers over two nodes in particular. "They should feel like… soft beans, but yours are more like… small stones. In a human or animal, that could mean something like cancer."

Logically, you (insanely!) know now that he's not human like you. He's not human, therefore, the state of his lymph nodes shouldn't automatically be the serious concern it would be for one of your kind.

"You don't have to be worried," he assures, his voice rumbling against your fingertips. God, how easy are you to read?

You meet his eyes, not bothering to hide the worry-induced wrinkle between your brows when already called out. "Are they always like this, though? Rigid?"

Raising his hands, he presses his fingers against his own neck to check the spot you just touched. Your hands graze briefly as you lower yours, but you try to ignore it. Considering how long it takes him to find his lymph nodes, you assume he most likely doesn't check regularly.

"I don't know? I don't usually feel for them?"

As suspected. "Okay, and you're not sick? Haven't been recently?"

"No, but I don't really get sick in the way you probably mean," he says, a small smile tugging on his lips.

You raise your eyebrows curiously, backing up and reaching for the notes. "No?"

"Yeah. The temperature," he reminds you.

"Right." You nod. "Human viruses don't survive in you. But I'm sure there are vampire ailments?"

"A few, yeah."

You put the pen to your lip as you sit down on the chair again, leaning back comfortably. "Like what? Something entirely different or just… viruses like ours, but specifically adapted to survive a hotter host?"

"No, not really. Ironically, most of our diseases come from humans. Do you wanna guess?" he grins.

"You mean, like, diseases caused by factors other than a standard virus?"

"Yeah. If I say that the vampire population decreased pretty drastically in the 80s and 90s? And in the 1800s."

You scratch your chin. "Separate causes?"

"Yeah."

Leaning back even further, you think hard.

"It shouldn't be HIV since that's a virus," you think out loud, trying to filter through human and epidemic history. More specifically, blood-borne pathogens since that seems most logical. "Or Ebola. But it's something I should know? Not like… 'Vampire Disease number five?'"

Jeongguk chuckles, running his hand through his black hair once. "I'd be surprised if you didn't know."

Your gaze locks onto the white ceiling as you cross your arms and tap the pen against your lips. What happened in the 80s and 90s? Something that spread among humans, you assume, although you don't rule out animal diseases entirely.

"Wait," your eyes widen and you sit up straighter. Maybe it wasn't something targeting humans or animals, but both.

"Mad Cow Disease?"

He grins, nodding.

"That makes sense," you breathe, the puzzle pieces falling into place. "Viruses don't survive in you, but Mad Cow is faulty prions. They don't die from heat, at least not your body temperature. And although it's more likely to be transmitted by ingesting brain or spine-connected tissue, they can be passed on from blood as well."

"Yeah."

You pause. "But… how did they die? What were the symptoms?"

"Tremors, stumbling, acting… mad…"

"So the same as for humans?"

"Yeah. It's from the bacteria eating at the brain, right?"

"Prions, but yeah. They destroy them."

"Right. They'd eat at the brain, but since we heal so quickly, our bodies could repair the damage. The problem was that we couldn't truly get rid of the… prions, and so it became a cycle since the prions kept eating and we'd try to heal it."

"But… the prions target proteins found in the brain. Proteins that, in a human or animal, wouldn't survive at your temperature… What were the prions binding to?"

He shrugs. "Honestly, I don't know. There must've been something?"

"Maybe the disease mutated? To also target whatever proteins I'm sure you have? And… you said the population decreased?"

"Yes. A vampire without the common sense to hide, hunting humans… openly and ravenously…"

"You culled them," you conclude, wide eyed.

He nods, his expression having turned somber. "We need the humans not to fear us. Or at least, it's easier to live if they don't, so that's why they can't know about us."

"I see… And for the 1800s… Different cause?"

"Yeah. Technically, starvation was the actual cause of death."

You lean back again, brow furrowed in concentration. What could be the reason vampires starved in the 1800s?

"Logically, they starved because there wasn't enough food. Human history isn't my best subject, but wasn't the human population still expanding rapidly? Unless… was it connected to the Great Famine? Fewer humans mean less blood."

"It's not that. Quantity has never been a problem for us."

"Okay, if it's not the quantity then it's the quality, right? The blood was bad."

He watches you, curiously waiting for you to reach the conclusion, the previous flash of melancholy gone. "Yes, that's how it transferred. I'll help you out; one symptom was a slowly progressing… paralysis."

"So… they couldn't hunt?"

He shakes his head, and your brain works overtime, trying to find a reason. What kind of poisoning occurred in the 1800s that would paralyze vampires? What could make humans poisonous?

Food… disease… environ—

You sit up straighter again. "Were their gums blue? Either humans' and or vampires'?"

Jeongguk nods, the slight excitement on his face contagious. He's so attractive when he smiles like that; his otherwise round eyes thinning and crinkling at the corners.

"Lead poisoning," you conclude, grinning.

Feeling proud of your diagnosis (even with the help), you spin a victory lap on the chair. But as the room spins around you, a thought hits.

You put your feet to the linoleum floor, stopping abruptly. You're not grinning anymore, your eyes wide and your voice investigative. "But… you were alive then? For both of them."

"Yeah."

"How did you survive? Mad Cow didn't kill that many humans, but I'm sure there were a ton of carriers. And lead poisoning?"

"I happened to be living in New Zealand during that time," he explains, crossing his ankles. "It wasn't as much of a problem there as it was in places like England, where they were, you know, feeding ground-up brains to their cattle. Even as it spread to other parts of the world, we were safe."

"Huh," you hum. "And the heavy metal poisoning? Wasn't that incredibly widespread? Mercury in the wallpaper and such?"

"Arsenic," he corrects with a smile. "Mercury was for hats and medicine. Arsenic was the green wallpaper. But to answer your question; I had never left Korea back then, where the use of metals like that wasn't as bad."

"So you were lucky? Happened to be in safe spots both times?"

"No, not entirely. While it was practically everywhere in parts of the West, Koreans used it mostly as makeup. Pale faces and rosy cheeks and lips were all the rage back in Joseon, the higher quality stuff of course made with lead and cinnabar."

Jeongguk shifts on the table, eyes temporarily leaving yours as he leans back on his arms and casually thinks back to what must feel like an entirely different world.

"Us vampires, while having our own societies and trends, also need to keep up with the humans'. Most of the time, we're just as involved and participating."

His eyes find yours again, and you can see that he views at least the makeup trends with amusement.

"Naturally, vampire women painted their faces as well, but their skin didn't absorb the toxins like the humans' did."

"So how did it unfold? I mean, what made you survive while others didn't?"

"Shh," he hushes, pressing a finger to his lips with a teasing glint in his eye. "Patience."

You narrow your eyes at him, wordlessly cursing him. He can't truly expect you to sit quiet?

"It wasn't just the vampire women following the current beauty trends, but a large portion of vampires—male ones mostly—preferred to drink from the pale human women. Besides being rich and therefore superior," he chuckles, "they were beautiful and pure, and their blood had a certain… sweetness to it. While the poor tried to replicate the results, their makeup—made of ground rice or millet—lacked the lead that made it stick to the skin better. They simply couldn't achieve the same… finish."

A chill runs down your spine as he locks eyes with you, and you fight the shiver that threatens to rack your entire body.

A vision flashes before your eyes. Jeongguk, dressed in more time appropriate clothing you can only guess at—maybe the brown garb of a commoner or the traditional silk robes of a nobleman—holding a beautiful, well-dressed woman with pale skin and red lips against her will. His fangs are buried deep in her neck, and she's desperately struggling against his immovable hold, a red comparable to her lips running down her neck.

"After a while, humans would start showing subtle signs of poisoning," he resumes. "Like the blue gums. Back then, no one knew what it was, of course, or if it was dangerous. You couldn't see that they were already years into their decline, their insides pumped full of toxins. The humans didn't think much of it and neither did we. After all, human ailments come and go; they rarely affect us.

"But their symptoms escalated, and they went from having slight tremors to not being able to lift their arms. As the first humans, confused and often… mad—just like Mad Cow—started dying of malnutrition, the first vampires started showing symptoms as well.

"If it had been direct—if a human's gums had turned blue an hour after applying the paint, or a vampire's immediately after drinking from a pale-faced woman—it would've been a lot easier. Or even if all poisoned showed the same symptoms, which they didn't.

"When vampires did start to show symptoms… I mean, we figured it was the humans, since contaminated blood is our biggest, arguably even our only weakness. But we couldn't be sure what it was. Most of us got the blue gums; I did too."

You hear yourself let out a little gasp, completely immersed in his story-telling. Worry and empathy for the past version of him fills you; you can barely imagine what it would be like to see others succumb to some slow and mysterious illness and then find that you might be next in line.

"Still, a few bright vampires theorized whether the blue gums were just one of the first visible symptoms of whatever was killing the humans. Something that also seemed to hit the wealthy harder. Others disagreed and did not plan on giving up feeding from the rich."

You furrow your eyebrows. "Why not? If you suspected they were more susceptible?"

"Sounds easy, right? The problem was that the lead made the humans' blood so sweet it was addicting. Those who had preferred the wealthy blood even before the first symptoms appeared, they were already too far gone and couldn't quit. Some didn't care at all about the possible connection; others argued that the commoners' dirty blood was to blame and that the rich, pure blood was the only cure. Looking back now, I definitely think the denial and insanity were part of the symptoms.

"For vampires like me, whose diet—out of convenience—consisted mostly of commoners, mixed with the odd wealthy… meal, the toxins in our bodies built up over the years all the same. We just hadn't consumed enough to be addicted. As time went on and the demand for the beautiful, rich women rose, they became more and more of a rarity, and a lot of us turned entirely to common blood. Meanwhile, addicted vampires fought and even killed each other over the rich women."

A shiver does rack you at that as you imagine what the women must've felt like. Did they realize that something possibly… non-human was hunting them as one by one disappeared? Did one of them walk through the town at night, looking over her shoulder only to see a shape lurking in the shadows? Did she only survive because she ran when the man who stalked her, ready to pounce, had his head cracked against the stone wall by another of his kind?

You don't know if it makes you feel better or worse that vampires seem to be just as ruthless and ignorant as humans. Creeped out, you lower your gaze to your paper.

"One after the other, they would lose their strength and ability to move quickly—or even at all. But for those of us who weren't desperate for the rich women's blood, our bodies would get the chance to cleanse and heal. I didn't stick around to find that out, though. When I started feeling… stiff, and I one day happened to notice the blue line on my gums, I got nervous. I left town."

Though his story intrigues you, the constant mention of humans as food makes you feel nauseous. Somewhere deep down, you of course realized that Jeongguk had probably fed on humans before—maybe even killed some—but to hear it confirmed so casually? If he's done it before, why wouldn't he do it again? Instinctively, you touch the side of your neck.

"Maybe I should've skipped that story."

You look up, seeing his apologetic smile. Taking a breath, you peer down at the note, absentmindedly folding it neatly in half. "No," you shake your head. "It's just that… I mean, how do I know…"

"That I won't eat you?"

"Yeah," you breathe, laughing awkwardly.

"I don't want to, and I don't need to," he says, his voice firm. "There weren't as many options back then."

While you can believe that society would've changed for everyone, supernatural beings included, you can't say how much you believe he'd prefer the powdered deer blood. Out of convenience? Sure. If he has the chance to drain someone of their warm, fresh, pulsing blood?

"And how… how much can you trust that?"

"You mean if I have instincts I can't control?"

"Yeah. Like the grilled chicken," you mumble.

"I have all my needs and… desires satisfied. It's not tempting to hurt you; I don't want to do it, and I don't need to do it."

"You can control the… urge?"

He tilts his head softly. "Yes."

"Do you promise?" you ask carefully, forcing a small smile to ease the tension you feel.

"Yeah. Honestly, I think I should be more afraid of you eating me than the other way around."

Just like that, most of the tension in your shoulders dissipates, and you meet his amused eyes. "Oh, come on. Can you really fault me for being interested in you?"

He tilts his head again, eyebrows rising when he reconsiders the meaning of his words. "That's not how I meant it. I just meant that… I'm harmless. You're practically a bigger danger to me than I am to you."

"Oh."

"Yeah. But I can't say I don't enjoy the attention." He grins, gripping the edge of the table and leaning forward. You try not to stare at his arms and the veins spanning them.

Instead, you force your embarrassed gaze back down to your notes. "Anyway," you take a deep breath, trying to regain your focus. "So, when you stopped ingesting the lead, the symptoms went away?"

"Yeah. I stopped feeling stiff, and the blue line eventually faded. Unfortunately, a lot of affected vampires never gave their bodies time to get rid of the lead, thus worsening the paralysis until they starved. If they didn't kill each other over the rich humans' blood first."

"How long did it take? How long can you go without blood?"

"Depends. Right now, I reckon I could go like… a few months before I die. Four or five, maybe. A few days without blood and my body cools and slows down to save energy. A week and it starts eating the fat reserves. That would last for about three months."

"Three months on fat? Your fat?" you comment skeptically. Jeongguk is lean, like… 95% muscle.

He smiles. "Yeah, even though I have a rather low body fat percentage, my body is very efficient at breaking down nutrients, so the fat I do have lasts me a long time."

You wonder to yourself if his fat is the same type as a human's, considering he primarily runs on iron. "And then?"

"After that, the body burns muscle, like a human's."

"And then you die?"

"Yeah…"

But there's something in the way he says that—briefly glancing in another direction—that has you narrowing your eyes. "Is there another stage? Or do you just never actually die and you—for some reason—don't want me to know that?"

He sighs, shifting uncomfortably. "No, it's… I don't want to scare you because it's not something you'll ever encounter."

"But…?" You urge, feeling a worry grow in your stomach.

"Before a vampire starves to death, they enter a stage of 'rage.'"

It takes you a second, but then you're throwing an educated guess at him. "Instead of conserving that last bit of energy to prolong life, you use it to go after everything in sight on the off chance you succeed? And survive?"

"Essentially," he nods. "Of course, that didn't happen during the lead poisoning. If a vampire survived long enough for it to kick in, they were typically too paralyzed. They couldn't move much."

Well… you understand why he was hesitant to tell you. Possibly the one thing scarier than a conniving, contemplating vampire, is one that doesn't care and has absolutely nothing left to lose.

"Oh," you swallow. "And… how often does a vampire starve that long today?"

"Never. I haven't heard of anyone starving to death in the last… at least forty years. To be clear, If I stopped eating tomorrow, I'd still be miles away from here before I'd enter any kind of impulsive stage."

There's a sharp pain somewhere in your chest. Right, he's supposed to leave town again. Whatever discomfort you felt hearing about the raging vampires of the past turns into another kind of heavy, sinking feeling.

"Where are you going? If you don't mind me asking?" you wonder, doing your best to sound curious and not like it's the bummer of the century, which it is; both for you and the science you'll never share.

"I've been living in Rio for the last decades, actually. So I'm heading back, either directly, or I take a trip past some friends scattered across Europe first."

"And you're not coming back here very soon, I take it?"

"No."

The finality of his answer surprises you. "Not soon or just… never? What about your house?"

"I'll return someday, just probably not during your lifetime. I haven't decided about the house yet, but it's not that expensive to keep an old house like that."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So you better ask your questions before I leave."

He offers you that warm and handsome smile of his, but you struggle to return it, hoping he doesn't see how uncomfortable his words make you. Or the reminder of truly how old he is.

'I'll return someday, just probably not during your lifetime.'

Because is that not the most melancholic sentence you've ever heard? To him, your life must not be much more than a blip. A fleeting moment while time barely touches him. You can't even imagine what it's like to see and participate in a society yet not really be a part of it. Watch it shift from horse-drawn carriages, candlelight, and emperors to planes, the internet, and democracy. To watch humans live their short lives around you and then die. Their ups and downs, childhoods, teens, adulthood, old age, a never-ending change, yet you stand at the sidelines, frozen in time.

How odd and… uncomfortable.

You look at your list again, adding a small, less prioritized 'mental state?' at the bottom.

"Right, lymph nodes. Well, they were very rigid. I take it because your body and immune system is very active. Maybe they're a little scarred from the lead poisoning and everything."

"Possibly."

While writing a summarized version down, you let out a yawn. Something Jeongguk doesn't miss.

"Didn't you say something about needing to sleep?" he questions.

You look at him briefly. "No?"

"I meant last time we talked."

Dropping your gaze to the paper once more, you do your best to avoid his eyes.

Usually, when you work the night shift, you schedule short naps and frequent alarms. All depending on the inpatient animals and their conditions, of course. If a patient needs constant monitoring but remains asleep themselves, you find other ways to keep busy.

Staying awake certainly hasn't been a problem tonight. Not at all. Until the last fifteen minutes, at least. That's when you felt it start to creep up. And while you're definitely tired now, there's just so many things you need to see. So many questions to ask.

Chuckling, he calls your name; a sound that elicits an extra beat from your weak heart.

"Yes, okay," you admit. "I should rest a little."

"Should I leave?" he wonders, turning to grab his jacket.

You shut your eyes, reluctant to say the words, but sighing in defeat. "I think that's best, or I won't be able to sleep."

Luckily, he doesn't seem to take offense. If anything, his grin widens as he pulls on his jacket and jumps down from the exam table.

"If you insist on kicking me out," he teases, already heading toward the exit while peering back over his shoulder at you.

You can't help but pout as you follow, struggling to keep up. "I'm not kicking you out. Actually, you brought it up."

His strides slow. "Oh? Should I stay then?"

You shut your eyes tightly. "No," you huff, "you're too interesting."

Ego boosted beyond what's probably healthy, Jeongguk laughs. "So I should leave?"

"Yes."

"Hmm, alright. Since you have no time for me, I'll just have to tell you about my super strength, or the fact that I don't really need to consume fluid, next time?"

With wide eyes and suddenly incredibly stressed, you jog to catch up, carefully but very desperately grabbing hold of his black jacket to stop him. You've already made it past the reception desk and to the front door, where he halts.

"No, no, no, hold up. No fluids? At all? Besides the blood, right? Or do you mean you could technically eat the powdered blood and be fine? For how long?"

"I guess it'll have to wait till next time," he sighs in faux sadness, unlocking the door and opening it.

He's halfway through it when you pull on his jacket again. "No, no, no, you can't say that and just leave?"

When he turns to face you, your hand slides from the back of his jacket to clutch at the front. What you're really trying to accomplish, you're not sure. Maybe you just hope he'll give you something.

"You'll be too tired for your next shift, and you wouldn't want to risk the animals' care, would you?"

You shoot him a desperate, pleading look. "I'll call in sick."

"Aren't you already understaffed? Don't think your colleagues would appreciate that."

That fucking smile. So handsome and sweet but so teasing. God.

"When do you get off?" he asks.

"Four a.m.," you answer, hoping selfishly that maybe he'll offer to return to walk you home, giving you more time with him. There are still three whole hours left.

For some reason, he holds his hand out to you instead. Dumbfounded—and with your heart skipping every other beat—you meet his eyes with your confused ones, slowly letting go of his jacket to put your hand in his warm one.

"Text me when you've made it home safely. You have my number somewhere in your files."

Then, he lifts your joined hands above your head. He spins you—a smooth and deliberate twirl—while simultaneously using your raised hand to pull you backward, toward the clinic. The momentum has you stumbling back inside while the glass door closes between you.

As you regain your balance, you catch sight of his happy grin through the glass before he turns, disappearing into the night.

<previous | next>

☆☆☆☆☆

                The grocery store is too busy at this time of the evening.

You sigh, trying to push your cart into an aisle, only to be stopped by two people coming out. They don’t apologize, and you glare at the back of their heads as they leave, and then you’re able to start going down the aisle. You collect the ingredients that you need for the meals that you’ve planned to cook this week, along with what you need for the apple crumble you’ve been craving.

Maybe late spring and early summer aren’t the traditional seasons for apple crumble, but you weren’t able to eat some last fall. Weren’t able to face the memories you have of making it with your ex-boyfriend Yoongi, so you didn’t eat any.

This morning, you woke up craving it, and here you are now. You think it’s a sign you’re healing, and you think you deserve it. And it’s been a year now. You reckon you should have healed a while ago, but Yoongi wasn’t someone you could move on from so easily.

Especially not when, not even a month after moving out, he made it official with someone else. With Park Jimin – the person that he cheated on you with. You saw it on social media, as you’d never unfollowed Yoongi. And it hurt, bitterly.

Yoongi had never wanted to post you, claiming that he just wasn’t active on social media. You hadn’t pushed at all, since you didn’t really use it either, but seeing the picture of him and Jimin had obliterated the progress that you had been able to make in the few weeks apart, putting you back to square one.

To that square Jungkook had left you on, never once looking back.

You don’t like thinking about Jungkook. You’ve unfollowed him everywhere – his posts about his new life in Japan hurt too much to see, and you weren’t strong enough to explore why. So you avoided them altogether as you unfollowed him, and most of the time, you don’t really think about him anymore.

Or at least you try not to.

You sigh, turning at the end of the aisle to get to the next one. You don’t really need anything here, though as you near its ending, you remember that you forgot to grab croissants for breakfast from the bakery. It’s on the other side of the grocery store, and you already feel exhausted at the thought of having to walk all the way there, but you love your croissants for breakfast, and you’re not willing to give up on them.

So you make the trek, pushing your cart through the busy crowd, internally cursing everyone that forces you to slow down. You eventually reach your destination, and you’re about to grab the last box of croissants when someone almost steals it from under your hands.

Well, if being five feet away can be considered under your hands.

You want to curse them, want to tell them that it’s yours, but the moment that the blonde-hair guy raises his head, gaze finding yours, you fall entirely mute.

He recognizes you too. You’re convinced that he does, and you wonder, what did Yoongi tell him about you? Because this is Park Jimin standing in front of you, holding the box of those croissants you’ve been eating every morning for years.

That Yoongi always ate with you too.

Jimin watches, gaze widening, and his mouth falls open, though he closes it soon after. He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what to say, and frankly, you don’t know either. Because why is he here, why is he shopping at your grocery store right now when you’ve never seen him around before?

It’s your first time seeing him in person. He’s beautiful – pictures really don’t render his beauty right. It hurts because he’s everything that you never could be to Yoongi.

But it’s been a year. Though your initial reaction was to hurt, you let the pain go, let it be carried by an imaginary breeze so that it doesn’t fester in you.

“Hi,” you let out.

Jimin seems surprised that you’re speaking to him. He wets his lips, offering you a tentative smile. “Y/n, right?”

You purse your lips, eyes momentarily falling to your cart. “Yeah. And you’re Jimin?”

He nods, and an awkward silence follows. You don’t know what to say – what are you supposed to say to the new boyfriend of your ex?

But it seems life has more testing to do, because when you raise your head to meet Jimin’s gaze again, thinking that maybe you should ask how Yoongi is doing, Yoongi appears, stopping next to Jimin.

Yoongi looks at you, and then looks at Jimin. His eyes widen, and his mouth falls open, but much like Jimin earlier, he doesn’t say anything.

When he looks towards you again, there’s a moment where everything seems to fade, and you’re standing alone in the too-bright grocery store with him. If that were to happen, you’d ask him how he’s been doing, and he’d reply that he’s been doing well, before asking you the same question. Perhaps you’d lie and say that you’ve been doing good, as if there isn’t a hole in your entire life left behind by him. You’d find something to joke about, and his laugh would carry to your ears, healing, and you’d try to get him to smile at you for just a moment longer.

But you aren’t alone in the too-bright grocery store with him. So the moment doesn’t come, and it’s still just as awkward as you don’t know what to do, don’t know if you should just leave your cart behind and flee the scene.

“Were you trying to get the croissants?” Yoongi suddenly asks.

You weren’t prepared to hear his voice. You don’t think you ever could be – his last goodbye still echoes in your mind at night when sleep evades you.

“Oh,” you let out, and you curse yourself for sounding so stupid. You clear your throat, before nodding once. “Yeah.”

Yoongi grabs them from Jimin’s hands, who just looks incredibly confused as Yoongi puts them in your cart. “You can take them.”

You look at the box as if it’s radioactive. “Oh no, it’s okay. I can grab something else.”

Yoongi steps back from your cart, shrugging his shoulders. “You love those croissants.”

It hurts. You’ve been good at moving on, at letting the pain get carried on an invisible breeze, but his words feel like you’ve been stabbed through the chest, and all you can do is stand there, your grip on the cart tightening until your knuckles have turned white. Yoongi himself doesn’t look all that better, his features turning pained as he takes you in, as he realizes what he said.

But you deserve to move on. This pain is only natural – in a few days you’ll be able to look back to this moment fondly.

“Yeah,” you say, and you look between him and Jimin.

Jimin seems to get the clue, because he leans closer to Yoongi, whispering something in his ear before walking away. Yoongi watches him go, and then his gaze slides back to you.

“How have you been?” he asks.

Maybe you really are alone in the grocery store, after all.

“I’ve been okay,” you say, choosing a truth amongst every sentence that came to your mind at the question. “Healing. You?”

Yoongi looks in the direction where Jimin went, and you ignore the pang through your chest. “I’ve been doing good,” he answers truthfully. He blinks once, wetting his lips, before offering you a tight-lipped smile. “We’ve just moved around here,” he admits. “I didn’t think we’d run into you so quickly.”

You regret renewing your lease earlier this week. Had you known, you think you would have moved – you don’t want to run into Yoongi and his boyfriend all the time. Even if you’ve been moving on, you’re not ready to see him like this all the time.

“Oh,” you say. “Why did you move?”

You think you see him gulp. “We decided to move in together,” he answers.

You slowly nod. “Nice. That’s awesome for you two.”

Your words are flat, but he acts as if he doesn’t notice.

“Yeah.”

There’s a silence, of you sharing a look of memories that you wish could stay just memories. But right now they fill your lungs, replacing the oxygen, and you think you feel the ghost of his lips on yours, in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep.

Now when you can’t sleep in the middle of the night, you put on a white noise playlist from Spotify and hope that sleep will take you in its hold.

“Well,” you let out after a moment. “I guess I should go.”

You’re about to turn around when Yoongi stops you. “Wait!”

You turn around, cocking an eyebrow in question. He seems surprised from his outburst, realizing now that reconnecting in a grocery store might be weird. He gulps, before looking down at the floor, his cheeks slowly turning pink.

“It’s going to be weird but…” he pauses, seems to consider if asking the question is actually a good idea or not, but he seems to elect that it is, because he finishes with, “Do you have any news of Jungkook?”

You hurt. You want to go home, want to wrap yourself up in a blanket until you stop feeling, yet you can’t. You can’t, and your heart bleeds out standing here in front of the man you used to love.

You don’t love him like you used to anymore, but you know a part of you will always belong to him. And maybe that’s why you can’t eat apple crumble anymore, maybe that’s why a year later he still has so much power over you.

“I told you I would never speak to him again,” you reply, and you wonder if he can hear every aching beat of your heart.

But your heart doesn’t break. No, Yoongi doesn’t have the power to break you again. To hurt you, perhaps, but he can’t break you anymore.

“Right.” He’s defeated, shoulders hanging low as his gaze remains on the tiles of the floor. “He doesn’t really speak to us anymore.”

“Didn’t he move to Japan?” you ask.

Yoongi nods, finally meeting your gaze again. “He did. It was supposed to just be for a job, but then he told Taehyung he wasn’t coming back, and we haven’t really heard from him since then.”

You remember the way Jungkook’s eyes had broken – big doe eyes filling with soul deep sorrow. You don’t blame him for choosing to escape on the other side of the Sea of Japan, and you can only hope that he’s found peace over there by now.

“Maybe he met someone,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, trying to appear as if you don’t care.

As if, that night he’d driven you to the sea, a part of you hadn’t realized you cared about him too.

“Maybe,” Yoongi says, and then he shrugs. “Hoseok is hosting a dinner soon? Jungkook is invited, so we’ll see if he shows up.”

You don’t know why Yoongi is telling you this. Maybe he, too, cared about Jungkook, and worrying about him is better than facing the precipice that lies between you and Yoongi where love used to grow. And you knew about the dinner, from the last time you hung out with Ryunah. She invited you, too, but you can’t go.        

Not when it means spending an evening with Yoongi.

“Hopefully he will.”

It’s far too awkward. It almost feels like Yoongi is trying to make conversation, to keep you here with him to soothe some part of him that might have been aching after your breakup, after moving out and never seeing each other again.

And as much as you used to love him, you don’t think you owe it to him.

“Listen,” you say. “I have to go, but it was nice catching up with you.”

It’s partly a lie, partly truth. Because the part of you that still loves him is basking in his presence, but the rest of you knows that you’re better off without him, without the haunting memories and the pain you know will linger around for a few days.

“Okay,” he says, nodding curtly as if he understands that you just need to leave. “If you ever want to, we could grab coffee someday.”

“With your boyfriend?” you ask, unable to stop the jab from slipping from your lips.

Yoongi’s features turn apologetic, and his eyes fall to the floor. “I’m sorry…”

And maybe it’s weird to say it in the middle of a grocery store, but you still say, “Honestly, I’m happy for you. I’m happy you’re dating him too. Makes the cheating not feel as bad, somehow.”

He murmurs your name, in a way that really makes you want to run away and never come back to this grocery store.

“I’m serious,” you insist, and you really are.

There’s some sort of solace in knowing that Yoongi cheated on you with someone he actually loves. At least he wasn’t just trying to cheat – not that it justifies the cheating at all. And there’s some sort of solace in knowing that it happened with someone from work – he wasn’t actively trying to cheat on you, was he?

At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself in an attempt not to break without any chance of repair.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For saying so.” He clears his throat, nodding once. “Let me know about the coffee. And I meant just you and me.”

“What would he say?”

“He’d get it.” Yoongi wets his lips, eyes observing you for a moment before they fall to the floor again. “He knows how much you mattered to me.”

And just like that, you’re blinking back tears. They don’t win – they haven’t won in a while now – and you take a step back.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me,” you truthfully answer. You shake your head, specifying, “It really is not a good idea for me. Sorry.”

He’s pained, yet he still nods his head. “Understood. I’m sorry for suggesting it.”

“Don’t be,” you reassure him, though you don’t know why.

He doesn’t deserve your reassurance.

“I’ll let you go, then,” he tells you.           

And you wonder, did he ever let you go? Was he still holding onto you, in some way, preventing you from truly moving on from him? Perhaps he was.

Perhaps that’s why the box of the souvenirs of you and him is hiding in your closet, under two pairs of shoes that you rarely wear. You haven’t touched it since you put it there last year, and it feels foreign under your fingertips later that night, after you’ve come home and put everything away in the fridge and pantry.

You sit on the floor, the box on your knees. It’s not particularly big, but it’s heavier than you remember it to be. You reckon maybe it is time for you to open it, to revisit the memories and let them truly go.

Maybe it’s even time for you to get rid of the contents of the box. Maybe it’s a sign you truly are moving on, and that Yoongi finally let you go.

The first thing you see when you open the box is the book that Yoongi annotated for you on your first date, resting on top of all the other memories, and your lungs burn in your chest. You immediately put the lid back on, trying to get air in your lungs, though it now seems foreign to you.

Maybe you’re not ready to move on after all.

*****

                The moment Jungkook is walking on Korean soil again, he remembers why he doesn’t like his homeland anymore.

It’s filled with memories and ghosts and stuff he really doesn’t want to think about. He’s been good at avoiding it for a year, creating different memories in Japan. But the moment he’s in the taxi on the way to his apartment here in Seoul, his brain remembers everything, as if the temporary amnesia from living in Japan lifted to be replaced with stark clarity.

He’s only back for three weeks in total. He knows he can do it, and he owes it to his friends.

They never stopped reaching out, and lately Jungkook has been realizing that cutting them out of his life might have been the wrong thing to do. But he just couldn’t see Yoongi, and Yoongi came with the rest of them.

But he came to visit them. To visit his mother too, to bring flowers to her grave because he knows his brother never does – he never was able to forgive her for enduring what their father did. So Junghyun left to live on the other side of the country, and Jungkook hasn’t really spoken to him since then.

Jungkook sighs, and he watches the rain lashing at the windows of the car as the taxi rolls down the streets, towards a home that’s been feeling like a tomb more than anything else now. And though the city is beautiful, in the rain, Jungkook doesn’t like it.

He used not to care about the rain, but now it reminds him of a past he’s trying to forget. Reminds him of riding through the night with someone he made the mistake to love when her heart belonged to someone else.

He tries not to think about you too often. But obviously being in Seoul would awaken those memories of you, of whatever the fuck it was that he shared with you before it all went up in flames like his heart was a funeral pyre.

He remembers how angry he had been at you that night you’d had sex for the last time. He’d bared his soul to you, and you’d stepped on it without a single ounce of regret. Maybe he’d been stupid to believe he was owed your time now that Yoongi was out of the picture.

His pink-tinted sunglasses hadn’t let him see that you actually did not feel for him the way that he felt for you. Hell, that night you’d ridden his bike with him all around the city, he’d even told you about his past, feeling as if it was the right thing to do to tell you, to share a piece of him with you that he’d been guarding his whole life.

He doesn’t regret telling you. It’s not like you would tell someone, that much he’s sure of. But it made you matter even more, and it made losing you a lot harder.

Seoul can go to hell.

Jungkook pays the taxi driver when he gets home, and he gets out in the rain, duffel bag in hand. He jogs to the doors of his apartment complex, and the guy at the reception shoots him a surprised look, probably not expecting to ever see him again.

Jungkook bows his head in respect, but he’s quick to make his way to the elevators, and then to his floor.

His apartment really is a tomb now. No light, no sound, nothing that indicates someone is living here. Obviously, no one has been, not since he moved to Japan, but it’s still strange to step in a place unchanged even though the months have passed.

He wonders, will the rest of the city feel the same? Will going to Hoseok’s apartment, so close to yours, feel the same as well?

It does, and it doesn’t, when he goes the next day. There’s a new building in the complex, where there used to be an empty field. It changes the scenery, yet it does still feel the same, somehow. Like he’s taken a year back to that night he’d walked away from your apartment, unable to climb in his car.

He’d walked for most of the night, and returned with a taxi when the first of the sun rays were slowly piercing the cloud coverage over the horizon. He’d driven home in a daze, fallen asleep on the couch, and when he’d woken up from his fitful sleep, he’d booked a job in Japan.

He was gone a week later, and he didn’t once look back.

It wasn’t just you that he was fleeing. It was everything – his life then, the relationship with Yoongi, the ambiguity whether he liked men too or had just done everything because you were there. He wanted a break, and the past year has been that.

But now he’s back. He’s back, and he looks up towards your building, wondering if he can remember which windows are yours. He almost imagines you looking outside and seeing him, and for a reason unknown he feels the need to run.

He doesn’t – there are people around and he’d probably look stupid. But he still heads to Hoseok’s building, hoping that the evening won’t be too much of a shitshow.

Hoping Yoongi won’t show up, even though he said in the group chat that he’d be there with his boyfriend.

Jungkook wonders, how did Jimin adapt to the friend group? Does he fit right in, the way that you used to? Or is there a dissonance in Jimin’s relationship with the others?

He reckons he’ll know by the end of the evening because, when Hoseok opens the door, bright smile on his lips, Jungkook notices Yoongi and Jimin on the couch, beers in hand as they laugh at something Namjoon said.

Namjoon. Jungkook fled the friend group mostly because of him. They’d never spoken after Jungkook had mentioned what had happened between you and him before Yoongi had cheated and broken up with you. Jungkook couldn’t understand why it had upset Namjoon so much when his older friend had used to have his back through anything.

 But things change, and people change as well, Jungkook now knows.

Maybe Namjoon had believed that the blame really was on Jungkook. Maybe his disapproval of disloyalty was just too strong to be able to see Jungkook the same way after he’d learned about the nudes. Jungkook had never asked, and had preferred saving himself from another heartbreak by escaping to Japan.

He reckons the heartbreak might have just been waiting for him all this time. Because when Namjoon notices him, his smile falls. Even Yoongi looks deterred by Jungkook’s presence, but Jimin smiles.

Jimin smiles widely, raising his beer towards Jungkook.

It surprises him. He wonders if Yoongi told him about what used to go on between you, him and Yoongi. He wonders if Jimin cares, or if he’s secure in his relationship enough not to mind Jungkook’s presence.

Jungkook reckons it must be the latter, because Jimin is nice to him all evening. In another life, Jungkook believes they would have probably been good friends, but it’s hard to be friends with someone dating the first and only guy he’s ever fucked.

Yet, even if Jimin is friendly, Jungkook chooses to spend more time in the kitchen, with Taehyung, Seokjin and the girlfriends. Namjoon has a girlfriend too now, a pretty foreigner named Maya who blushes when Jungkook talks to her. It’s a little weird, and Jungkook doesn’t like it, but he lets it slide.

He doesn’t have to stay late. He can always just leave after dinner, while everyone is starting to get drunk and won’t notice his disappearing.

He ends up sitting next to Namjoon for dinner. Not voluntarily – he was hiding in the bathroom when everyone settled into their seats, and when he got out the last available spot was next to Namjoon.

So Jungkook reluctantly sits next to someone he’d once looked up to, a friend he’d considered a brother, and he stares into his plate trying to find enough appetite to start eating. It’s hard, but after the first few bites he realizes that he’s a little hungry, and he forces himself to eat.

Seokjin’s food is always delicious after all. So Jungkook eats his fill, drinking water instead of wine because he doesn’t trust himself around alcohol right now.

Not when Yoongi looks at Jimin like Jimin hung the stars in the sky. It hurts, more than Jungkook understands. He’d always thought that he only cared about you, but, sitting there, watching the love shared between Yoongi and Jimin, he realizes that maybe he did care about Yoongi too.

It’s confusing, treacherous, and Jungkook flees the feeling by focusing on the conversation between Sohee, Maya and Namjoon.

“Hey man,” Namjoon says from beside him, gaining his attention.

Jungkook almost startles, but he plays it off, turning to meet Namjoon’s gaze. He doesn’t smile when he says, “Hey.”

“You smoke now, don’t you?” Namjoon asks.

Only when he drinks, but Jungkook refrains from saying so. He posted one picture on his story of him smoking with some surface-level friends in Japan, and he’s honestly impressed that Namjoon remembers about it.

“Yeah?”

“You want to have a smoke?” Namjoon asks.

Jungkook can’t figure out if Namjoon is trying to taunt him. If it’s an attempt to hurt him more, to blame him for everything that happened. But then again a year has passed, and Jungkook thinks that maybe it’s water under the bridge.

“Sure, I guess,” he answers.

Which is how he ends up alone on the balcony of Hoseok’s apartment, smoking a citrus-flavoured cigarette with Namjoon, observing the world outside.

Heavy clouds are rolling in the sky, but it hasn’t rained yet. The air smells like it though – Jungkook doesn’t doubt that it’ll start raining soon enough.

“How have you been?” Namjoon asks as he inhales smoke, before blowing up to the sky.

Jungkook glances towards him, before shrugging. “I’ve been chill. Japan is great.”

“Yeah? What’s life like over there?”

Jungkook inhales smoke, letting the taste of it roll on his tongue and coat his lungs before he blows it out. “It’s honestly great,” he says, and he isn’t really lying. “It does feel like something is missing, though.”

He wants to curse himself at the truth that slipped out, knowing that it only did because he’d used to confide in Namjoon as if it was second nature.

And Namjoon had always been there for him, until he wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, man,” Namjoon says, and the night falls silent, only interrupted by the sirens of an ambulance in the distance.

Jungkook enjoys the silence for a time, wondering how it is that such a distance was built between him and Namjoon. Wondering how it is that things are awkward with someone he would have once died for, no hesitation.

“What about you,” Jungkook eventually says, not wanting to remain in that place of awkwardness. Maybe he’s foolish for it, but he can’t bring himself to not care about someone he thought was a brother.

“What has life been like?” Namjoon asks as if to make sure that that’s what Jungkook’s asking.

“Yeah.”

Namjoon chuckles softly, fondly. “You’ve seen Maya. Life has been… great.”

Once upon a time Jungkook would have known everything about how Namjoon and the girl he met, but today, he can’t even bring himself to ask about it.

“I’m happy for you,” he chooses to say, and he takes one last long inhale from the cigarette before he extinguishes it in the ashtray.

Namjoon must have sensed Jungkook’s unease, and his wish to leave, because he says, “I’m sorry about last year.”

Jungkook freezes, turned towards the door. “What?”

“I don’t know why I felt so weird about what happened.”

The last thing he expected were apologies from Namjoon, so Jungkook turns around, facing his friend. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’ve tried to text you, but you never reply,” Namjoon says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook chokes out. “You don’t get to tell me this now.”

Namjoon looks surprised, and his gaze widens as he stands there, his cigarette almost entirely smoked, still clutched between two fingers. “I’ve felt like shit about it. You were like a brother to me, and I should have stood by you. I was fucking stupid for not doing it.”

Jungkook watches as Namjoon extinguishes his cigarette, leaving it in the ashtray. “It felt like shit to be judged by you like this when you knew I was in love with her.”

“She was Yoongi’s girlfriend,” Namjoon points out. “It was wrong, JK.”

“I didn’t come here to get judged by you about something that happened a year ago,” Jungkook drawls. “I get that you disapprove, and that you think you’re so much better, but I really don’t want your judgment.”

Namjoon raises his hands as if in defense. “Woah, wait. I’m serious. I should have been there for you. Even though I thought it was wrong, especially considering that what Yoongi did was a lot worse, I should have been there for you.”

“No one was,” Jungkook bitterly says. “Not a single one of you guys cared.”

“Don’t blame the rest of them,” Namjoon gently says. “They didn’t know.”

“And what, if they’d known they would have judged me like you.”

Namjoon doesn’t reply anything to that, looking infinitely apologetic as he’s standing there. And Jungkook hates that he’s so emotional right now, that tears are pricking at his eyes even though he’s been good at blinking them away.

“I really am sorry,” Namjoon eventually says, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s whatever,” Jungkook replies. “I moved on, made new friends.”

It’s a lie – those people in Japan aren’t really his friends, not like Namjoon, Yoongi and the rest of them used to be.

“And I’m happy that you did.” Namjoon sounds genuine, and Jungkook hates it.

He really hates Seoul.

“I’d still do things differently if I could,” Namjoon adds after a small silence, and Jungkook stiffens.

There’s a whole fucking lot he would do differently if he could, too. But he doesn’t say that to Namjoon. Just looks away to the lights of the city, waiting for Namjoon to figure out that he’s not going to speak more.

When Namjoon goes back inside, Jungkook leans against the railing of the balcony, needing a moment before he’ll be able to go back inside. He breathes in the night air, the smell of rain in the distance, and he reminds himself that it’s just a few weeks.

In a few weeks he’ll be back in Japan, and he won’t have to look back ever again.

The balcony door slides open, and Jungkook looks over his shoulder. He freezes at the sight of Yoongi, alone, straightening as the man steps outside and closes the door behind him.

They share a look, and then Yoongi comes to lean against the railing next to him, gaze trailing to the distance. So Jungkook mirrors the position, and the silence between them is awkward, painful, yet there is some comfort in it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, a drop of disgusting emotion contaminates Jungkook’s heart. It festers as his fists clench, as he remembers the stark heartbreak he’d gone through last year because of the man next to him.

“So, you look pretty happy with Jimin, huh?” Jungkook lets out, and he’d be ashamed of how bitter it sounds if he wasn’t already far too emotional right now.

Yoongi sighs, glancing at Jungkook. “I am.”

Jungkook scoffs, but he doesn’t answer anything, just keeps looking in the distance.

“What about you?” Yoongi eventually asks. “Did you meet anyone in Japan?”

He actually did. There’s this girl, Ren, that Jungkook has been seeing for a few weeks, but he doesn’t think they have any future – she’s still hung up on her ex, while he’s still hung up on someone he can’t even call an ex.

“Not really,” he replies.

There’s another silence of festering anger, or maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe it’s jealousy that tastes like bile in Jungkook’s mouth, or maybe it’s the aftertaste of the cigarette. He doesn’t know.

“You really loved her, didn’t you?” Yoongi asks softly.

Jungkook wishes he had wings. He wishes he had wings so he could fly away right now instead of having to reply to Yoongi.

“Why do you care?” he instead replies.

“Perhaps because I stopped loving her because I never once looked at her the way that you did,” Yoongi reveals.

Jungkook blinks away the tears that dwell in his eyes once more. “You broke her heart.”

“And she broke yours.” Yoongi sighs again. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“Why did you guys bring me into your relationship?” Jungkook asks.

It’s been keeping him awake at night ever since you asked him to leave the last time he’d seen you. That, and the knowledge that he should have refused the invitation, when you’d extended it to him.

“We wanted to spice things up,” Yoongi admits, shrugging. “It was never meant to go this way.”

“I’m sorry about the nudes.” Jungkook doesn’t know why he says it, but he realizes maybe he needed to. Maybe he needs his old friend to know that he never meant to hurt him.

“I was never once mad at you for it,” Yoongi admits. “At her, maybe a little bit. But not at you.”

“Why not?” Jungkook asks.

“Because you loved her,” Yoongi answers as if he’s just speaking of the weather, and not of the thing that mattered the most in Jungkook’s life. “And I saw the conversation, you were saying that you guys shouldn’t do it.”

“But we still did,” Jungkook presses on. “So why not hate me too?”

“Hate you?” Yoongi repeats. “Do you believe that I hate her?”

“Do you not?”

Yoongi takes a while to answer. Jungkook thinks he’s had time to grow old and grey before Yoongi actually replies, saying, “I could never hate her.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say, so he remains silent. This time, the silence is more comfortable, though every beat of his heart still aches in his chest.

“You still care about her, don’t you?” Yoongi eventually asks.

Jungkook closes his eyes, counting three breaths before opening them again. “It doesn’t matter.”

It does. It matters far too much, but then again he doesn’t think he should be discussing that with Yoongi. Once, he would have discussed it with Namjoon, but tonight just proved that even though Jungkook loves these people, they aren’t really his friends anymore.

“I never understood why she didn’t want to give you a chance,” Yoongi says, sighing deeply.

Putting so much weight on Jungkook’s shoulders he wouldn’t be surprised if his back broke.

“Yoongi…” Jungkook trails off. He scoffs once, drying the tear that somehow rolled on his cheek without him noticing. “I only made sense with her when you were there, too, and you know it.”

A heavy silence follows, crushing Jungkook. It feels like the weight of the world was placed on him, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the balcony suddenly pummelled to the ground far below.

It’s a good thing Hoseok’s apartment is on this side of the building. Because if it was on the other side, Jungkook would be able to gaze at your windows, and he doesn’t think he’d survive it.

Not right now.

“I know I’ve said it already, but I really am sorry,” Yoongi says after eternity comes and goes. “And I wanted to also say, we all miss you.”

“I just can’t, hyung,” Jungkook replies, voice rough. “It makes me uncomfortable to see you, to see your boyfriend. I’ve spent the year wondering if maybe I’m gay, and I still don’t know. So I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see you guys and just keep not knowing whatever the fuck is going on in my head.”

“Maybe you’re bi,” Yoongi replies softly.

“I wouldn’t fuck another guy.”

A new silence. Different this time. Yoongi turns to face Jungkook, though Jungkook can’t bring himself to look at his old friend. It’d be admitting too much vulnerability.

Admitting that maybe he once had feelings for Yoongi too, which he doesn’t even know. He just knows that he broke last year, and nothing has been able to pick up his pieces since then.

“Would you have fucked me if she hadn’t asked?”

Jungkook knows that answer all too well. “No.”

“Then I don’t think you need to trouble yourself with all of this,” Yoongi gently says. “You know the answer already.”

And what answer is that? That Jungkook was so head over heels in love with you that he would have done anything you’d ask? He reckons it’s a little embarrassing.

But then again the moment he’d first laid his eyes on you, Jungkook knows he fell in love.

“Come back inside when you’re ready,” Yoongi eventually says, gently clapping Jungkook’s shoulder. “Everyone wants to spend time with you before you leave again.”

Jungkook nods, not answering anything, still staring in the distance. And for a moment, he does wish he was on the other side of the building. Does wish he could get a glimpse of you, perhaps just so that you could finally let him go.

And as he returns inside, sitting amidst the chatter and the laughter and Namjoon’s hesitant nod, Jungkook thinks that maybe he needs to visit someone else, before he’s to go. He thinks about it all night, though he does try to join in the conversation, does try to remember what it’s like to be a part of this group of friends. They make it easy – even Yoongi, though he’s careful around Jungkook, probably still thinking back to the conversation they had.

Yet Jungkook feels the need to leave before the others do. He blames it on being tired from travelling yesterday, though the flight from Japan really wasn’t that bad.

Hoseok walks him to the door, asking him if he’d be able to bring the trash downstairs as he leaves, and Jungkook says yes, grabbing the bag where it was left by the door. He says goodbye to his friend after, and then he walks out, riding the elevator to the ground level.

It feels like the temperature plummeted since he was on the balcony. His breath clouds in front of his face as he walks outside, aiming for where the big dumpsters are. He tries to hide his face in his bomber jacket, but it doesn’t really work.

So he decides to suffer the cold, and he straightens as he reaches the walkway leading to the dumpsters.

And then he thinks the whole world comes to a halt, perhaps to witness this moment. Because the moment he sees the woman sitting on the bench next to a box, he knows it’s you. Like he’s conjured you out of his deepest, darkest desires, and he stops walking, just looking towards you.

You notice you’re not alone, and you look towards him, quickly drying off your cheeks. You’re crying – everything in him goes to alarm mode. And then he remembers the last time he saw you cry, and he thinks he hears his heart breaking all over again.

You don’t recognize him right away. Maybe because you’re blinded by your tears – the presence of a stranger gives you the strength to stop crying though, and you wipe your cheeks once more before looking towards him again.

“Sor-“ you start, but then you stop as you recognize him. “Jungkook?”

He looks at you. Holds your gaze, feeling time rewinding until he’s standing there begging you not to leave him in the past, too. He remembers how everything ached so fiercely, how he realized that he was in fact capable of love, and had fallen for the wrong person.

He tried to hate you, but it never worked. He’d never be able to hate you.

“Y/n?”

You dry your cheek again, though he hasn’t seen any new tears. “What are you doing here?”

“There was a dinner at Hobi’s,” he answers, motioning over his shoulder.

“Oh, that was today?”

He doesn’t know how you know about it, but he nods his head once. And then unable to resist the attraction he still has for you, Jungkook takes a few steps towards you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and his eyes trail to the box next to you, before settling back on you.

You shrug. “I was just trying to get rid of this.”

He looks at the box again, and asks, “Can I sit with you?”

You don’t answer, but you move to make space for him on the bench. Jungkook takes a shaky breath in, and then finishes crossing the distance between you and him. He sits next to you, observing the red tip of your nose and your flushed cheeks as he puts the trash bag down on the ground. A gust of wind sends your hair flying around your face, and you push it back, meeting his gaze.

He’s struck with lightning, like this is the first time he’s seen you all over again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, and he gulps as you turn away from him, sitting back against the bench to look at the bushes in front of you.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of this box for a while,” you admit. “It’s just hard.”

Jungkook glances at it, before looking at your profile again. “What’s in it?”

You sigh deeply, and he thinks you’re blinking back tears. “Stuff from my relationship with Yoongi.”

Jungkook aches for you. Deep in his bones, deep in his soul, he aches for you, like he’s been aching for a year now.

“Oh,” he lets out. He wets his lips, plays with his lip piercing, then adds, “Do you need help with it?”

You meet his gaze, smiling sadly. The longing in your eyes is suffocating, and Jungkook reckons he can’t do any more of those tough conversations tonight. Yet you say, “It’s a little heavy, there isn’t a chance I’d be able to put it in the dumpster.”

Jungkook gulps. “Well then it’s a good thing I was headed that way.”

The longing and sadness fades, like snow melting in the sun. “How have you been?” you ask.

The question comes unexpectedly. Jungkook thought he’d get up and grab the box and then it’d be over. But you don’t seem like you want to move, and frankly, when you look at him like that, he doesn’t think he can move.

“I’ve been okay,” he replies truthfully. “Japan has been great.”

You look pained for half a heartbeat before you say, “I’m happy for you.”

 It sounds genuine, so he believes you when you say it. Even more so as you add, “You found a job over there?”

He has. He’s started working as a boxing instructor for teenagers, both girls and boys, that need an outlet to evacuate their emotions. He’s found the job healing so far, as it reminds him of what boxing had once been for him too.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “I teach boxing to kids.”

Your eyes sparkle, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“That sounds amazing,” you tell him. “They must be paying big dollars though, to get to train with a retired famous boxer.”

“Actually no,” Jungkook admits. “I funded a charity for helping the kids, and a gym owner thought it was cool and pays for my living space so that I don’t leave. I don’t technically make any money from that.”

“Oh.”

He offers you a tight-lipped smile, somehow ashamed for it. He doesn’t know why – the job has been heaven on Earth to him.

“I still make lots of money with modelling, though,” he adds.

“You still model?” you ask, and you shiver in a new gust of wind.

“I do.”

He knows why you weren’t aware. It took him a moment to figure it out, but he noticed you unfollowed him on social media. It had bitterly hurt then, but today he barely even feels that pain anymore.

Social media doesn’t really matter, after all.

“That’s great,” you say, and you offer him a smile.

He nods, playing with his piercing before saying, “What about you? How has work been?”

“Still work for the publishing house,” you tell him. “I don’t translate as much as before.”

“You don’t?”

“I switched to the editing team instead, to try something new,” you admit.

“How has that been?” he asks.

“Honestly, I didn’t like it at first, but now I do.” Another smile, and Jungkook thinks sun rays are finally warming up his heart after months of it being encased in ice.

“I’m happy for you,” he says.

You take a deep breath, eyes sliding to the box next to you. It casts clouds in front of the sun rays, and Jungkook feels cold all over again. Though he wishes to stay here, to not move ever again, he knows the moment can’t last forever.

“It’s been hard to move on,” you admit, barely over a whisper. “Both from Yoongi and…” You pause, taking another deep, steadying breath. “From you.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, and one of his fists clenches so hard he can feel his nails digging in his palm even though he keeps them short. But he has no fight left in him, not after the conversation with Namjoon, and the following one with Yoongi.

“I don’t think I can afford you telling me stuff like that,” he admits in a whisper, and his eyes flutter open to the sight of the apologetic look on your features.

He much prefers your smile over this pity.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “Don’t be. I’ve been moving on.”

You purse your lips, nodding once as your eyes fall to your hands in your lap. “I’m glad that you have been,” you murmur, though he swears he hears your voice wavering ever so slightly, an indication that you’re lying. “Did you meet anyone?”

“Sort of,” he tells you, just to see your reaction. And maybe he’s sick and twisted for it, but the pained, curt nod that you give reveals more than words ever could.

You still care for him. Even though you asked him to leave, even though you didn’t fold when he begged, you still care for him.

“How is she?” you ask, and you meet his gaze again.

Nothing like you, he wants to reply, but he feels like that would be too much of a truth. And what can he say about Ren? There’s not much to tell. They’ve been having casual sex, and he does have fun with her, but something is lacking.

“She’s great,” he finally replies. “I’m not sure if it’ll work though.”

You look like you want to say something, but then choose not to. Jungkook wishes he could hear it, wishes you’d just say it, but instead you say, “Hopefully it will.”

As he sits next to you, he knows that it never will. Not when everything in him sings for you, reaching in the space between you and him even though he’ll never get to be with you like he was again.

You turn away from him, resting one hand on top of the box. As if saying goodbye. And then you take a deep breath, before getting up.

“Let me grab that bag,” you say, and before he’s had time to say anything, you pick up Hoseok’s trash.

Jungkook nods, following you up so that he can grab the box. It really is heavy, but he doesn’t comment on it as he walks behind you to the dumpster. You open it to throw the bag in, and then keep it open for Jungkook to put the box in there.

He hesitates. He hesitates for a moment, and he asks you, “Are you sure you want to throw everything in this away?”

He doesn’t even know the contents of the box. Five years of a relationship seem like nothing when you realize they all fit in a single box. Yet Jungkook knows how much Yoongi mattered to you, and he doesn’t want you to regret it.

You take a deep breath, gulping, before nodding once. “Yes. It’s time I move on too.”

Jungkook holds your gaze for a few seconds that stretch into a moment in time, before finally throwing the box in the dumpster.

You look to where it disappeared, and then you let the lid of the dumpster close. You take a step back, visibly on the verge of crying, and the skies up above break into pouring rain, taking you both by surprise.

“Oh,” you let out.

Yet you both don’t move. Jungkook doesn’t think that he can. Not when you look so sad, so fragile, like a broken glass that’s been glued back together. He sees the scars in your eyes, reflecting those on your heart and soul.

He wonders, do you see those on his too?

The rain is cold. It’s drenching, and Jungkook’s hair plasters to his forehead as it keeps on showering. He shivers, and you must be cold too – you’re only wearing an Epik High oversized sweater.

“You should go in, before you catch a cold,” he tells you.

You don’t move. You don’t fucking move and he’s about to lose it.

“Is your car here?” you ask.

Why does it matter? Why do you even want to know that?

“Yeah,” he replies.

You nod. “Take care, Jungkook.”

You still don’t move. It takes a strong whoosh of cold wind, splashing water in both of your faces, for you to finally move.

And Jungkook can’t bring himself to say goodbye. All he can do is watch you leave, and then he’s walking in the opposite direction, feeling like he’s forever breaking. Like he started last year, but that the breaking is endless, to haunt him until eternal sleep takes him in its hold.

*****

                The rain is freezing. You don’t know why May rains are so cold, but it’s freezing, and your heart feels heavy and bleeding and every step you take away from Jungkook, you think the pain will make you falter. Will make you fall, will break you down.

Last year, he’d held your pieces together while you broke. This year, you break alone, away from him, and it doesn’t sit right with you.

You stop walking. You can’t take another single step forward. You just stand there, in the freezing rain, your sweater clinging to your form.

And then you’re sprinting back the way you came. Heart beating out of your chest, emotions running high, everything leading you to where you left Jungkook. But he walked away too, and you barely pause in front of the dumpster before you’re running towards the visitors parking lot.

You don’t see Jungkook. You think, maybe he left. You’d deserve it. You’d deserve it for not letting him stay last year, for pushing him away even though it hurt. But you keep on looking, heart beating wildly, each beat aching a little more when you don’t see him.

The rain doubles up, as if telling you that it’s over. That you chose last year, and that you will need to face the consequences of your decisions.

You shut your eyes, sighing deeply, before turning around to head to the entrance of your building. Yet you halt.

You’d recognize him even in a lightless night, you think. You’d recognize him even if you had amnesia, even if you went blind and deaf and mute. So you start running again, because of course he, too, couldn’t let you go. You run, and when you’re close enough you say his name.

Jungkook turns around, and you think tears mingle with the rain on his face, but he opens his arms for you as you get closer, and you crash into him, almost sending you both to the ground.

But Jungkook is strong, steady, and he holds you up as you bury your face in his neck. As you breathe in his familiar scent, as his warmth chases away some of the cold of the night. He holds you tight, yet he’s shaking, and you think he’s crying.

You pull away, tilting your head back to look up at him. His eyes are closed, yet he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. Rain traces the side of your face, tickling your jaw, and you say, “I don’t think we were meant to be together last year, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I saw you tonight.”

He whispers your name. “I couldn’t go.”

“I can’t let you go again.”

He’s crying. That much you’re sure of, but then he’s cupping your cheeks, and his mouth collides with yours. You think you hear thunder cracking in the distance from the impact, and you kiss him with everything in your heart.

With longing and breaking and nostalgia, though the prominent feeling is hope. Hope so bright it puts the sun to shame, and almost chases the rain away.

Against his lips, you whisper, “Please stay tonight. Please don’t go again.”

“Don’t ask me to go, and I won’t,” he promises. “I’ll always stay.”

“What about the girl you met?” you ask.

He chuckles and then kisses you again. Softly, slowly, lips tracing his love against yours, like he’s murmuring it to you in a language only you and him know. “She never could be you. And she doesn’t love me.”

You’re not quite ready to say you love him yet. But you sure as hell never want to let him go again.

“Okay,” you breathe out. You take a deep breath in, peck his lips once more just because you can, and you say, “Come in with me.”        

He nods against you, but he doesn’t want to pull away.

 So you kiss him again in the pouring rain, trying to heal his broken heart. Trying to heal yours, realizing that the answer always lied with him.

You should have known when you wanted him to join you and Yoongi. That it was because the attraction between you and Jeon Jungkook was written in the stars. It was unavoidable – a red ribbon wrapped around your wrist and his, forever connected. It was fate.

It is fate.

And while you kiss him you forgive Yoongi. You forgive him for the cheating, for falling in love with someone else. Because you were falling too – you are falling too. And you’re allowed to love after your relationship, as he too is allowed.

You forgive yourself next. For pushing Jungkook away, for hurting Yoongi before Yoongi hurt you back. For not seeing all signs that pointed you towards Jungkook, and not towards Yoongi.

You remember that first night. The crowded bar, the date that stood you up. You remember your gaze connecting with Jungkook’s – even then you knew. And maybe it scared you. Maybe that’s why you chose Yoongi. The enormity of what you would one day feel for Jungkook scared you.

But not anymore. It never should have scared you to begin with. Not as he kisses you all the way to your apartment, even though it might not be decent. Not when he barely disconnects from your lips to take off your clothes, kissing you again a second later as if he can’t get enough.

Neither can you. Not as he thrusts into you, holding you close as you kiss and kiss, not even stopping for oxygen. You only stop when he climaxes a moment later, grunting in your mouth, and then you lie down next to him, resting your head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.              

He still holds you close then, and you realize that there is nothing scary about Jeon Jungkook. Except perhaps his tragic past, but you promise to yourself, right then and there, to make his future as bright as you possibly can.

And when your heartbeats have returned to normal, you tell him, “I made apple crumble today, do you want some?”

*****

                The grocery store is too busy at this time of the evening.

Yoongi pushes his cart, avoiding the other patrons, trying to walk down the aisle so that he can reach the dairy products at the back. He needs cream cheese for the bagels he grabbed in the bakery – he hasn’t been able to eat croissants in a few weeks. But the aisle is too busy, and he’s forced to slowly walk behind an older lady.

But it’s okay. Jimin is helping out at the library tonight, and Yoongi will be eating dinner alone anyway. He usually goes to help, but his shoulder has been hurting, and Jimin scolded him and told him to stay home.

So he will, but first he needs the cream cheese. He follows the old lady, thanking his stars when she turns and he has the clear to push his cart towards the cream cheese.

Someone shrieks when he goes out of the aisle, and he startles, stopping.

He turns his head towards the sound, and he sees another cart, almost touching his, and then he sees you.

He sees you, and something hurts for a time.

“Yoongi?” you let out.

“Hey,” he answers.

You wet your lips, before glancing at where your carts are almost touching. “I almost ran into you,” you say, and then you laugh.

There’s something light about your laugh. Like it’s made of a summer night sky, of stars and a soft breeze. And then he really takes you in – the lightness is in every aspect of you. In your eyes, in the slight curve upwards of your lips, in the way that you stand there, hands loosely holding your cart.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, though he has to swallow around a lump in his throat at the sight of the croissants in your cart.

You motion to the side. “You can go,” you gently say. “Sorry about this.”

“Oh.” He nods once, and then pushes the cart forward. You call his name before he’s able to go much further away, though. “Yes?” he says.

You smile softly, and it tinges with sadness, though it doesn’t linger. “You were right about Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows, but he understands what you mean the second Jungkook appears beside you, kissing your temple and putting down a bag of apples in the cart. You smile softly, gazing at Jungkook with so much love in your eyes.

It heals something in Yoongi. His lips slowly spread in a soft smile, and you nod at him, as if to say thank you. As if to say you understand, and he nods his head too, because he understands as well.

Jungkook notices him then, and he slowly loses his smile. Yet he looks better than when Yoongi saw him last – he looks a lot less bitter, if at all. In truth, Jungkook looks just like you – light, as if he’s able to start soaring in the clouds above with you.

Words can’t describe the happiness that fills Yoongi, at seeing his old friend happy, with you. At knowing that he had been right, that you were meant to be with Jungkook, and not with him. And though he’d still change how things happened, Yoongi feels his guilt fading away, relief washing over it.

“Hey Yoongi,” Jungkook says, offering him a tentative smile.

Eyes crinkling with joy for you and Jungkook, Yoongi replies, “You didn’t go back to Japan?”

Jungkook looks at you, big doe eyes filling with emotion. “I didn’t have to.”

“I’m glad,” Yoongi says, and means it. There’s a small silence, and then he glances at the cream cheese. “Well, I’ll let you two go.”

Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist, and you melt against him. “Have a good evening, hyung.”

Yoongi nods, wishing it back to you and Jungkook, and then he moves out of the way, to grab the cream cheese. You and Jungkook leave, though he hears your happy chatter as you walk away, and he thinks it’s one of the most beautiful sounds in the universe.

Later that night, when Jimin gets home, Yoongi holds him close, basking in the gentle warmth of the man he loves.

Jimin chuckles softly. “What’s got you so cuddly?”

“I missed you,” Yoongi answers, kissing Jimin’s temple.

“I missed you too,” Jimin whispers.

Even later, as he holds Jimin close while they slowly make love, Yoongi lets you go until every little piece of him belongs to Jimin. He lets you go, knowing that you are finally happy, and that he is, too.

Because he’s happy with Jimin, happier than ever, much like he knows you’re happy with Jungkook.

The sun rises the following morning, full of hope for a new day, and Yoongi gets ready to spend the rest of his life with the man that he loves.

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So? Did we like the ending? I know it can be bittersweet to some, but I hope you still liked it! Let me know what you think!!

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