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23 she/her just here to read

[woncheolisms]

i can still see it all. (joshua hong x reader)

summary: you meet joshua for the first time since he left the country as a teenager to pursue his dreams. you are sure he doesn’t remember you, despite the fact that you haven’t forgotten him for a single day in the last fifteen years.

word count: 8.4k

warnings: best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.

Sunset was your favorite part of the day.

There was something about the way it colored the ground orange, bathing everything in a warm glow, the waves glittering under the slowly fading sunlight that brought your young heart at ease. At fifteen, when every minor issue felt like the end of the world, Santa Monica pier was your escape. Every weekend you would end up on the same wooden boards, feet pattering against them and the swish of ocean waves roaring in your ears. Multiple other footsteps echoed beside you and behind you, the chattering and laughing of the teenage voices that belonged to your friends blending with the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd at the pier. In your clearest memory, your eyes would meet warm brown ones, appearing a lighter hazel in the fading sunlight, skin tinted golden, and laugh like a melody echoing in your mind….

Your alarm is a jarring sound.

You startle awake as it cuts through the tranquility of your dreamscape, making you bite back an annoyed groan as it keeps beeping on, ripping you further and further away from the warmth of the pier and distant doe eyes that keep you company as you sleep. Your hand shoots out and slaps at your phone blindly, shutting it up. In the glare of the screen, you make out a blurred 10:00am. A heaving sigh leaves your body as it registers in your head that it’s Friday morning. You stare at the curtains covering your window, early morning light filtering through them and making your room visible. All is silent.

……. It is Friday morning.

You remember your dream, or rather, childhood memory. It’s been a while since you last thought of LA or Santa Monica, despite spending so much of your childhood in that area. You understand why you’re dreaming about it now though, considering what today is. As you stare at the ceiling, you mentally prepare yourself for the day. It doesn’t matter, though. You haven’t managed to prepare yourself in the last couple of weeks, so it hardly seems like you’ll turn it around on the morning of. Brown eyes flick through your mind again.

Showering and getting ready are a nervous affair. There seems to be a charge in the air, like static, ready to zap you the minute you make a sudden move. You contemplate stopping for breakfast, and choose to forego it when your stomach protests at the thought. Coffee would have to do. You can deal with the consequences of plain coffee on your bowels later. There’s much more important things to freak about now.

As you’re driving to the arena, you feel irritation replace your apprehension. Come on. There’s no way he remembers you. It has been fifteen years since you last saw him. You doubt he could recall you even if someone told him your name. Which, by the way, no one would have told him your name. You are sure that in his line of work, hair stylists come and go. How many had he worked with already, in his near ten-year career? You are just a blip, here to take care of the group during the American leg of their tour and then going about your life once again. That’s it.

You weren’t surprised when you were first offered the job to be the on-tour hairstylist for an idol group. You had worked with many in the past as they came to America for appearances or while on tour. In your near decade of working, you have managed to build an impressive portfolio. But you had been frozen solid when you found out who this particular client was. Of course you knew them. You had followed their careers since before they debuted. You had promised you would, just as he had promised to keep in touch before he left.

Only one of you had kept your promise.

The coffee is bitter on your tongue, and it wakes you up before it even hits your stomach. You let the GPS on your phone guide you to the location sent to you by one of the staff members. Already, you can see people outside the venue. No shock there. This was a very anticipated tour. The air feels crisp and charged, now with excitement rather than the fearful doomed feeling you experienced that morning in your room. The sun is already way up, announcing the arrival of midday.

It’s a blur of introductions inside the building. Everyone is extremely nice, and someone in a black button up and jeans finds you immediately, as if already looking for you, leading you down a corridor as they talk to you a bit about what’s happening.

“Usually we don’t have the hair and makeup staff come this early.” Her voice is cheery and light. “But the members have to film a bit before the show today so they need to get ready early.”

“I don’t mind at all.” You immediately jump to answer, eager to come off as a team player. Also, midday isn’t early at all for you, though it may be early for them considering the concert didn’t start for another six hours.

You are shown into a large room and you immediately feel at home as soon as you step in. The mirrors are large and the hair and makeup stations are well lit. There are too many chairs to count there, some facing the mirrors and others scattered haphazardly everywhere else. Towards the far end of the room, one chair is already occupied, and you can see a woman bent over the man in the chair, her hand making careful strokes with a brush over his closed eyelids. His hair is a bright blond under the glare of the lights, matted down on his head. He must have freshly washed it. Next to him, another seat is occupied, but this time with a brunette who is lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears you shuffling about. You immediately recognize him.

His smile is bright as he pushes off the chair in favor of walking over to you. You bow courteously.

Lee Seokmin is as handsome as he always looked on screen. You would argue he is even more stunning in real life. His voice is friendly and warm, and you immediately feel at ease. He introduces himself even though he needs no introduction, and you return the pleasantries. The voices make his blond friend turn his head towards you curiously, and you recognize Soonyoung just as quickly as you had recognized Seokmin.

They are quick to make conversation with you when they learn that you are their hairstylist, talking to you as if they had known you forever. It’s slightly jarring how quickly they become comfortable with you, because while you had been staring at them on a screen for years, they didn’t know you before this at all. It is hard not to be charmed by them though, they are incredibly kind and engaging. They ask you about your job, tell you how excited they are to be there, ask for food recommendations and before you know it, you are somehow roped into dinner plans.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea….” You can’t help but feel sheepish. Seokmin waves you off immediately.

“It’ll be our treat! We take the staff out for dinner and drinks all the time. You had to show up this early. It’s the least we can do.”

You think it’s best not to say that you are paid to be here. It’s not like you are doing this for free. Both of them are so nice about it that you really don’t think your snark has any place in this conversation. You choose to switch the topic.

“Speaking of, why are only two of you here? What about the others?” You try to sound nonchalant. Try not to let your nerves creep in again. You can’t afford to freak out now. Not when he could walk in the door at any moment.

That makes Soonyoung snicker and Seokmin let out a painful sigh. He jabs a thumb backward to point at his friend, who is just about done with his makeup. “He spoiled something important while doing a live yesterday. He dragged me along by guilting me into it.”

Soonyoung seems proud of the fact, and you can tell Seokmin doesn’t mind as much as he is pretending to. You can’t help but smile as well. It’s crazy how comfortable you already feel around the two.

You are almost done with Soonyoung’s hair when other members slowly start to trickle in. Your heart speeds up. You try to keep your face straight and all your focus on the short strands of hair sticking up between your fingers. They greet you one by one as they show up. Wonwoo first, Chan right behind him. You introduce yourself to all of them, throwing some “nice to meet you”s in there. The room slowly swells with noise, multiple separate conversations and some laughs here and there. Some time passes. Seungkwan sits down in front of you. When Joshua walks into the room, everything stills for one small second.

He looks the same. Boyish charm and doe eyes. He sounds the same too, syrupy sweet voice, slightly deeper than you remember. He is running a towel through his wet hair. Some strands stick to the damp skin on his forehead. His face is bare, just the way you remember it. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle the same way. He laughs at something Soonyoung says to him. Same laugh.

But he is so….. different. He is taller, and much broader. You try not to let your eyes linger on his arms, bare because of the tank top he had chosen to wear. Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you run a small comb through Seungkwan’s hair, parting it down the middle. He is saying something about the content they are supposed to film before the show, and you feel a bit bad for not focusing on what he is talking about. But Joshua is right there, mere feet from you after nearly a decade and a half of being apart. It is hard to focus on anything other than the boy you had given your heart to when you were so young.

It seems he has chosen to focus on you too, in that very moment. He notices you working on his friend’s hair, and then he is walking to you. You freeze.

“Hi. Joshua.” He bows a little. You reciprocate, though it’s more jerky and not as smooth as his. You immediately kick yourself. Managing to return his smile, you tell him your name. His face shifts a bit, and you freeze again in shock. There’s no way….

He repeats your name, this time more questioning. You nod slowly.

“No way!” His eyes are wide, recognition flicking through them. Beautiful brown, rich like chocolate. You are reminded of your dream. Your heart skips. “I can’t believe it! You’re a hairstylist now?”

You laugh meekly, nodding. Your face still burns. Having his eyes on you feels almost unbearable. You wish he would go away, leave you in your head again to remember only the ghost of him still living in your memory. You also wish he would come closer, hold your hand like he used to and push your hair behind your ear when the wind makes it fall into your eyes.

You wish for a lot of things.

“You two know each other?” Seungkwan swivels in his chair to look at Joshua, who only nods enthusiastically.

“We were friends. We went to the same school when I was still in LA.”

So succinct. So brief. How something that means the world to you, something that changed your young mind so profoundly, could be summarized in two sentences. You try not to think about it.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. His smile is still so wide. His eyes are…. gentle. Almost admiring. You realise he is genuinely happy to see you, and something in your chest settles. The nasty voice in your head silences itself. How foolish of you, to think for even a second that someone as sweet and down to earth as Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see you, his dearest friend, after he left LA. He isn’t wired that way. You almost feel ashamed at having doubted him. You nod your affirmation.

“You should have dinner with us after the show. Maybe some drinks too.”

You chuckle a bit. “Ah, yeah. Seokmin offered as well. I guess I will be there.”

He smiles wider, if that is even possible. “Great.”

When he finally walks away from you, you turn your head to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, already trained intently on you. Your neck heats up again.

“Something wrong?”

His eyes narrow just a bit. You get a strange feeling, like you are being prodded. He shakes his head, but the corner of his lip ticks up just slightly.

“No, not at all.” He settles back in his chair, an expression on his face that you can’t quite place.

Ah, fuck.

……………………………………………………………………..

An hour later, Joshua is sitting in a chair, typing something on his phone when you finally step closer to him to get a look at his hair. He turns his phone screen off, giving you a dazzling smile as well as his full attention. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace than anything friendly. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show. You are grateful for that.

“I didn’t know you left LA.” He comments, and you hum a bit, using a comb to smooth through his hair, trying to focus on your job and not on the fact that you are touching him, or that you can smell his aftershave. It’s flowery and light. It makes you dizzy.

You also try to bite back on the fact that there is no way he could’ve known, considering you hadn’t talked to him properly since he set foot outside the US.

“I’ve been all around.“ You answer, knowing how vague you sound. You can’t think of anything else to say though. You can feel Joshua’s gaze on you, and you wonder if he sees through you.

He used to. He knew you better than anyone else. Now….. now he’s a stranger.

“Weren’t you going to become a lawyer?”

You bark out a shocked laugh at the sudden jibe, mind thrown back into the past. “Oh god, no. I don’t know what I was thinking when I used to say that.”

Joshua chuckles a bit too. “And you were so passionate about it too. Though I’m pretty sure it was just because you thought it would help you win arguments.”

You can’t control your grin. “I was a kid. I still suck at them, by the way.”

“Do you still cry when you get angry?”

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “It’s perfectly normal to cry when you’re angry.”

He nods jokingly, pretending to contemplate. “Sure. Not when you are trying to negotiate prices on the pier though.”

You gape at him, shocked. “How the hell do you remember that?”

Joshua’s mock playfulness leaves his face, replaced by something softer, more melancholic. Your fingers freeze in the dark caramel strands of his hair, soft to touch.

“I remember everything.”

You feel something strong and bitter rise in the back of your throat. Like bile, but burning worse. You remember then, the grief of Joshua leaving. The dragging hurt of waiting for replies to your emails. How his responses would get shorter and shorter every time. How it fizzled over those few painful months. And then….nothing. Like he was never there.

You clear your throat and work in silence, trying to finish up on his hair quicker. You can see from the corner of your eye how his face drops. He doesn’t say anything more. When you’re done, he gives you a tiny smile and a thank you.

He’s a stranger to you once again.

……………………………………………………………………..

The show is spectacular, as expected. You watch as much as you can between giving touch ups as the members come and go from the backstage area. It’s overstimulating and fast paced, nothing you aren’t used to, but enough to get your blood pumping. You missed working shows like this. Despite the history you had with Joshua, you feel okay about taking the job.

The members are all hyped and looking forward to dinner and drinks afterwards. Some staff members go along, including you, and it is an energetic affair. You laugh and talk with other people on the crew, who are all very welcoming and more than happy to regale you with stories of their own. The members eat like a small army, and food disappears faster than you can blink. You are grateful for the amount of people, since it meant you didn’t have to interact one on one with Joshua. It is nearing dawn when everyone starts to slowly scatter to their hotel rooms on the same floor.

Your own hotel room, booked courtesy of the company, is not in the same building, and when you announce that you should head back, Joshua offers to drive you. You can’t really find a reason to say no. He is one of maybe two people who didn’t drink. So your options are limited.

You really don’t want to talk to him. You can’t even place why, exactly. You had missed him, thought about him periodically for so long. He is here now, accessible to you, and yet you want nothing to do with him.

The truth is, your small conversation threw you off. It’s like you had never been apart. He talked to you like he had left just a month ago on a little vacation and now he had come back, catching up on life updates. But the truth is that he has fifteen years worth of updates that he missed. This isn’t a brief pause that he can just ignore, something he was clearly trying to do.

Then again, maybe you are overreacting. It’s not like you two had fought. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. Maybe you are making a big deal out of nothing while he is doing everything to be nice to you.

In any case, you have a lot to figure out. And you can’t do that with Joshua in the driver’s seat, spending a good chunk of time in a confined space with him. The silence is strange and heavy. You close your eyes and lean back in your seat, hoping he just assumes you are tired and doesn’t feel as awkward as you. When the car slows to a stop in front of your building, you give him a little smile as you gather your things.

“Did I upset you earlier?”

You hesitate, movements slowing a bit. Joshua looks worried, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on staring straight ahead. It’s still dark outside. You take a deep breath.

“Not- not really. I was just surprised.”

Now he looks confused, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you. “Why?”

You blink slowly. “What do you mean, why?”

He doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You aren’t really drunk, but you had a few. Enough to impair the filter between your brain and mouth just a little bit.

”We haven’t spoken in almost fifteen years, Josh.” Your voice sounds more stable than you are expecting. “But suddenly you’re acting like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just…. disappear.”

Guilt washes over his features, and you try not to let it affect you.

“I didn’t mean to….”

You sigh a bit, feeling resigned. “No one ever means to. But I think I deserved a little more than nothing. For the sake of what we had.”

Your eyes meet, and this time, the exchange of looks is weighted, more understanding. Joshua nods.

”You did. I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly. You hadn’t expected such a quick and willing apology. It was almost anticlimactic. Joshua carries on.

“Training was….tough. I almost quit, you know? Multiple times. I stuck it out because of the members, and because I was determined to see it through. I know it isn’t an excuse but- I was overwhelmed and I missed home. I missed you. Talking to you just made it so much worse.”

He lets out a meek laugh, rolling his eyes. His stare is distant as he remembers the past. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It sounds insanely stupid in hindsight.”

You nod. “It does.”

He laughs again, this time a bit stronger. When he looks at you, there’s something sad behind his eyes. You can’t help but mimic it. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. There’s so much you want to say to him, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. It seems that all along, you had waited to hear just these words from him, a form of explanation, a form of remorse, and he had finally given them to you. There is a sense of finality in this moment. Your lips slowly curl up into a soft smile.

“I understand, I think. I… I don’t know what to say though. I don’t know where we go from here.”

There it is again, that curled smile which makes him look five years younger than he is. In the dim light, he looks unassuming and gentle, almost angelic.

“Maybe you can give me a chance to be your friend again?”

You appraise him a bit before nodding. “I think I can do that.”

……………………………………………………………………..

Some parts of Joshua are exactly the same.

He is still snarky and mischievous under his gentle exterior. Of course, it’s more than just an exterior. He is a genuinely kind person. But you two were great friends before because he was such a wonderful mix of caring and annoying. You loved teasing him and he loved teasing you back. It seems those parts of him haven’t changed at all. When you observe him with his members, you can see how he thrives off their energy. He is especially a pain in the ass to Mingyu, who loves to dish it right back.

And then there are parts of him that are so new it almost catches you off guard. He is a lot more mature now. And more perceptive too. He has a little bit of a flirty thing going on now, and it often leaves you blushing and stuttering, unable to reply.

God, you really should have become a lawyer.

Four shows into the tour and in your second city by now, you have grown fairly comfortable in your job. With Joshua acting as a bridge, you get integrated into the team very easily. Almost everyone is curious about you and Joshua when he was still living in LA. None more so than Seungkwan, who seems to have taken a particular interest in you two ever since you met on the first day. You’re not very thrilled by it, since he isn’t exactly subtle about it either.

“Have you considered working outside the US?”

You hum as you pull his hair down over his forehead, trying to go for more of a messy look today. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“You could come to Korea with us.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I can’t just leave the country on a whim.”

“It wouldn’t be a whim though. You would have a job.”

You give him a questioning look now, pausing your ministrations for a second. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

He shrugs, pouting playfully for a bit. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t have to end after this leg of the tour, you know?”

His stare is meaningful. Very briefly, his eyes flick towards Joshua on your left. It’s so subtle that you wouldn’t catch it if you hadn’t been looking so intently. Realisation dawns on you and you gulp.

“Nothing will end. Because nothing is going on.” You give him a pointed look, going back to his hair.

“That’s what I’m saying. Something could.”

You sigh painfully. “Seungkwan-”

“He likes you.” Seungkwan interrupts. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Joshua puts a lot of effort in for the people he cares about. And he’s making a hell of an effort to fix things with you.”

“That’s because I was his friend.”

He gives you a blank look but doesn’t say anything more. You try to ignore his words, but when your eyes flick towards the man in question, you can’t help but wonder if there is any ounce of truth behind them.

……………………………………………………………………..

“I was thinking of getting a haircut before the next show.”

You give Joshua a surprised look, placing your drink on the table. It’s show number six of eight total, and the members had scattered to explore the city. You had been in your hotel room when Joshua called, asking you to come down so you could have a drink with him. The bar you end up in is small and cozy, barely crowded since it’s a weekday, which is for the best. You lean back in the booth to get a better look at Joshua sitting next to you.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

A thoughtful hum follows. “I’m not sure. Just something different. It’s getting a bit long and it irritates my neck.”

“Do you wanna dye it?”

He winces. “Not really. The damage takes forever to recover from.”

You think about his face shape, wondering what to do with his hair that might look good on him. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to his head, fingers threading through the strands and pulling them upwards a bit, just to check exactly how long the hair is. Joshua just watches you. You blink when you notice the hint of smile on his face, pulling your hand back with a sudden jerk.

“Sorry!” You squeak out, feeling embarrassment crawl up your chest. “Force of habit.”

Joshua laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve done worse things around me.”

You gape at him. “Have not!”

He gives you a look, and you know what he is about to say before he even speaks. “You once peed while my back was turned to you.”

“Shut up!” You screech out, burying your face in your hands as Joshua laughs boisterously. You look around the bar, anywhere that isn’t him, trying to pat down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“That doesn’t count, by the way.”

Joshua blinks, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “And why not?”

“Because that was the old you.”

His eyes are wide with surprise and amusement now. His left hand swivels his glass, the liquid floating around in it. He leans his head on the other hand, elbow on the table. “I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have.” You immediately counter, downing the last of your own drink. “You’re all cool and suave now.”

He laughs again, uninhibited and bright. You grin at him, enamored by the way he throws his head back and how toothy his grin is. Liquid courage takes a hold of you.

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially and Joshua follows your lead, playing along. “I used to have a crush on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”

You hum the affirmative, face still close to his, like you are telling him a long held secret. It kind of is one.

The lights in the bar are dim, but you can see the glint in Joshua’s eyes clearly. “And now?”

You pretend to think about it. You are feeling playful as well. It’s so easy to feed off his energy. It reminds you of your childhood. He’s a lot bolder now, but he used to be just as cheeky. His flowery scent enters your nose again in this proximity. You feel that all too familiar heat on the back of your neck. A frequent occurrence now, ever since Joshua has stepped back into your life. You wouldn’t change it, not even for a second.

“Jury’s still out.”

Joshua’s smile softens a bit. “I’ll take it.”

……………………………………………………………………..

It’s very fitting, for the last show of this leg of the tour to be in LA.

In the days leading up to the last two shows, you wonder about the future. While it is unpredictable, there are some well established facts you need to come to terms with. Joshua would leave for Korea right after, rest for a bit, and then the next leg of the tour would kick off. Your contract would end, and you would rest as well before you find your next gig. The thought of it feels like a lead weight in your stomach, and you are reminded acutely of the time when Joshua had told you about him leaving fifteen years ago.

“Pledis?” Your voice had been suspicious. “I’ve never heard of them. Are you sure you aren’t getting scammed?”

He had laughed. “I’m sure. They are legit, and they are eager to have me.”

“I don’t know, Josh…”

It’s the same apprehension but now under different circumstances.

Briefly, you remember Seungkwan’s offer. You don’t know how serious he was, but you entertain the thought for a brief moment. It doesn’t last, though. It’s ridiculous. The teenage you would have jumped at the chance to follow Joshua to the other side of the world, but that was naïveté. While you and him are riding the line between platonic and romantic, it hasn't gone anywhere. You couldn’t pick up everything and run off with him. It just wasn’t realistic.

The LA air seems to change something in Joshua. It’s a fairytale notion, but you swear you can see him bloom in the city. It’s nostalgic for him, you know this, and this stop means the most to him considering this is where his roots are. You bask in his glow, reminded of your own childhood with him by your side. You had spent countless weekends hanging around Santa Monica with your friends, putting together your very little money to eat and enjoy yourselves. Now here as an adult, standing in a stadium is a monumental milestone for Joshua, and you can’t believe you get to share in it with him.

The last show is even more emotionally charged for both you and him, but for entirely different reasons. You remember the days leading up to Joshua’s flight back then. You had insisted you spend every waking moment with him. Now, you are watching him close out the show to uproarious applause.

Life has changed so much. But your feelings remain the same. You had told yourself at fifteen, that you would confess to Joshua when he came back, stupidly believing that he would come back at some point. You’re a grown woman now, and you still know you will chicken out. You won’t tell him how you feel, you know this. He will leave again, this time for who knows how long, and maybe your paths won’t cross. Maybe they will, for another brief stint in time, before returning to the way they had been for so many stale years.

Maybe that’s how fate intends you to love Joshua. Little by little. In scraps. In fleeting moments of happiness before his busy life sweeps him up again. Maybe you should accept that this is how it’s meant to be.

After all, a little love is better than none.

Drinks are flowing heavily as the group celebrates the end of a very successful leg of their tour. Your staff members insist on farewell drinks for you, and before you know it, you have downed shot after shot with them, talking and laughing your hearts out. You had formed somewhat of a family here with these people, and you would miss them all terribly. Having temporary jobs is always a bummer when it comes to goodbyes. The whole experience is bittersweet.

You are reminded of your first night when you stand up and announce that you will be heading out. Especially when Joshua stands up right after.

“I’ll drive you.”

You snort. “I’m booked in this hotel too, dumbass. I just have to go down one floor.”

Joshua pouts at the smattering of laughs at your comment. You grin at him.

“Also, you’re drunk as fuck.”

He nods as if he has come to an important, life-changing decision after contemplating a little bit. “I’ll walk you, then.”

Not even five minutes later, you are struggling to get your door open. Behind you, Joshua sways a bit.

“How much did you drink?”

He giggles. “I’m just a little tipsy.”

You roll your eyes. He clearly is way more than just tipsy. You can’t judge him though. Because you are in a similar situation.

You turn to face him when the door behind you finally squeaks open. His eyes are foggy but they focus on you regardless. He still has makeup on from the show, though it’s slightly smudgy now. His hair is still in place from the hairspray. You make a face at it and reach out to tug a stiff strand.

“I hate putting hairspray on your head.” You slur. “Your hair is so soft and nice.”

Joshua hums a bit, leaning against the door frame and letting you play with his hair. “Then get it out.”

In your drunken haze, you pull him into the room, and before you know it, you’ve ducked his head under the sink of the bathroom to wet his hair. Not the best way to do it but neither of you care at this point. Not only are your inhibitions dampened, you also know you are doing all this just to keep him here for a little longer. To be close to him just a bit more. His flight is tomorrow morning. This is the last time you will see him, and you are not ready to say goodbye.

You have a multitude of products with you that you lather into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that you are ruining his T-shirt. He is compliant, sitting obediently on the closed toilet lid as you work your fingers gently through the styled pieces of his hair. He hums a bit when you press on his scalp, eyes fluttering. You scold him to keep them closed so they don’t get irritated by the chemicals.

By the time you’ve made him rinse off in the sink again, his clothed shoulders are all wet. His hair is dripping all over the bathroom floor. Droplets of water roll down the sides of his face and down his neck. A silver chain glitters against his skin there, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are barely open, narrowed to slits. You crane your neck up to look at him, the scent of shampoo dense in your nose.

“Towel.” You mutter. He needs it. It’s too cold to be this wet. He could get sick.

Neither of you move to get a towel though.

This close to him, you can see the sprinkled pattern of freckles over his neck. His lips part and your eyes shoot down to them immediately. You’ve always loved his lips, weird as that sounds. Always wondered what they would feel like against your own. You don’t have to wonder long, because he leans down the next second, pressing them softly into yours.

There’s hesitation behind his actions, but you affirm him by pushing up a bit, fitting your lips into his harder. His hands brush against your sides and yours grip tight at the wet collar of his shirt. It is close mouthed and chaste, but it lights a fire in you, settling in your chest as a condensed warmth. A single droplet of water hits your cheek.

A decade and a half long anticipated kiss.

You nip a little on his bottom lip, hearing how his breath gets strangled in his throat. He squeezes at your sides. His lips part. His tongue moves languidly against yours, head tilted to get better access. You sigh into him, trying to feel as much of him as you can. The planes of his chest are firm, his shoulders are broad. Your fingers travel up his neck to his jaw, to his ear. You tug on the tiny silver ring wrapped around the helix, and he curses softly in your mouth.

“We should stop.” He gasps out, but his hands are tugging on the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to run across your bare skin. You moan at the feeling, offended by the clothes between you two now. You grip his wet hair a bit harshly, pull at it just a bit, and his reaction is instant. He groans loud and low, pushing into you until you are stumbling back. Blindly, you two shuffle out of the bathroom and towards the bed, not separating for one minute, planting a slew of messy kisses over each other’s lips. Your shaky hands fall to the button of his jeans, which you pop open, flying up under his shirt and pushing it up to his chest until he gets the hint and tugs it off. You stare at his bare torso, fingers exploring the newly exposed skin. He nips at the lobe of your ear, brushing soft kisses over your neck and jaw.

His hands are toying with the hem of your jeans, thumbs hooking into the belt loops to tug your hips closer. You feel his erection on your lower stomach, hard and insistent, and it nearly leaves you dizzy.

“Josh-” You manage to gasp out. He bites softly into the skin just below your ear and hums into it. Your eyes roll.

A flurry of hands leaves you shirtless soon, fingers tugging on the hook of your bra until the clasp is undone, discarding it as well. Joshua’s body doesn’t stay far from yours. He falls onto the bed with you, his weight insistent and reassuring on top of you. When he grinds against the heat between your parted legs, you feel electricity zip through you, back arching into him. You can feel how wet you are already, how you clench around nothing. There’s too many layers between you two.

You feel his hand unzip your jeans and slip between your thighs to where you need him the most. You can hear his intake of breath right next to your ear when his fingers make contact with the soaked cloth of your panties.

“I haven’t done anything yet, baby.”

You keen at the use of the pet name, and Joshua sighs into your neck, attaching his teeth to the skin and sucking hard. Your hips jerk. His index finger presses the fabric harshly against your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

“Stop teasing.” You whine, one hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His teeth release your skin so his tongue can run over the area, and you are sure you will have an angry mark there in the morning. You can’t care less.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Regardless, your panties are being pushed aside, careful fingers now running up through your slit until they reach your nub. His thumb rubs a few harsh circles into you, and you gasp again.

Joshua is unpredictable, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on your toes, figuratively. In reality, you are moaning and crying into his shoulder, hips chasing his touch with every flick of his wrist, until he finally takes mercy on you and sinks his middle and ring finger into your aching pussy. His thumb is still insistent, never once stopping its ministrations. His lips never stop moving, digging into any piece of you he can get between his teeth, a handful of kisses and licks all over your neck and chest. When the pads of his fingers finally hit your sweet spot, you nearly sob.

He quickly becomes relentless in his movements, rubbing, dragging, in and out, until you feel like you are on the brink of insanity. You can’t make sense of your own words, and you are sure it is all mindless babble, but Joshua seems to bask in it, encouraging you on until your back is arching impossibly deep, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your legs jerk and pulse in the air, framing his waist as he coaxes you through your high, whispering sweet praises in your ear, a stark contrast to the fire he had lit in your body. When your eyes blink open again, you are met with a glinting, lustful gaze and a soft smirk.

You wipe it right off by pressing your lips harshly into his. He hums in approval, allowing your scrambling hands to push his jeans and boxers down and off his legs along with your own. His cock drags through the mess between your legs and he curses. You buck up into him.

“You’re sure about this?” His voice is raspy. He sounds as wrecked as you feel.

You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, but Joshua pulls his lips away from yours instead.

“I need you to say it. I can’t mess this up with you.”

You pause, blinking up at him, startled at his words. He is a vision in the dim light, swollen lips, smudged mascara, messy wet hair and all. He looks beautiful.

“You could never mess up with me.”

His smile is tinged with something bitter. “I already did once.”

You can’t help the playful smirk you give him in response. “And yet here we are.”

He does chuckle at that, forehead leaning against yours. You give him a soft smile, running a hand through his hair. This time in a different context, a different feeling.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than you in this moment.”

His face instantly relaxes, and his lips are on yours again. You sigh into his mouth, and you can feel something hard poke insistently at you, followed by a jerk of Joshua’s hips that finally breaches you, carving through your insides as you throw your head back. He is big, and impossibly hard, and he brushes over parts you didn’t even know you had. By the time he bottoms out, you are trembling in his hold, breaths coming in choppy gasps as he starts moving, slow at first and gradually picking up speed.

Joshua lifts himself off you, supporting his weight on his hands. Your watery gaze meets his and he bites his lip hard.

“Look at you, fuck.” He thrusts especially hard, making you cry out. “Wish you could see yourself, angel. So pretty for me.”

”Joshua.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, feeling your toes curl as he keeps going. He thrusts particularly deep and then suddenly stills in you, so you can feel every inch of him. Your jaw goes slack.

“What do you want?”

His lips are a ghost touch over your cheek. He grinds slowly, his pelvis brushing your clit, adding to the assault of sensations you are already experiencing. You feel a tear roll down your face and disappear into your hairline.

You whine. “You.”

His lips curl upward. “You have me.”

He grinds again. You sob.

“Please.” Your voice is thin, on the verge of breaking. “Need you to move. Need to feel you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Then he is shushing you, and his hips are moving again, harder and faster until stars are bursting in your vision as you come again. You barely register when Joshua stiffens and buries himself deep in you, warmth flooding your insides as he pants and groans through his own release. Your entire body feels muted and numb, like someone had stuffed cotton in your head. You blink lazily, pressing a kiss into Joshua’s sweaty forehead.

He turns to look at you in response, and you can see the sluggishness in the depth of his eyes. A small smile plays at his lips. He looks at peace. You hope your face looks just as blissful to him. Tiredness tugs at your limbs.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

……………………………………………………………………..

Giggling. The slap of footsteps on pavement. The brush of a hand. Brown, doe-like eyes.

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up with a start the next morning. You stare at the window and the harsh light infiltrating through it, trying to shake the image from your dreams. When you shift under the covers, feeling them brush over your bare skin, you discover that you are naked. The events of the previous night come rushing back.

You turn to stare at the bed behind you. Empty. You sit up and look at the window again. Long shadows are casted by the sun over your room. It is easily past noon.

No.

He couldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not like this. Not after last night.

I can’t mess this up with you.

Something burns behind your eyes, and you try not to focus on how hard your heart is hammering. Your legs feel sore, but you push past it and move off the bed, ignoring your discarded clothes from the night before on the floor to walk to the wardrobe where you had temporarily stored your stuff. You tug on the nearest T-shirt you can find along with sweatpants. Your focus is to be out the door as quickly as you can. You know their flight has left, but you need to see with your own eyes if their hotel rooms are cleared out. It was the only way to accept what had happened.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You can’t believe it, genuinely cannot imagine that Joshua would sleep with you and leave the next day. It is a whole new low. You want to beat yourself up for trusting him, but your heart screams the opposite. You are reeling, still unable to believe what has happened.

You hear the door behind you open, jolting you from your thoughts. You spin around, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Joshua blinks at you in confusion, staring at your shirt clad figure, holding a pair of pants in your hands.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He asks, moving closer to you after shutting the door. “Don’t you have a hangover? You should lay down.”

You flinch back when he reaches for you, and his face twists at the action. You can see hurt flit past his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“You-” Your mind races. “Your flight….”

He nods slowly. “I canceled this morning.”

Feeling returns to your legs again, processing his words. Your hand drops, and you let the pants fall to the floor. Your relief is so great that it makes you feel lightheaded. When you look up at Joshua again, his face has settled into a sad realization.

“You thought I left.” He states, voice small. You don’t say anything.

“You thought I-” His laugh is sharp, bitter. Something clenches at your chest. “You really think I would do that?”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I would never. I just…. panicked.”

Joshua heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. A flowery smell hits your nose. You discern that he probably just stepped out to go shower and change. You almost kick yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Joshua has the grace to crack a small smile, taking your forearm and leading you to the bed so you can sit. You notice a tall glass of water on the bedside table, as well as two round pills. Probably painkillers. Your heart squeezes. You hadn’t noticed them in your stressed condition. He picks them up and offers them to you, and you take them with a grateful smile.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t exactly have the best track record.”

You shake your head. “Nah, don’t blame yourself for this. These are my issues.”

He flops down next to you, leaning back on his hands. You down the water and place the glass back, turning to look at him. He’s already staring at you. You feel shyness creep up on you.

Joshua’s hand reaches up to brush over the skin of your neck, and you realize that he is tracing the scattered marks he had left there last night. Your face burns, but you have no time to react before he is kissing you, so soft you barely feel it, but you lean in regardless. You sigh into it, wishing it would go one forever, this fluttering feeling in your chest, telling you that everything is fine.

When Joshua pulls away, you can’t help but pout, eyes still closed, mentally willing him to come back. He laughs a bit, a melody to your ears, and you can’t help when your own lips perk up at the sound.

“So you’re not leaving?” You ask, letting him continue brushing his fingers over your neck and cheeks. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

“Not right now. But at some point, yes.” He looks up to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t leave us like this though. Not this time.”

His eyes catch the sunlight, small flecks of gold dancing in the deep, rich caramel. He reminds you of Bambi sometimes, when his lips tick up like this and his eyes turn into the shape of almonds. You wonder if he knows how beautiful you find him, bathed in golden light and looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. There’s a rush of emotions, and you feel like you’ve stepped into gently swishing water, lapping over your skin and enveloping you in a cool tranquility you have never experienced before.

You lean in, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “Good.”

[b3atupchanels]

wait yall….is belovedgyu okay?? does anyone know??

[b3atupchanels]

SOMEONE WRITE A SVT FIC INSPIRED BY OLD FRIEND BY MITSKI PLSSSSS THE ANGST IS THERE

[b3atupchanels]

okay jeonghan silver springs it is divas

[viastro]

to live again | yoon jeonghan

ミ★ synopsis: it’s been years since your last milestone birthday; a time when everything still felt right in the world with youth and ambition. now that you’re older and times have changed, would you dare take a chance to save someone else in the past at the cost of your own future?

ミ★ genre: time travel!au, childhood friends to lovers!au, slow burn, angst, some fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, and brief(?) major character death

ミ★ word count: 38,765 (what in gods name.)

ミ★ pairings: jeonghan x gender neutral reader

ミ★ notes: omg hey… long time no see haha …. okay i’m sorry for not posting for five months it’s my fault but uh this was supposed to be my three year anniversary gift and then i failed as a human being KSHGRKDHK i’m so sorry it’s so hard balancing writing and university :,)) but i’m offering my longest oneshot ever as both a peace offering and a three year anniversary gift! i hope you guys enjoy this one, and PLEASE make sure to read the warnings! i love you all, thank you for your endless support even tho i’m not as active anymore </333 

ミ★ update 6/22/23: here is the sequel of to live again, dear dream

Keep reading

[joshujin]

‘til god breaks this spell

joshua's devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god.

♫ spell by niki pairing: joshua x fem!reader word count: 4.6k cw: a lot of religious reflection (catholicism) tags: childhood best friends, angst, not the happy ending you probably want sorry, the one that got away, joshua is a good catholic boy, reader is atheist a/n: the very first fic i wrote was a bts jinkook fic that was inspired by la la lost you by niki. seems fitting that i start my svt writing journey with another niki inspired song hehe. other than that, idk what compelled me to torture myself (and now you) like this. also, this was written in one, flustered go so it's barely edited oops!

“mom, what would you do if i married someone who didn’t believe in god?”

joshua’s mother immediately set her novel down, glasses slipping down her nose as she frowned at her one and only son. he didn’t look up at her, choosing to stare down at his hands instead while he twirled the friendship ring he shared with you around his pinkie finger.

“married?” she repeated. “i wasn’t even aware you had someone in your life.”

he shook his head quickly, frowning down at his open palm as he began to massage it nervously. “i don’t. i’m just… curious, i guess.”

it might be silly to be as worried about this as he is, seeing as things haven’t progressed into a relationship yet, but he’d rather figure this out now and say nothing than risk it, go all in, and then cause unnecessary pain later on.

his mother stays silent long enough that he forces himself to look at her. her eyes are no longer on him, instead seemingly zoning out on the space straight ahead. he follows her gaze and grimaces when he realizes she’s staring at the wooden carving of the last supper hung on the wall.

“i wouldn’t do anything,” she begins carefully. “you’re a grown man, after all. but i would worry that marrying a partner who didn’t believe in god—any god at all—would make you stray from your own faith.”

it’s a diplomatic answer and he expected it; his mom has always been supportive of him, always allowing him the space and freedom to make his own mistakes and learn from them—or not.

“so you’d prefer i marry catholic?”

“i mean, of course, but that’s not what i said, was it?” his mom retorts, giving him a pointed look. she knew joshua had a way of misunderstanding a lot of the things she told him. “i would prefer you marry catholic the way i would prefer you marry at all—nice to have but if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world.”

joshua nods, feeling a little bit of the tightness in his chest dissipate.

“i would just hope you think about it long and hard enough to know that you won’t compromise any of your own beliefs for someone who lives without a god,” she emphasizes.

joshua mulls that idea over. is his faith strong enough to withstand a lifelong partner who didn’t share his belief and love for god?

he wants to say yes. it’s you—of course he wants to say yes. you’ve been friends your whole lives, and he’s been in love with you for most of that time. of course he wants his answer to be: yes, my faith will survive a relationship with an atheist.

but he thinks about the conversations you’ve already had years ago, and the tightness in his chest returns tenfold.

is there anything that could happen that would make you believe in god?

probably not. it just seems too convenient that there’s someone out there in charge of everyone’s lives.

would you marry someone religious?

i don’t know. i guess it depends on the person. i don’t think i’d participate or convert or anything if i did, though.

what about kids? would you baptize them if you did marry someone religious?

dude, what’s with the interrogation? i don’t know! if it’s important to my partner, maybe? but i’d be most comfortable just letting my kids figure it out themselves. can we watch a movie now?

and each time you answered his question, instead of accepting that maybe there was a major incompatibility between the two of you, joshua would find himself thinking of the things he could compromise on.

okay, sure, he doesn’t need you to convert or participate; he’s already been going to church his entire adult life so far without anyone accompanying him. and if you didn’t want children baptized, that’s fine too! adults go through catholic confirmation later in life all the time! so what if you thought that the idea of a “big guy” controlling everyone’s lives was weird? he could just refrain from talking about that around you… or correcting your line of thinking because it’s a bit of a gross oversimplification of catholicism.

and as he sits there, his mother already back to her novel, he realizes his faith isn’t strong enough to survive you. because his love for you has become somewhat of its own religion to him, and if it came down to a question of his faith to you or his faith to god, he has to be honest with himself and admit that his mother’s fears are valid. he would put it all on the line if it meant being with you.

and he can’t do that.

he’s committed all kinds of sins by now. he’s been flexible in his beliefs—supportive and progressive in areas where other catholics have been unforgiving and in his opinion, outdated and bigoted. he’s compromised a lot at no cost to him or his god. but he can’t completely lose everything he’s known and loved for you. he can’t lose himself to you.

he can't forget that it isn't fair to you either—to have to try and appease him and his religion. he'd be doing you both a mercy, letting this spark die before it ever really takes flame.

joshua leaves his mother’s house knowing one thing is for sure: it’s time to let this dream of having you go.

the end is short and uneventful.

you two had only kissed once, and things hadn’t gone far enough for either of you to confess your feelings—whatever they were. so when joshua told you he thought it was better to stay best friends, you took it like a champ and agreed, smiling and hugging him tightly, promising him that nothing would change.

the end was short and uneventful, yet somehow the most devastating thing joshua has experienced. he had you. you were right there. he had a whole life with you in his palm, and he let it go.

he hates himself for it, but he saw it all. the moment his lips met yours, he saw hands intertwined together, late nights, car rides with his hand on your thigh, hugs from behind while he cooked for you, a suit and a white dress, a small, innocent face that looked like the both of you—your smile, his eyes.

and he feels like maybe you saw it too.

because when you both pulled away, you looked up at him like this was it—like you had just run a marathon and you had reached the finish line. like you’d grabbed his hand and crossed it with him. you smiled widely, wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, and caressed the skin there as your foreheads met. and you fell asleep wrapped up in each other like it was where you were both meant to be.

maybe you saw it too. and now he’s the reason it’ll stay a dream.

you stay true to your promise. joshua is almost saddened by how easy it seems for you to revert back to being only friends. every time he sees you, hears you, brushes up against you, he feels like his heart is cracking wide open and the world might just end at that very moment. it’s dramatic but he can’t wrap his mind around any other way to exist.

it hurts for a while, but the years pass a little easier.

he watches you date, and even though he’s secretly and unfairly relieved every time you throw someone else to the curb, he takes it well. he meets some of them and welcomes them warmly, agreeing to hang out with you and whoever you’re dating any time you ask him to. he even thinks one or two of them could give you a good life; he can live thinking of you with these ones forever. but you inevitably leave them behind and he hates that it makes him happy to watch you shake off a good guy that isn’t him.

just as he planned, joshua’s faith remains strong. he goes to church. he volunteers with his mom and her bible study friends. he sings and plays guitar on the praise and worship team from time to time. he meets a a catholic woman he thinks could be a match for him. he never asks her out. he politely declines when she musters up the courage to do it herself.

he thinks this could be fine. maybe he’ll be single forever and maybe you’ll find some average guy he can stomach, and his love for his god and for your happiness will keep him warm enough at night.

but then, you meet kwon soonyoung.

you’ve never been one to fall and tell; most of the time, joshua doesn’t know you’re dating someone until you decide it’s time to get his stamp of approval. he knows soonyoung is different from the jump.

your time starts to get tied up. it starts with only seeing him sporadically throughout the month instead of almost every day. it becomes rescheduling all your hangouts until you’re only seeing each other briefly at mutual friends’ events. it ends with missed calls and ignored texts.

he’s driving himself crazy wondering what’s going on, and when you post a photo on your story of a dinner date with a faceless man, he understands what’s happening. you’re falling in love. and he knows it because you never have—not truly—and this is what it must look like.

you don’t fall and tell, but joshua knows you too well to pretend it’s anything but this. he doesn’t try to take up any more of your time out of respect, and you don’t reach out.

you prove him right when a few months later, you bring soonyoung to a friend’s dinner party, and you introduce him as your boyfriend. it hits joshua like a truck. you’ve never introduced someone to him as a boyfriend. he’s always met the people you’ve dated before it progressed that far. he also had the privilege of meeting them privately, not with the rest of the friend group, none of who are privy to the way his heart collapses in on itself when he watches the way you lean into soonyoung all night. the way you laugh with him. the way his eyes disappear from how fondly he smiles at you. the way he seems to fit right into your life so perfectly.

you hug joshua tightly that night before leaving, and you tell him you miss him so much and you two need to catch up soon. neither of you follow up, though, and a year later, you’re engaged.

the week before joshua is due at your wedding as a guest—not your “man-of-honor” the way you’ve always planned your entire life—he gets completely shit-faced drunk.

he’s sitting on the sidewalk in front of a puddle of his own vomit when you quietly sit beside him, slipping your arm around his shoulders. he doesn’t know why you’re there. he doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating. he smiles anyway.

“hey, you.”

“hey, shua,” you whisper, smiling at him sadly. “what are you doing?”

“oh, y’know,” he shrugs, grinning at himself pathetically. “just hanging out.”

you hum, nodding.

“what are you doing here?” he asks.

you look at him with an inscrutable expression. “i just wanted to see you,” you answer. “i wanted to see my best friend.”

“am i?” he asks, looking up at the sky. the moon is covered by clouds tonight. “your best friend?”

“of course. you always will be.”

he smiles at the thought. he’s too drunk to realize there’s no possible way that’s true, not since soonyoung came into your life. he’s too drunk to remember there’s no room in your life for another man who’s just as hopelessly in love with you as your fiance is.

“say, do you believe in god yet?” he asks suddenly.

you raise an eyebrow at the suddenness of the question. “um, i haven’t thought about it lately.”

he nods. “okay.”

“joshua, what are you doing here?” you ask again. “what are you really doing here?”

he doesn’t remember what he tells you. what he does remember is waking up in the room he grew up in instead of his apartment, with his mother at the foot of his childhood bed, tears welling in her eyes.

“was it y/n?” she asks.

he frowns. “what?”

“when you asked what i would do if you married someone who didn’t believe in god all those years ago,” she explains, sniffling a little as she does. “were you talking about y/n?”

he doesn’t answer.

the events of the previous night catch up to him, and he remembers where he is—where his life is. he’s a handful of days from watching you marry someone else. he’s a handful of days from losing the one person he’s ever fallen in love with to someone else.

and all joshua has to show for it is his goddamn faith, and suddenly, for the first time since he asked his mother that question, he’s not sure it was worth it. because either way, he knows he’ll be devoted to you until the day he dies; he might as well have had you by his side all this time.

he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. when he fails, he can’t help the sobs that begin to rack his body.

he buries the heel of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars.

“she’s marrying him,” he groans through his sobs. “she’s marrying him, mom.”

“oh, joshua. i know.” he feels his mom’s hand squeeze his leg. “oh, baby, i’m so sorry.”

“i can’t do this. i can’t do it,” he wheezes, feeling like his lungs are collapsing under the weight of his ribs. “why did i do this? i can’t do this.”

she doesn’t try to convince him he can do this. she doesn’t try to argue that he didn’t do anything wrong. she doesn’t tell him to calm down. she collects him in her arms and she holds him, comforting him the way only a mother knows how to.

when he starts to calm down, she kisses the crown of his head.

“the pain you must’ve endured all this time. i’m so sorry, joshua. if i had known who you were talking about, i would’ve said something entirely different.”

he untangles himself from her embrace to look at his mother. “what do you mean?”

she wipes at her own tear-stained cheeks before cupping her son’s face. “oh, sweetheart. it’s y/n. you grew up with her. i know her like i would my own daughter.”

his mother shakes her head and joshua feels like he sees all his regret mirrored in her face. she pulls him to sit against the wall his bed is pushed up against, joining him as they both stare out the opposite window.

“there are some people who lead godly lives without even knowing it,” she informs him. “you say she doesn’t believe in god, but i don’t believe you.” his stomach lurches. “that girl has lived as godly a life as you and i have. she doesn’t need to be catholic to do that, baby. you know her. there isn’t a single universe where that girl would’ve led you away from your faith.”

joshua stammers now. “but… i…”

“all the sundays she tagged along for mass with us because she just wanted to be with her best friend when she could’ve been out on the playgrounds,” his mother begins listing. “she always respectfully bowed her head when we prayed before meals even though we both knew she wasn’t praying.”

his head is reeling now. is it possible he rewrote his own memories? could he have created his own narrative of what life with you would look like?

“remember when you were both 14 and she learned what lent was? she tried giving up soda and ended up crying, begging me for forgiveness when she forgot and accidentally had coke with her school lunch.”

his mother’s shoulders shake with nostalgic laughter.

“you would’ve thought i was god the way that girl wailed,” she reminisces. she sighs in the silence that follows. “joshua, my son. some people… they show you they love god in a way different than we do, and it’s my fault i never properly taught you that.”

he turns his head to look at her but her gaze remains trained on the window. he sees now that it’s not his regret she mirrors but her own.

“i think i was too preoccupied with ensuring i raised you to be a good, catholic man—too preoccupied with making sure you didn’t become anything like your father.”

he breathes in deeply and returns his focus to the window.

“but i should’ve made it clear. i should’ve shown you that god exists in all the little acts of love we give and receive. i should’ve shown you that organized religion isn’t the only marker of faith.” she pauses, taking a shaky breath. “maybe then you would’ve recognized y/n as a woman of god. maybe then you wouldn’t be so hurt now.”

the words are enough to make joshua even more nauseous than his hangover is already making him.

“y/n… she shows godliness in the way she respects you and your beliefs. she shows it in the way she supports and loves you through every season of your life. it’s unfair to say she isn’t good enough for you because her faith lies in a different place.”

“i never thought she wasn’t good enough for me,” he interjects quickly. his mom doesn’t argue that, simply nodding. “she’s perfect. i just… i thought we were incompatible.”

“and maybe you are,” she agrees.

she doesn’t need to say it out loud; they both know what comes next. but now you’ll never know.

“i just wanted to apologize,” his mom tells him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing. “i feel like i’ve failed you.”

“you haven’t, mom,” he says quietly. “i failed me.”

“we’ll agree to disagree,” she announces, making him smile a little. “but i’m sorry anyway. there are a lot of things i’d change now if i could.”

he feels the familiar tightness in his chest. it’s his companion at this point, the heartbreak. “me too, mom. me too.”

joshua played with your hair from where he was laying on your couch. you were sitting criss-cross in front of him on the floor, clicking through netflix and trying to find a movie you both wanted to watch.

"is there anything that could happen that would make you believe in god?" he suddenly asked you. you frowned at the abrupt question, setting the remote down on the floor.

"that's random."

"just curious," he murmured softly, like he was so relaxed he was about to fall asleep.

"hmm," you hummed in thought, resting your head back so you could stare at the ceiling. he adjusted your hair so it fell over his lap. "like what, some kind of miracle that can only be explained by god?"

he shrugged. "sure. whatever."

"probably not..." you answered with hesitation. "i can't really think of a kind of miracle that would have me questioning god, though."

"like, if someone you loved were given a terminal diagnosis—three months to live. and suddenly, their illness clears up with no explanation. even doctors are astounded. what would you think?"

you shrugged. "i would be too happy they're not dying to question how it happened." he blew out a breath of exasperation. "okay, okay," you laughed, trying to figure out a more definite answer for him. "no, i don't think there's anything that could happen. it just seems too convenient that there's someone out there in charge of everyone's lives."

he nodded along but said nothing. you fidgeted in the silence. the quiet wasn't something the two of you ever shied from; it was always comfortable with joshua. for some reason, you felt awkward. so you kept talking to fill the silence.

"i think i could be open to believing something, though," you admitted honestly. "i just don't want to get to a place where i would blame this... thing or person for the things going wrong in my life. but that's just me. i still love that people believe so strongly in it. faith is a beautiful thing."

joshua taught you that. faith withstood a lot of things, and your best friend was the prime example. nothing was quite as beautiful as his love for his religion, his god, his spirituality. even if it scared you sometimes—even if it unintentionally made you feel too small to be someone lucky enough to have joshua's heart—you knew it was still precious.

"would you marry someone religious?"

you snorted. "where are these questions coming from?"

"indulge me."

you sighed, closing your eyes and enjoying the way his fingers carded through your hair. "that's so hard to answer without knowing who it is. it depends on the person. i can't make a decision based solely on how religious they are."

"okay, i guess that's fair." he paused. "would you ever convert for someone?"

"i don't think so?" you said, hating how unsure you sounded answering all of these questions. "but who knows? i really can't say for sure without knowing who it is, shua. how about you? would you marry someone who wasn't religious?"

your heart pounded at the silence that followed.

"it depends on the person," he finally said with a playful tone.

you rolled your eyes. "exactly."

"alright, what about kids?"

"shua, why are you interrogating me right now?"

he snickered. "i'm having a conversation with my best friend. is that not allowed?"

you lifted your head and turned to glare at him, your hair slipping between his fingers. he dropped his hand now that he had nothing to play with. he raised his eyebrows at you slightly.

"of course it's allowed," you scoffed. "it's just... so out of nowhere."

"well?" he prodded, ignoring your comments.

"okay, what about kids?" you relented.

"would you baptize them if you did marry someone religious?"

you laughed. "so much religion talk tonight."

he didn't dignify that with a response.

you groaned, again having no idea. if you took all these questions and made them about joshua, they would be a million times easier to answer. but he wasn't asking about himself, he was asking about some faceless, nameless nobody, and you weren't invested enough to answer accurately.

"i don't know... if it's important to my partner, then of course i would consider it," you finally said. "but i guess i'd be most comfortable just letting my kids figure it out themselves."

"that's wise," he remarked.

"mhm, sure" you hummed. "can we watch a movie now? i'll even let you choose an anime if you stop asking questions that make me sweaty."

he smirked and nodded. "okay, come up here, though."

you joined him on the couch and you spent the rest of the night binging anime episodes. you wouldn't be able to say what you watched, though, because the entire time, your mind was stuck on what the answers would've been if they were about joshua.

the end is long and beautiful.

you marry kwon soonyoung in front of all your loved ones, and you do it knowing full well this man will give you the happiest life. you spend the night eating the food you both painstakingly chose together, dancing to songs recommended by your guests on their RSVPs, and laughing so hard, tears stream down both of your faces.

and when you sidle up to your best friend as he leans on the bar, waiting for his drink, he has the strength to look happy for you. you’re sure he isn’t. at least not quite all the way.

“i’m happy you’re happy, y/n.”

you smile. “thank you, shua.” you pause, tilting your head a little in thought. you add: “for everything.”

“what’s everything?” he asks, smiling in confusion.

“for everything... for being my best friend all this time. loving me like you did. letting me love you," you list, ignoring the way his eyes widen at you. "most of all, i guess i just want to thank you for everything you gave up so we could be here,” you finish before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. you pull away, cupping his face, and smiling. “i’ll never forget it. thank you.”

you’re swept back onto the dance floor by your bridesmaids. it was a short exchange, but you know it was enough.

you’re not dumb. you knew what joshua had to give up so you could be here, happy, in love, and with the man perfect for you.

everything. he had to give up everything. he chose his devotion to god over his devotion to you, and you never faulted him for that because you knew it was a decision that would destroy him, and maybe it did at one point, having to bury his love as deep as he did.

you didn’t believe heaven was real, and still, he chose to love you until it hurt like hell and you knew it. there might have been a younger version of you that was heartbroken he couldn’t possibly imagine a life with you where you were capable of supporting his beliefs wholeheartedly regardless of yours. because you would have. you would have done everything in your power to make him feel loved while keeping his door to his god wide open.

there might have been a younger version of you that would’ve hated him for this.

but tonight, as you slow dance with your husband, feeling the safest you’ve felt in your entire life, all you can do is thank joshua hong for all the choices he made without asking you first.

ironically, because of him, you can see god now. you can see god in the way soonyoung holds you like you’re the most precious person in his life. you can see god in his patience and care. in his kindness. in his dedication to making you smile and laugh.

you’ve never seen god in a clearer light.

you think back to your last, honest night with joshua, on that deserted street, when he drunkenly called you.

“what are you really doing here?”

“i’m mourning,” he answered. “i’m mourning the life we could’ve had.” he frowned as tears began to fall down your face. “don’t cry. i don’t want to make you sad. i’m okay, i promise. i’ll be okay. i’m just letting you go now... for real this time.” he hiccuped. "for real, for real."

“you didn’t have to, you know,” you whispered.

“i think i did.”

you got him to his mother’s home that night, not wanting him to wake up alone with the weight of his sadness. you didn’t exchange many words, but you knew she knew. she hugged you, told you she was happy for you and soonyoung, and she looked at you for several, long seconds. you felt like she could see right through you because she probably could—she always did.

“you’ll always have him.”

“and he’ll always have me.”

“i know.”

the end is long and beautiful, and it’s simultaneously the best and the most devastating night of your life.

but your lives go on, and you and joshua both find what keeps you warm at night, and you hold onto it for as long as you can.

and you’re okay with that. you hope he is too.

JOIN MY PERMANENT TAG LIST HERE

[chocosvt]

best friend’s brother

⚬ pairing: joshua x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 37k ⚬ warnings: alcohol, mentions of unsafe sex/unplanned pregnancy  ⚬ genres: timestep, romance, angsty angst, major feels abt having a crush, lots of flirting, smut, drama, happy tears.

✧✎ synopsis: joshua happens to be your best friend’s older brother. he’s pretty, and he’s got a lot of cool details about him that you pay a concerning amount of attention to, but he’s just a friend (if you could even call it that). still, what does he think of you, anyway? that is—if he thinks of you.

 ✧✎ a/n: this is a rewrite of an old fic that i uploaded in 2016. keep in mind the original version was only 13k! i’ve made so many changes to this story and i really hope those who read it enjoy it! thank you sm!

⇢ here is this fic’s inspo playlist ⇢ smut section is marked! ⇢ taglist included in final author’s note

13.

You flipped to the next page of the plastic binder and squiggled a small ‘seven’ inside the margin. Then, your eyes wandered back to the math textbook sitting in between you and your best friend. It was difficult to study on Jennie’s bed, but she liked it that way, and there definitely wasn’t enough room at her desk.

Keep reading

[b3atupchanels]

actually addicted to fanfic like oh okay

[rosequartz-archive]

Pairing 🌷 Florist Jeonghan x Florist Female OC

Synopsis 🌷 You're going to do it this year. You're going to beat that irritating, self righteous ass hat that runs the rival flower shop across the street. You're going to become the country's best florist, you're going to become florist of the year. Hopefully.

Genre 🌷 Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Smut, Fluff

Plot Warnings 🌷 family loss, mental health struggles, struggling to cope with loss, Seungkwan is the bestie we all need, business rivals, he's a complete ass hole but then so is OC to a point, I've no idea which flowers work together so everything explicity to do with flower arrangements is probably wrong, a lot of linking self worth to success, mutual pining?, found family

Smut Warnings 🌷female masturbation, dry humping, a lot of discussion about what does and does not constitute dry humping (they're both idiots)

Word Count 🌷 10.5k

a/n 🌷 Yesterday I reached 600 followers, 10,000 likes and a 1000 reblogs all on the same day which is INSANE considering I didn't think anyone would read the silly stories I write when I'm trying to ignore actual work. So thank you to everyone who reads them and engages with them, and everyone who follows me. I should've probably uploaded a slighty happier story to celebrate but this one really means a lot to me. So thank you and it really means the world that people seem to enjoy what I write 🩷

“_____, you should really head out front. There's this guy. Tall, handsome, I swear he's a walking wet dream." 

“Well then you ask him out." You answer Seungkwan distractedly as you try to find more wire for the display you're trying to finish. 

“Sure," Seungkwan scoffs, “that'll go down really well with my girlfriend." 

“Well then I don't know what you want me to say. Just serve him and send him on his way." 

“Well that's the thing, he doesn't seem to want to buy anything." 

“What?" You sit up, leaves and bits of wire falling from you as you turn around to him. 

“Yeah, he's just browsing," Seungkwan leans out of your office to check he's still there, sending him a wave when clearly the walking wet dream waves at him, “asking about how business is going." 

“How tall?" 

“Oh, about, this high?" Seungkwan places his hand to show where the wet dream would be against his own height. 

"Seungkwan,” you mutter darkly, your eyes clearly showing your annoyance from the way Seungkwan tenses, "did I not tell you about Jeonghan?” 

"The man who owns the other flower shop?” 

"The devil that ruins everything good in this world.” 

"Ok?" His eyes widen as he backs away from you, “But what does he have to do with this? This man seems really sweet! Seriously, you should…..” 

But Seungkwan doesn't get to finish his sentence because you've slammed your scissors on the worktable and marched past him. 

Maybe Seungkwan is right, some hot Adonis may have walked into your shop. But you know in your heart of hearts that this isn't that. 

A man that comes into a flower shop and doesn't buy anything? That's not normal. Unless they're very into flowers and if that's the case then they know what they want and they're gone in the blink of an eye. Every other man is either someone in blind panic because they've forgotten something, in a rush because their partner found out they're cheating and they're hoping flowers would in some way make up for their lack of keeping their dick in their pants or they've no clue what they want and so they ask for help straight away. 

But a man just browsing? Unheard of. 

So that leaves one option. 

“Jeonghan." 

“______!" He smirks as he turns around slowly, him having been sniffing your roses. 

“Out." 

“Huh," he laughs fakely, “no wonder I have most of your customers, I see your friendly disposition hasn't improved." 

“Get. Out." 

“You know," he looks past you, “if you ever want to work for someone who isn't," he looks you up and down, “this." He gestures at you, “I'm always looking for new workers. We have so much to do," 

“He works here. Get out Jeonghan." 

"You don't know what I want. Maybe I'm raising money for the needy.” 

"Oh please,” you scoff, "you don't care about anyone but yourself. You're just here to cheat.” 

"Why would I need to cheat? I've been Korea's Top Florist for the past two years on the bounce. How many years have you been top florist?” 

You don't answer. 

"Well?” 

"I haven't.” You mumble. 

"What was that?” 

"I haven't!” 

"No need to shout," he mocks. 

“You've only won because of your little gaggle of idiots that worship the ground you walk on. I bet you don't even do half the arrangements yourself!”

"Just because I take care of my hands, unlike you,” he glances down, "who seems to have the hands of an old ship merchant.” 

You shouldn’t have left your wire in your office. It would look so pretty wrapped around his fucking neck. 

“Are you done?" 

“Do you want me to put those peonies in the bin as I leave?" 

“Oh they're not rubbish! They're for the com-pe-tition…..” Seungkwan folds in on himself and tries to stop talking as you turn and give him a look of utter disgust. 

Jeonghan snorts, obviously over the moon with himself. 

"Bye then!” He grins as he strides out of the shop. "Good luck this weekend _____! You'll need it.” You hear him tack on that last bit as the door closes. 

An eery silence falls over your beloved flower shop as you turn slowly to face Seungkwan. 

“I didn't know who he was! I've only been here two weeks!" 

“I described him to you! I told you exactly what to watch out for!" 

“You said he looked like a troll!" 

“He does!" 

“Oh common _____, even I can see he's hot." 

“Well why don't you just go work for him then!" 

“Because you're my friend and I said I'd help you out!" 

“Oh you've really done that," you fold your arms, “you've told him the main flower on my display!" 

“Surely if he's won, he won't need to cheat!" 

You gawk at Seungkwan. You'd been friends since school but he'd been living abroad for the past five years until he came home one Christmas, fell in love and moved back home. He'd heard you moan about Jeonghan but there's only so much you can hear about one person until you eventually stop listening. And that's what Seungkwan had done. He doesn't really remember a single thing you said had happened in the two years since Jeonghan opened his shop because it's never ending when it comes to you and Jeonghan. And frankly, he doesn't understand why you make such a big deal of it. You both have good businesses, it all just seems very pointless. 

“Two years ago, he came in here, saw I was using lilies as the main flower and suddenly he was too. Last year, I used hydrangeas and sweet peas, he used hydrangeas and sweet peas.” 

"It's probably a coincidence.” 

"It isn't! And he doesn't do them himself, Seungkwan!” 

"He must be able to do something, he opened a shop." 

“Who's side are you on?!" 

“Yours!" 

“It doesn't seem like it!" You rush past him, smacking his shoulder with yours. 

You've got too much to do other than to argue with Seungkwan about something he's clearly not bothered to take any interest in when you've been telling him. 

"Seungkwan!” 

"Mrs Kim, Mrs Park! How are you both! Gosh it's been years!” 

Two old ladies in coats much too bright for a Friday afternoon walk into the shop, their arms outstretched in greeting at the man who they knew as a boy. 

"Well it would be dear! That's what happens when you move across the world and forget about us!” 

"I could never forget about you,” he rolls his eyes as he moves to hug both of the old ladies. 

"How's our _____?” 

"Stressed," Seungkwan sighs as he sits back on the stool behind the counter, “and I think I've made it worse. That guy that owns the other flower shop came in and we've both upset her." 

“I wish she wouldn't pay attention to him. He goes out of way to annoy her and she falls for it every time." Mrs Kim shakes her head. 

The two old ladies had been a mainstay of the shop since the day it opened. The shop originally belonged to your grandmother and their best friend. They made quite the formidable trio and they knew everything about everyone. You'd more or less been brought up by the three of them. 

Your parents had been killed in a freak accident when a bridge collapsed, when you were seven. Your grandmother raised you, she built you up from the shell of a girl that landed on her doorstep and Mrs Kim and Mrs Park were right there with her. You’d never met your grandfather, he'd died years before you were born and so you had three of the strongest women you'd ever met as your role models. 

They loved you like you were their own and you loved them more than anything. They didn't make up for what you'd lost. But they never made you feel alone or unloved, you never missed that strong sense of home because they'd become your home. 

"Does he really cheat?” 

"I don't know,” Mrs Park dismisses, "if you ask me, they love each other.” 

Seungkwan chokes on his drink much to the delight of Mrs Kim and disgust of Mrs Park, who throws a tissue at him. 

"I don't think so, I've never seen her so annoyed with anyone," 

“I agree with Seungkwan," says Mrs Kim meekly. 

“You two just haven't been paying attention." She rolls her eyes, “Anyway. When are you going to get married?" 

“Me?" Seungkwan points to himself with wide eyes. 

“You've been with that young lady for over a year now. I’d put a ring on it before she finds out all of your bad habits." 

"I'll think about it,” he grumbles as he takes a sip of his drink. 

"I can see why she's upset, the first year she feels ready to enter that competition and he turns up and takes over!” 

"He has a right to enter it,” Mrs Park says matter of factly, "she just needs to focus.” 

"She's pretty focused,” Seungkwan glances at your closed office door, "I'm not sure she's slept in days. I don't get why they're the way they are with each other. I know I've not been helping out for long but there's a steady stream of customers, it's not like he's stolen her business.” 

"It's her patch.” Mrs Kim shrugs.

"It's a public street.” 

"You know,” Mrs Kim turns to her friend, "not everything has to be prim and proper or by the rules. Sometimes you can take someone's side simply because they're your person.” 

“I will always have ______’s back. I just don't see the point in beating about the bush. He has his store. She has hers. Yes, some customers from here have gone there but some have done the opposite. They're both being childish." 

Mrs Kim ignores her, she's always been the jollier, more easy going of the two and she's ready to fight for you at the drop of a hat. Mrs Park would too but not in the same way. She's pragmatic and matter of fact, there's rules and those rules are there for you to live by. She's no time for the whimsy in life unlike her best friend. 

“She was stressed the past two years but this year," Mrs Kim frowns at the office door, “she just seems worse. She's had the design planned for months and that poor man at the flower market was ready to block her number because she kept ringing so many times to make sure he had all the right stuff." 

“She’s definitely not herself," Seungkwan agrees. 

“Whatever it is, she'll tell us in her own time." Mrs Park nods, joining them in looking at the door which they know you're behind, knee deep in off cuts and floral foam. 

“It’s time like this I wish her grandmother was still here," Seungkwan says quietly. 

The two old ladies just nod, both trying to fight tears, as they all keep looking at the office door. They miss her just as much as you do. Life hadn't been the same in the three years since she'd passed and left you her beloved flower shop. Even the shop itself felt like it was frozen in time. 

Where Jeonghan's was modern and clean, with sleek holders for his flowers, yours was a bit on the quirkier side. Your buckets were metal and mismatched and you had bunting and fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, it was cute if not a bit on the older side. But you loved it. Even if you did now have an influx of influencers outside because apparently your little shop was “peak cottage core". 

It was yours. And it was home. And that's all that mattered. 

"Why isn't he here yet?” 

"Why do you care?” Seungkwan asks, clearly annoyed because this is your third time asking. 

"Because it's weird. Normally he takes the day off like we all do to get set up. It makes no sense to set everything up tomorrow morning, it's too big a rush.” 

You've been in the competition hall all day. Just like every other competitor for Korea's Top Florist. And yet Jeonghan had chosen to open his shop. His display area was right next to yours and you hadn't even seen any of his minions wandering around. It was weird. And it was beginning to make you feel on edge. 

"Maybe he had a wedding to get ready for.” 

"Maybe a funeral.” You stick a peony into the ornate arch you'd been creating for days, "hopefully his own.” 

Seungkwan looks up at you from the bottom of the ladder you're standing on, like he's trying to figure something out. 

"What?” 

"Nothing,” he shrugs, "just thinking about something Mrs Park said.” 

You frown at him but he's clearly got no intention of telling you what they were gossiping about so you go back to fighting with your lavender. 

“I like this design," he changes the subject as you descend down the ladder. 

“Really? You don't think it's too simple? Too bland?" 

“I don't," he looks at your display, “I think it's perfect. It's simple, sure but it's classic." 

“Classic doesn't win awards." You sigh as you fix one of the smaller bouquets. 

“It doesn't, but the way you've done it just might. You're an amazing florist _____, don't let some idiot bring you down. You do you. Fuck what anyone else does." 

“Thank you Seungkwan," you rest your head on his shoulder, “I'm sorry for how I've been. I appreciate you helping you know." 

“I know you do," he rests his head on yours, “and when I've got my business up and running, you can return the favour." 

“Deal." You giggle. 

“Just go home and try and chill out. You've done everything you can, tomorrow we deal with whatever the world throws at us.” 

"How did I get such a great best friend?” You grin at him. 

"You shared your cookies with me at lunch when we were five. I've always been easily bought.” 

As much as you've tried to relax, there's still one thing playing on your mind. What the fuck had been so important that Jeonghan felt like he could just not use the prep day for the most important competition in the country. Well for florists anyway. 

Even as you're watching some trash on TV in bed, all you can think about is where Jeonghan was. 

You glance at your phone. But then straight away avert your eyes back to the TV. 

But you could just take one glance? See if he'd put something up on Instagram? If it was that important surely he'd be straight on Instagram, he's always pouting and posing on there. Not that you look. Very often. 

It doesn't matter. Like Seungkwan said, you do you. It doesn't matter what he's doing. 

What if it's something you don't know about though? What if there's been some community planning meeting and they're about to bulldoze your whole street? That's just the type of thing he'd purposely not tell you about. He'd let you turn up to rubble whilst he banked the pay off he wouldn't have told you about. 

No you need to check his Instagram, it's a matter of public safety at this point. 

You head to the search bar but embarrassingly his page is first on the list of recents. Anyway. One click on his profile and you see that he's updated his stories. For fuck’s sake. He does this on purpose, you're certain he sublimely knows you check his profile and so makes it harder for you. 

More fool him though. You log out of your Instagram and into another account. A decoy account you'd set up in the name of your cat. She doesn't post much, it's pretty hard with no thumbs, but occasionally you'll remember to update it. Not that you really need to, it only has five accounts that follow thousands of people and you'd only really set it up to spy on Jeonghan. 

You get settled in bed, making sure you're in optimum comfort for your covert spying and press on his stories. 

Well that's disappointing. It's just some flowers. You know he's a florist but you were hoping for something more juicy than flowers. 

You almost drop your phone though when you press onto the next story. 

It's him. In a suit, hair pulled back showing his forehead and standing with a woman in a wedding dress. He's married?! He's been engaged and you didn't know?! He's……oh no wait. No, it's his sister. Calm down ______. 

But fuck does he look good though. He's broader than you realise and the suit only accentuates that. 

You groan as your pussy betrays you. That familiar tingle between your legs whenever you stop to really look at the man that ruins every day of your life. Because no matter how hard you try, you can't deny that you're attracted to him. Yes, you told Seungkwan that he looked like a troll but in the comfort of your own bed you can admit that he's your dream man. If only he didn't have the personality of a viper, he'd be more than a catch. 

Your thumb stays on the screen, your eyes rushing over the picture again and again as you take in the man in front of you. Your mind drifts off into places that aren't unusual, images of you and Jeonghan rolling around in a field of wildflowers, your hands all over each other. Him whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he completely ravages you. 

There's already a mess between your thighs, you know there is. Your phone falls from your hand as you imagine it being Jeonghan's hand tucking under the waist band of your pyjama shorts instead of your own, imagining it was his long perfect fingers that were circling your clit. 

What you wouldn't give to feel him hovering over you, his soft lips scattering kisses across your body as he slips that first finger into you. Your hips buck a little when all that fills your hole is your own disappointing finger so you go back to your clit, you need to cum now you've started, you can't be fucked off with fantasy Jeonghan as well as real Jeonghan. 

You've no doubt he's good with his fingers but it's his tongue that you can never get out of your mind. The way it pokes out when he smirks and thinks he's got the upper hand over you. Two of your fingers frantically start rubbing your clit as you imagine that tongue, always so quick with its harsh words, flicking your clit as you pull on his hair to keep him close to you. 

Your fingers are frantic as you're completely lost in your fantasy, completely lost in the idea of Jeonghan being lost in you. It's just as you're imagining how good it'd feel as he stretched you open with his big dick, that you're certain fantasy Jeonghan has, that your fingers finally bring you the release you needed. 

Even as you're cumming, your fingers still moving in little circles, you imagine him whispering in your ear how good you've been for him, about how pretty you look when you cum for him and it just draws the orgasm even longer. 

Your fingers slow and eventually Jeonghan disappears from your brain, gradually everything disappears from your brain as you drift off to sleep, your hand still in your pyjamas and your phone still lit beside you. Not a care in the world for what’s about to happen. 

“He didn't go with peonies then?" Seungkwan says as he comes to stand next to you. 

This can't be happening. How has he built a fucking maze out of flowers in a show area so small?! It's like something from Alice In Wonderland! You're half expecting an obnoxious Queen of Hearts to come strutting out. 

"I don't……I think…….How has he done that?” You panic. 

You thought you'd done it this year. It wasn't wild in design but it was perfectly put together. A whole perfect scene of countryside style flowers. It was like something you'd see at a wedding in the country, soft pinks with lavender and baby’s breath and peonies as the focus. It all ended in an ornate arch with bouquets and jars filled with flowers everywhere. It was classy and even the old lady that used to judge the competition said she had a good feeling when she stopped by yesterday. 

But you can't compete with what he's done. Any confidence you had disappeared the second you walked in and saw them manoeuvring fucking hedges about the place. 

"We may as well go home now,” 

"______, no,” 

"What's the point Seungkwan, look at it.” You both turn back again as a rose bush shaped like a rabbit gets wheeled in. 

"It's overkill.” 

"It's incredible.” 

"I'm pleased we both think so.” You both jump when you hear a fucking irritating voice directly behind you. 

"Jeonghan.” You turn, gritting your teeth. 

"You like my entry then?” He looks behind you at his maze, "yours is……something," he sighs like he hasn't got time for your pitiful excuse of an entry. 

“You know what they say about men who show off, always compensating for something," how you've got the nerve to be so cocky when you got off just last night to the idea of what he's compensating for, you don't know. 

“Oh the only thing I'm compensating for is the poor judges who have to look at that," he looks at your display, “before they get to see mine." 

“You've got some nerve, you know that?" You step closer to him, “This competition used to be sought after before you and your tacky ways turned up." 

“How would you know?" he steps even closer to you, “You only plucked up the courage to enter two years ago. Not my fault you got beaten by a superior florist.” 

"Florists.” You correct him. 

"What?” 

"Well,” you scoff, "it's not you doing the work is it? It's them,” you point at his little squad of idiots, "you've just turned up here and done fuck all.” 

"Well I'd ask if you had help. But from the state of that it's clear it's all you.” 

You ball your fists, how fucking dare he. The whole point is that you do most of it yourself. How the hell do they judge the best florist if it's a team of twenty people? 

"Where’s your costume Jeonghan?” 

"What costume?” 

"Well I presume it's you who'll be wearing the dress for the queen of hearts, your heads exactly the same shape as Helena Bonham Carter’s in the film!" 

“Better than being as ridiculous as the fucking Mad Hatter. Always moping about the place and making everyone miserable!”

Your heart clenches at that. You don't make people miserable. It's just that in the two years Jeonghan has been on the same street as you, you haven't really had anything to be happy about. You lost the last piece of family you had. You didn't really feel like skipping down the street singing about how lovely life was. 

"That's enough,” Seungkwan stands between you and Jeonghan, hoping to stop the little scene that others had started to notice. “Just drop it. Both of you. The judges will be round soon, they don't need to see this." 

“I'm done here anyway,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes as he wanders off. Probably to move a singular rose and pretend like that means he's contributed. 

“You're not mad. And you're not miserable." Seungkwan says sternly. 

“Can we go home? This whole thing is ruined anyway." 

You try to move past him but he stops you. 

“Move," you try to bat him away. 

“No." He grabs your shoulders. 

“You're not mad. You're ______. You're our _____ and life's been pretty fucking shitty to you. I don't care what the fucker over there has or doesn't have. You've made that display and you should be fucking proud of it. So you're going to stay here, with me, and show the judges all the hard work you've done.” 

“But he's got a bush shaped like a dolphin Seungkwan!" 

“And you've got one of the most intricately designed things I've ever seen in my life. Seriously _____," he shakes you a little bit when you roll your eyes, “I can't even fathom how you've done all of that, every last detail is perfect. And you loved it yesterday. Don't let what he's done change that." 

“It'll be embarrassing though," 

“He's embarrassing, he has to make you feel small to make himself feel better. Come on, snap out of it. Mrs Kim and Mrs Park will be here soon, don't let them find you sad." 

“I suppose. Only if you promise we can get drunk later." 

“I'll text Nari and tell her to buy tequila.” He smiles as he walks you back to your display. 

"Tell her to buy two. And some snacks. And some more tequila.” 

"You got it,” he snickers. 

"You should really marry her y’know.” 

"Only if you promise to recreate this for us,” he stops you in front of your display. 

It’s pretty phenomenal even if you do say so yourself. It's like something out of a fairytale. 

"That depends on if she buys the right snacks.” 

"I'm sorry,” Seungkwan slurps his soda, "but needing a break in judging is pathetic. They've only done half!” 

"Maybe they'll be a little brighter after lunch though, more inclined to give high marks?” 

"Hopefully. No! Not hopefully because yours is bad!” He panics when your eyes widen. "They just seem a grumpy bunch. Hopefully anything that makes them more likely to score highly, the better.” 

You just nod and eat your last fry. 

“I think I'm going to head back, you said you’d ring Nari anyway." 

“You don't need me to come with you?" 

"I'll be fine,” you smile. 

"I'll be there soon, don't go starting any fights!” 

You roll your eyes and wander off. You just need a couple of minutes alone to sort your head out.

You don't need to put yourself through this competition but it's become an obsession almost. You need to win it. You need to prove that you can do it. Your grandmother had won it six times. Your mother had won it once when she worked with your grandmother for a couple of summers. You needed to do this. 

You don't stop to chat with anyone, just walk from the cafeteria to the competition hall and hope you've got enough time to quadruple check everything again before the judges arrive. Not that there's really anyone to chat to, everyone has been working so hard. The second the judges said there was a break for lunch, everyone scrambled out of the hall. 

You round the corner of the makeshift walkway which has display areas either side and glare at Jeonghan's masterpiece. 

He's such an asshole. He's always so…..

But any thoughts you had in your head disappear instantly when you see your display. 

Every container and jug with a bouquet in it is overturned, your entire archway is broken in half with heads of flowers all over the place from the force it's been hit with. The whole thing a fucking mess. Everything is destroyed. Everything you'd worked on for nearly two months, all the sleepless nights about how you’d place every last fucking flower. Gone. In an instant. 

Your heart thuds, your hands shaking though you're not sure whether it's in anger or because you're distraught. 

Who would do this? 

Who would ruin any chance you had of even showing your work let alone winning with it. 

It's fucking cruel. It's something that….

Jeonghan. 

You hear voices filling the hall, lunch obviously having finished and everyone eager to get on with the competition. 

But you've never felt so trapped and ashamed. 

What the hell are the judges going to say when they see this? How are you going to face every other competitor? You could plead with them, beg them for another chance. But what would be the point? The competition is a one day thing, you can't fix this in a day. 

“_____?" Seungkwan says quietly as approaches you and sees the state of your display. “What happened?" 

“I don't know, I came back and it was like this. What do I do Seungkwan? How can I fix it? They'll be here in like two minutes. There's only one person before me!” 

"Er,” he rushes past you, squatting down to pick up a torn off peony, "I don't know _____. I really just, who would do this?” 

"You really have to ask?” 

You hear Jeonghan's voice, him holding court with his employees as they saunter back to their area just next to yours but before you can say anything to him, the judges descend.

"Sorry we're early _____, the lady previous to you had to rush home. Family emergency oh.” They all stop dead, looking at your display. 

You feel like the world is closing in on you. Jeonghan has spotted the judges and he's walking towards your area, every other competitor seems to be appearing too, the judges are here and you can't fucking escape them. 

Everything is too loud and yet there seems to be a deafening silence as people spot your entry. 

So you do the only thing you can. You stand in silence as everyone watches and the judges fill out their marking papers, though what they're marking, you don't know. It's just a pile of shit, the only place it belongs is on a compost heap. 

You know Jeonghan is looking at you but you can't face him. You won't let him see you broken. You won't give him the satisfaction. 

Seungkwan comes to stand by you, his hand moving to wrap around your shoulder but he thinks better of it and just stands silently by you as you go through this humiliation ritual. 

The judges give you an overly polite smile as they leave and gradually people disperse from your display area, muttering and chuckling about what you've presented. They can't have thought it was meant to look like this? Surely they don't think you're that terrible a florist that you'd present utter crap as your entry? 

You hear as everyone oohs and ahhs over Jeonghan’s entry and finally, now they've all gone, you let yourself break a little. Not completely, but a little. 

“Who did this? Was it him?" 

You just nod and wipe a tear off your cheek. 

“Shall we go?" He rushes, just wanting to get you away from the situation. 

“No. I'll stay for my score."

“_____," he moans like he knows you're just going to hurt yourself more the longer you stay, “don't make it harder for yourself. Let's go and get drunk." 

“I’m staying Seungkwan." 

“_____?" 

Both your heads whip around to find Mrs Park and Mrs Kim approaching slowly, clearly baffled as to what's happened. 

“Hi," you smile fakely, “the judges have been! We're just waiting for the result!" 

“W-what?" 

“H-how?" 

But they both stop when Seungkwan shakes his head, silently telling them to leave it. 

And so they just sit with you, all four of you sharing some raspberry tea Mrs Kim has brought in a flask as you wait for the judges to finish their deliberations. 

The second they tell you your score. Or lack of one because they deemed there was nothing suitable to judge, you tell the three of them you're heading home. They don't stop you. They know you well enough by now to leave it until you're ready to speak about it. But it doesn't stop them worrying as they watch you leave the building, clearly wiping tears from your eyes. 

“You should really lock your doors _____." 

You spin round when you hear his voice. 

“You shouldn't just let yourself into people's shops, especially when the closed sign is on the door." You turn away from him because Jeonghan is the last person you want to see. 

“Are you ok?" 

“What?" You turn back to face him, anger bubbling in your stomach, “Are you being serious?! You do all that and then barge in here and ask me that?!" 

"You can't think I did that?!” 

"Oh what, you're going to try and spin this as it was so shit, why would I waste my time ruining it? Fuck you Jeonghan! Just go away and leave me alone!” 

You carry on cleaning the surfaces like you had been doing when he let himself in here. 

“It was one of the florists from Busan. I made them check the CCTV. She heard the judges commenting on your display, saying how amazing it was and she did what she did." 

"Yeah right.” You keep wiping even though you're pretty certain the place has never been cleaner. 

"It's true.” 

"It was shit. You said so yourself. I doubt they said any of that bullshit.” 

“You don't want to listen to me. What do I know?”  

“Who won?" 

“Does it matter?" 

“Who won Jeonghan?" 

A pause. 

“I did." 

"Congratulations.” You throw the cloth in the sink and decide to rearrange your scissors instead of looking at him. 

"I'm sorry.” 

"You said you didn't do it.” 

"I mean for everything.” 

You just ignore him. 

"I didn't intend to start this war. It's just that day I moved into my shop, you were sort of rude and I guess…….” 

"I was rude and you decided to ruin my life?!” 

"I didn't ruin it, you gave as good as you got!” 

"You stole my ideas!” 

"I didn't……well, I mean I altered my ideas when I saw yours, sure. But I didn't steal anything. And I definitely didn't this time!” 

“Well at least you admit it, I guess!" 

“Why is it even that important to you! It's just a stupid fucking competition!" 

“That's easy for you to say! You won it!" 

“I only kept entering to annoy you! To spend time with you!" 

“You didn't even want to win?!" 

You lose it, tears stream down your cheeks and you struggle to catch your breath. You'd have hit the ground but luckily Jeonghan’s quick on his feet and he scoops you into his arms, lowering you both onto the ground of your flower shop as you break your heart crying. 

You must spend ten minutes sobbing into his arms, struggling to catch your breath as he soothingly rubs your back and whispers that everything will be ok. 

But how can it be? He’s made sure it won't be. Or so you thought, you suppose he's got no reason to lie about the evil florist from Busan. But it doesn't stop the stab of sadness that shatters your heart every time you try to catch your breath. 

Once your breathing gets a little more regular and your tears fall slower, he makes you sit up so he can look at you. 

"I never meant to make you feel like this, I never meant to upset you at all. It all just got out of hand,” 

"It's not about you,” 

"_____ please I'm trying to apologise,” he pleads. 

"No, I'm saying it's not about you. It's never been about you. I needed to do this. I made my whole life centre around winning this and now I've failed again. They'd be so ashamed of me, they'd be so disappointed in me,” you cry. 

"Who?” He frowns, moving so you're both leaning against the cupboard next to each other. 

"My parents. My grandma.” You shrug as you wipe your cheeks, though fresh tears still wet them. 

"Did they not see it yesterday? Before everything happened earlier?" 

“Pretty impossible." You huff out a sad laugh. 

“Why?" 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and pull your knees up to your chest. 

“My parents died when I was seven. This shop," you look around with a sad smile, “it was my grandma's. She died three years ago. She raised me. Her and her two friends. This is all I've ever known. I thought," your voice cracks when your lip wobbles again, “I thought if I won, like my mom did, like my grandma did six times, it'd be something we shared. I-I thought," you sniff, “they'd be proud of me." 

“Oh _____." 

“I don't need pity. All anyone ever gives me is pity. It does nothing, it doesn't help anything. I," you wipe your nose, tears still falling, “I don't even remember them, my parents I mean. I just wanted something to share with m-my m-mom." 

“And I ruined it." 

“You won," you shrug, pulling your sweater over your hands, “I'm not good enough. Everyone knows it and now I can stop kidding myself too." 

“Are you joking?!” 

“Did you not see your name on that trophy three years in a row now?" 

“_____, those first two years I stole some of your ideas and this year, it was all my mom's ideas. I'm a good florist," he concedes, “but I'm terrible with ideas. I've only won because of other people.” 

"You still won. My designs and execution still weren't good enough.” 

"Well we’ll agree to disagree. Next year, you'll smash it.” He says matter of factly. 

"There won't be a next year, I'm done with it. I can't go back there, everyone was laughing at me, everyone saw……" 

“Everyone knows what happened. I told your friend and he told literally everyone to make sure they knew you were cheated." 

You manage to muster a small smile at the thought of Seungkwan doing that. You can imagine him marching round the competition hall and setting everyone straight, not stopping until he'd defended your honour. 

“And Sooyon and Minjin," 

“Who?" Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“The old ladies who are always here?" 

“Mrs Kim and Mrs Park?" 

“I don't know their last names." He shrugs. 

“Well I didn't know their first names." 

“Haven't you known them for a while?” 

"My whole life nearly,” 

"And you don't know their names?” He laughs incredulously. 

"I never asked,” you mumble, "they've always just been Mrs Kim and Mrs Park. I never even asked where their husbands were.” 

You huff out a little laugh when Jeonghan throws his head back in laughter but silence descends pretty quickly. 

“Why are you here?" 

"To say sorry.” 

“You said you didn't do anything." 

“I may not have ruined your display, but I've done enough. And I'm sorry," he rests his head against the cupboard and looks at you, “really sorry." 

“Thank you for telling me what happened," you murmur, trying not to look at him.

“You deserved to know, you deserved an apology." 

"I er,” you look around awkwardly, "I'm sorry I was rude that first day. It obviously upset you if it caused all this. I wasn't in a good place, I’m still not to be honest, but my grandma hadn't been gone long and then suddenly this shop was mine, it's no excuse…..” 

"_____,” he stops you with a hand on your knee, "you really don't need to say all this. I was childish, it shouldn't take one person being rude for like ten minutes for me to wage all out war," 

You can't help but smile at the way he says it. 

“Since we're being honest. I think I was just pissed because I spotted you on the street and had every intention of coming in here and asking you out." 

“What?!" You gasp, making him smile. 

“I don't really put myself out there much. I know with you I acted like an arrogant bastard but in reality, I'm shit with stuff like that. I have my friends and I keep myself to myself. My last relationship ended pretty badly and I've never been good at asking people out or approaching them. I saw you," he smiles at the memory and you finally turn to look at him properly, “and I thought you've got this Jeonghan she seems sweet, just do it. And then you were mean and I reacted like a five year old." 

“What a mess," you groan. 

“Does it help to know that the evil florist of Busan has been handed a lifetime ban?" 

“Not really. It might do in a few days, but not right now." 

He just nods. 

You both just look forward, clearly both a little shocked at what's just unfolded but neither of you make any attempts to move. 

"You're wrong you know.” 

"What?” 

"You're wrong. I didn't know your parents but there's no way you could be a disappointment to anyone." 

You purse your lips, trying to not cry again. 

“It was silly, thinking that it would bring me closer to them. I just got so fixated on it. It was like it justified losing them in a weird way, I don't know, it's stupid," 

"It's not,” he reaches for your hand absentmindedly, not even realising how much the simple action makes your heart leap in its cage, "I know you said you didn't want my pity. And it's not pity,” he pauses for a moment to get the words right, "it's more…….admiration I think, I don't know how you function. My mom still calls me each morning to make sure I'm awake after my alarm. You're stronger than you know just for getting up each day and carrying on.” 

"I think,” why are you telling him this? And why does it feel so right to tell him? "I think I'm lonely. Doing the competition made me feel like they were with me. Seungkwan moved home and his girlfriend is lovely and everything but I can't keep being their third wheel. It made me feel like I still had someone, to be doing the same thing they'd done," you sniffle. 

“I could be someone to you?" He says softly. 

"You?” You turn to him wide eyed though you don't drop his hand. 

"I know a lot of shit has happened and I could've probably asked in a cooler way….but…..I could take you out? Or we could stay in? Or we could just sit here?” 

"Jeonghan.” You stop his rambling, still not dropping his hand. 

“Yes?" 

“You might need to bear with me and I'm definitely not forgiving you for how mean you were," 

“Well I'm not forgiving you for the comment about my head being like the Queen of Hearts," he chimes in, both of you giggling. 

“But, I think I'd like that? I-If you could be someone to me I mean," you stutter awkwardly. 

“I promise I'm not as big a dickhead as you think I am. I'm actually quite boring, my idea of a fun day out is going to the Lego store and then a pizza at home." 

The way he witters on is so fucking cute, the complete opposite of the ass hole who told you your flower arrangements were shit. 

“That sounds like quite a fun date to be honest," you smile a little when he realises what you've said. 

“A date?!" His eyes snap to yours. 

“Was that not what you meant?" 

“It was! It totally was! I mean," he coughs, trying to play it cool, “I’d be down for that." He shrugs. 

He keeps holding your hand but now it feels like you're holding each other's hands. Like you're starting something new. Together. 

“It's lucky I missed yesterday’s prep day, I'd have probably shoe horned some lavender into the rose bushes just to annoy you." 

“You couldn’t miss a wedding." You giggle but that's cut off pretty quickly when you realise what the fuck you've just said. 

“I-I…" 

“How did you know about the wedding?" He smirks, turning to face you a little more. 

“I heard one of your staff mention it," you dismiss him. 

“None of them knew where I was." 

Fucking hell. 

“I," you sigh, knowing you need to tell him, “I might lurk on your instagram. Sometimes. Occasionally." 

“Hm," he hums, trying and failing miserably to hide his smug grin, “I don't see your name or anything that looks like you in the people who've viewed my story." 

“You don't know my username." 

“I do. I lurk on yours too. Not that you ever update it, seriously twice a year is fucking ridiculous _____." 

"I don't have anything to put up!” 

"Never heard of a selfie?” He exasperates, "in fact," he frowns, “don't do that. I don't need people sliding into your DMs. Wait." He frowns at you, “I haven't uploaded my wedding dump yet, it was just a quick story. I didn't see your username," he presses again. 

Oh well this is fucking embarrassing. 

“I didn't view them. It was….. it was my cat." 

“Your cat?" He suppresses a laugh. 

“Well my cat’s Instagram page." You roll your eyes. 

"You're Tabitha?” 

"No I'm _____.” 

"Don't get smart with me. You're Tabitha the tabby cat? I wondered why a fucking random cat Instagram page was looking at all of my stories.”

"It was not all of them.” You scoff. 

"Oh it's every single one.” 

He's so fucking smug but fuck does that smugness make him even hotter. How annoying. 

"You looked nice in your suit.” 

"What? Didn't quite catch that." 

"I said you looked nice in your suit.” You bark and look away from him. 

“You looked really pretty on your birthday." 

“What?" You frown.

“That was the last photo you put up, you looked really pretty." 

“Thank you," you whisper, your cheeks beet red and yet something takes over you. 

Your mind is swirling with emotions. You're embarrassed, you're hurt, you're mourning and yet the man you've been crushing on begrudgingly for years has asked you out. And just like that it all gets too much and comes to a crescendo which causes something completely out of the ordinary for you. 

“Hey Jeonghan?" 

“Yeah?" He looks at you straight away and you don't think twice, your lips touch his and it's like everything slots into place, at least in this moment it does anyway. 

You'll deal with any regrets and everything else you're feeling tomorrow. Right now you need to feel wanted, you need comfort and from the way he's kissing you back straight away and pulling you onto his lap, he's more than willing to give it to you. 

You angle your head so you can deepen the kiss even more, his hands with a tight grip on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck. Both of you throwing caution to the wind, the drama of the day and the chaos of the past couple of years only making you more needy for each other. 

It's only when you grind down on him and both of you gasp at the feeling that the kiss deepens even more. His tongue roams your mouth as you grip his hair, making sure he's not moving anywhere and keeping him exactly where you need him. 

Your hips start moving of their own accord, you can feel him hard beneath you and yes, the thought of him technically made you cum last night but fuck does he feel good underneath you. 

But it's when he moves you and makes you grind more on him that some semblance of sense switches on in your brain. 

“Wait," you sigh, though your hips keep moving a little and you keep giving his lips little kisses like you can't bear to be away from him, “we should stop." 

“Why?” He kisses your neck, his fingers dimpling your skin under your sweater from the grip he has on you, "haven't we wasted enough time?” 

"I’m not in the,” you pull his hair to bring his lips back to yours and kiss him one more time, "right frame of mind to have sex.” 

"I get that,” he smiles up at you, your kissing pausing so you can gaze at each other, "but what about some good old dry humping?” 

"Like a horny teenager?” 

"You're already humping me.” He deadpans. 

He's got you there. 

"Look, we can stop this. Or you can hump me until we both cum. It's up to you," 

“Fuck it.” 

Your lips claim his again, your hips grinding down onto him. Thank fuck you'd changed into leggings before you came back to the shop. 

"Wait,” he pulls himself away from you like the annoying man you know him to be. "I can't feel shit.” 

"I can,” you go to kiss him again. 

"Hey! That's not fair! Let me undo my jeans.” 

"That feels like more than dry humping.” 

"Are we going to have to fill out some sort of evaluation sheet every time we do something?”

"No,” you smile sarcastically at him, “I'm just saying it feels like more," 

“I promise I'll keep it in my pants. And it'll feel better for you!" 

This is ridiculous. 

“Undo them then." You roll your eyes. 

“Well kneel up then, I can't move with you sitting on me, can I?" 

“You're not very romantic." You glare down at him as you raise yourself up enough for him to undo his jeans and reveal the huge tent in his underwear as he pulls his jeans just below his ass. 

“The romance can start tomorrow. I think we're just in the getting our horny frustration stage right now." 

“Thank you for that evaluation," you smirk using his own words against him. "Ready?” 

"Absolutely,” he grabs your hips and slams you down on his clothed dick. 

"Fuck,” 

"See I can have some good ideas of my own,” he chuckles before his tongue bullies its way into your mouth and your hips rush to start their grinding again. 

It's sloppy, it's not sexy or romantic, it's just what you both need. You need to feel something and feel something together to make sure everything that's happened today isn't some sort of dream, or maybe nightmare. 

But none your nightmares ever end in you feeling as fucking incredible as you do now. As your clit, even through three layers of cotton, gets just enough friction it needs against his hard length all you can do is keep moving your manic hips. 

His hands grip your ass, your moan into his mouth only making him sink his fingers harder into your skin as Jeonghan starts to guide your movements a little more. He pushes you down harder every time you grind forward, his soft lips moving to leave wet kisses all over your neck whilst you let out little moans and lose yourself in the feeling of pleasure. Every niggling thought you had that was helping to tear you down is gone because of the way he holds you, the way he's showing you that he wants this as much as you do. 

Your panties are ruined, you feel the wet friction every time you grind and one quick glance down where your bodies meet shows that Jeonghan isn't fairing much better than you. A huge wet patch has already formed on his underwear, his hooded eyes peering up at you so he can see why you've felt the need to remove his lips from your body. 

“I've wanted this for long _____, don't make me stop now," 

“I won't," you murmur before you take his lips again, your tongues dancing just how they had done earlier. 

A couple more thrusts with Jeonghan’s perfect hands gripping your ass so tight you're certain there'll be bruises, and you come undone on top of him. In your pants like some horny teenager at their first party. Your hips don't stop, if anything they speed up when you feel his body pause for a second and swallow the moan he releases into your mouth as he cums moments after you. 

His hands loosen on your ass but you don't stop moving until you're both utterly breathless and both of you are hot, sticky in some places, messes. 

“Still think,” he kisses you one last time before he rests his forehead against yours, "I'm over compensating for something?” 

"You're so annoying,” 

"You just used my big dick to get yourself off, I think I'm owed an apology.” 

"I'm sorry I said your floral display was overly tacky because you had a tiny dick.” 

"That feels more like an insult than an apology,” 

"Take it or leave it,” you shrug. 

“I'll take whatever you give me," he smiles, his arms wrapping around you and your head coming to rest on his shoulder, like he's shielding you from the world. 

“_____?" 

You hum, enjoying the way he's rubbing your back and basking in the afterglow of your orgasm. 

“Do you want to grab dinner tomorrow night? L-like a date?" 

You smile against him, your heart filling with a warm tingly feeling that you thought you'd never feel again in this lifetime. 

"I'd really like that,” 

"Great.” 

A gentle silence overtakes you. 

"And _____?” 

"Yeah?” 

"You're not alone anymore.” 

One Year Later 

"I don't see why we couldn't go too,” 

"Because, Seungkwan, she needed to do it on her own. And she didn't need you two fussing,” Mrs Park gives Seungkwan and Mrs Kim a very pointed look. 

“How dare you! I've never fussed!" 

“You've been fussing over that girl since she was seven. She wants to do it on her own." 

“Do you think he'll win this year?" 

“I hope not." Mrs Kim mutters as she sips her tea. 

“If he does, he's won it fair and square. We can't begrudge him that." 

“We can." Seungkwan murmurs. 

“I thought you liked him?" 

“I do! It's just, I want her to do this. This year feels different." 

Seungkwan isn't wrong, this year does feel different. And not just because they're currently waiting for you in his new café that’s just next door to your shop. But this whole past year has felt like you've been healing. 

Jeonghan never rushed you, he never shouted at you when you suddenly didn't respond to messages because you were having a bad day, he was just there. Whenever you needed him and however you needed him. 

He wasn't lying when he said he could be someone to you, or maybe he was. Because he wasn't just something, he was everything to you. He made you feel like you were everything. 

You no longer doubted everything or felt like you needed to prove anything to anyone. You were content, your business was going well, you spent more time actually smiling than trying to force a smile and you didn't have that sinking feeling when you woke up every morning. 

A couple of months ago the entry forms arrived for Korea's Top Florist and you binned them. You didn't want anything to do with it. But your sneaky boyfriend wasn't going to let that slide. He filled the forms in, one for each of you, and then took the ear full that was due to him when you found out. 

Thinking about doing the competition again felt like going back to that old you, the one who felt like her world was closing in on her. But after what felt like a week of his constant trying to talk about it, you finally listened to his reasoning. 

He said you needed to do it. Not for him. Not for your parents. Not even for your grandmother. But for you. You needed to close the door on that part of your life, it didn't even matter if you didn't win. You'd never shown your entries without something happening, whether it be him stealing your ideas or some evil florist from Busan, you'd never had a clean slate to show your work. 

Jeonghan made sure you knew he wasn't going to go easy on you. But he did agree that this year's entry would be entirely his own. No helpers, no stealing ideas from you or his mom. Just you versus him. And obviously every other florist in Korea. 

You'd spent a month planning and unlike the past three entries, you didn't have that frenzied feeling when you were working on it. In the past you'd have a tight chest, constantly telling yourself that if you failed this year, you'd failed them. You'd failed your family. 

But now when you looked at your design, you enjoyed it. You looked forward to the quiet moments in the shop when you could rush to your office to finish the illustrations of your initial designs. 

The poor supplier at the flower market no longer dreaded seeing your number flash up on his phone because you didn't have that constant urge to check everything was ok with your order. You knew what you were doing and more importantly, you were happy with what you were doing. 

“They're coming!!” 

Nari, Seungkwan’s fiancé, rushes through the café doors making Mrs Park dribble her tea down her chin. 

“Nari, please, this isn't a circus. There's no need to hurl yourself around the place like a hooligan." 

“Sorry Mrs Park," she tries to suppress a grin as Mrs Kim pulls a funny face at her friend. 

"Now everyone stay calm.” Mrs Park sits in her seat patiently, looking at the door. 

If they were hoping to look natural, they're failing miserably. All four of them watch the door eagerly, waiting for you and Jeonghan to come and tell them what's happened. 

You open the door, you and Jeonghan looking very solemn as you walk into the café and you see how their faces drop, clearly hoping you'd bounce happily through the door and tell them that you've been declared the best florist Korea has ever known. 

"Hi,” you say softly, Jeonghan holding your hand and looking at the ground. 

"Well!” Seungkwan shouts, making you all jump, "what happened?!” 

You eyes flit around the room, the two old ladies who love you like you're their own, your best friend and his fiancé who have been there for you in your darkest days and then you turn to your left, and see the man you love with nothing but adoration in his eyes and a gentle smile on his lips. 

"I won.” You say quietly, like saying it out loud might wake you up and reveal it was all a dream. 

"You?” Seungkwan looks between the two of you, looking like he's going to lunge over the counter, "you won?! You did it?! You really did it?!” 

"I did,” you grin, a couple of happy tears making your cheeks glisten as they all descend on you. 

"I knew you could do it!!” Seungkwan does throw himself over the counter, much to Mrs Park’s horror and launches himself at you. "I always knew you were the best florist." 

“Thanks," Jeonghan scoffs. 

Seungkwan doesn't answer, he's too busy squeezing you so hard you might burst. 

“Move," Nari pushes him off, “it's our turn." 

Her and Mrs Kim pull you into a bone crushing hug as you hear Jeonghan and Seungkwan say something about getting the champagne they'd bought because they knew you'd win. 

“Imagine," Nari pulls back, her and Mrs Kim finally releasing you, “I can say that my wedding flowers have been designed by the top florist in Korea." She says proudly. 

"Cake! Nari come on, let's raid the cake counter.” 

"I don't think Seungkwan will be too pleased,” 

"Who cares what he thinks! Honestly don't let him think he has a choice in anything! That's how all the best marriages work.” 

"Good to know,” Nari giggles as Mrs Kim drags her off to commit a theft. 

You watch happily as they rush off, the distant sounds of Jeonghan telling Seungkwan all the gossip from the competition as you finally feel like you can take a breath. Probably the deepest breath you've ever taken because for the first time in forever, you feel like you're exactly where you should be, with the people you should be with. 

"_____,” Mrs Park smiles at you as she finally makes her way over to you. "You look happy.” 

She takes your hands in hers and you take a moment to think about it. 

"I am,” you smile, "I really am.” 

"I know I'm just some grumpy old lady, but just know," she takes a deep breath, “I'm proud of you.” 

"Thank you,” you whisper, a little taken aback by the usually stern old lady. 

"And,” she pauses, "they'd all be so proud of you.” 

You hum, trying to fight back tears. 

"But they wouldn't be proud because you've won. They'd be proud that you did it for you. That you didn't give up. You deserve everything this world has to offer _____,” she shakes your hands, making you smile, "don't ever think you need to prove anything to anyone. Being you is enough. It always has been.” 

She kisses your forehead, lingering for a few seconds and in those few seconds it's like you're four again and your mom is trying to stop your tears after you've grazed your knee. Your dad is trying to get you back to sleep after a monster tried to catch you in a nightmare. And your grandmother is there, like she was every time you wobbled in life, telling you to be brave.

Mrs Park pulls back, giving your hands one last squeeze before she rushes off to see what trouble Mrs Kim is getting up to. 

You stare at them all as they set one of the tables, champagne bottles and glasses clanging and cakes appearing from all directions, much to Seungkwan's horror. 

They'd all been here, well three of them anyway, but along the way Nari and Jeonghan had become permanent fixtures in your life too. They'd never left you, even when you lost yourself. 

You're lucky in some respects, you found a family, you found two women who would do anything for you even though you're not their own flesh and blood. You found Seungkwan in school. You found Jeonghan eventually. 

But you carry what you've lost with you every day too, and somehow that doesn't weigh as heavily on you anymore. Now they're comfort, they're happy memories on cold nights when you and Jeonghan tell each other your secrets. 

You lost a lot in life. But you found so much more. 

🏷️ @rutheaflowers @haokanie @bramos91 @fzenn @blueyedqtpie1186 @coupsv @vwintershire @toohyperactiveforyou12 @cheolwoo @jaja-salute @sejeonggggg @shhib0l @epelletart @wonwooslefttiddie @fwairychlo3 @mixuicecream @joongtime @4kwp @ninigyuuu @sami4jeonghani @ashlinxloves @cardi-bre91 @adoreuzi

[sailorsoons]

The Jester (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jester!Jeonghan x Princess!Reader SUMMARY: You've spent your entire life hiding behind the mask of a princess, forced to perform perfection at every moment. There is a single person who see's beyond your mask, but you see beyond his too - and you don't think the jester is as harmless as everyone thinks. WC: 6,244 AU: Royalty, Implied Magical AU GENRE: Smut RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Mild mentions of what's proper/what's not in a royal society, reader being frustrated and having repressed feelings of desire and arousal, sexually explicit content featuring vaginal fingering, some mild dirty talk, mild biting, mild exhibitionism (hooking up where anyone could find them), the use of pet names (love / good girl), Jeonghan being a bit of a menace, some magical ambiguity at the end re: Jeonghan, he's kinda a weird lil guy in this I don't know how to explain it, he's implied to be dangerous but he doesn't do anything necessarily scary on paper. A/N: This is for my milestone request for @gimmegoodname! And part 8348934 of Hali doesn't know how to keep to a reasonable request word count :) Thank you jesus for landing on Jester and Jeonghan - this actually is not at all what I originally intended to write but fuck it we ball because the other idea would have taken me aprox 40k words lmfao AN 2: This is not beta read so I’m sorry - there will definitely be mistakes! I did proof read/spelling and grammar check but I often miss a lot!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not afraid," you snap.

"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"

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

"Do your trick, jester," you growl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.

"Hardly."

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

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

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

"You know nothing about me."

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

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

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

“Stop calling me that.”

"Nervous?"

You glare. "No."

His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You see nothing, jester."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Running away, Your Highness?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not?"

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

"You don't know anything about me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The card trick. In the ballroom."

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

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

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

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

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

"You thought it yourself earlier, didn’t you?" he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip sharply. "I'm a wolf in fools' clothing."

[sailorsoons]

Resonance | Finale (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jeonghan x f. reader

SUMMARY: ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun): 

(1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles. 

WORD COUNT: 10,108

GENRE: Friends to Lovers, Romantic Drama 

TYPE: Angst, smut, fluff

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Angst!!!! They finally have the talk and it doesn't go as planned, girls being petty and a bit dramatic, recreational drinking, hurt feelings, a bit of reader spiraling and having anxiety, feelings of loneliness and exhaustion after an emotional fallout, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, oral (f. and m. rec), vaginal fingering, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, emotional sex, crude jokes.

A/N: We have finally reached Resonance. Thank you to everyone who left a comment, who stayed for the ride, and who enjoyed this little project of mine. It's rare for me to write contemporary romance, and this little idea I had turned into something silly and casual I could write and schedule when I knew work would keep me away from posting. I hope Jeonghan and reader being knuckle heads didn't bother you too much, and.I hope you loved them and our little cast of rich kid misfits as much as I did, especially Junhui. With this, our planets have finally exerted equal gravity on one another. Also - apologies for the delay chapter post tonight - there were some things I had to address in my personal life but getting this out today was important to me.

A/N 2: The entire portion of them in Greece is done from my memories of spending a month in Kea (imagine my confusion when I learned it's called Kea, but the people there call it Gaea). I apologize in advance for 1) bad recollection of the finer details of the island 2) my rudimentary ass Greek. I can only speak snatches of it, and I'm pretty sure it's like toddler level, so pls don't judge me. Also, the taverna literally is inspired by this very specific dessert place at the top of Chora that I cannot remember the name of. Sorry dessert place.

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THE AGEGEAN SPRAWLS OUT, AZURE AND GLITTERING ALL AROUND KEA. The island is made up of tall hills and sun-baked stone. Your parents’ villa sits on the southern slope of a quiet cove, a cluster of whitewashed walls and blue shutters nestled into terraces of dry glass and low olive trees. 

You’ve been coming here since you were a child. You know the smell of the rosemary hedges that guard the gate, the old fig tree that has too many wasps, the scream of the cicadas from sunrise to sunfall. 

Jeonghan’s bag sits half-open in the corner of your shared room, his clothes spilling out. He’s asleep now, sprawled on the wide bed you fell into at dawn from a long evening of debauchery down at the bars. 

The sheets are cool linen, washed soft and growing warm from the sun that spills through the shutters you’ve thrown open to wake him. Below, the bay lulls against the shore, the soft sound drifting up into the room. 

You step onto the balcony. The stone is warm under your feat, vines crawling up and winding around the iron railing that’s rusting delicately at the joints. Below, you can see the others. Seungcheol’s already wide awake, bare-chested on a low wall by the fig tree, nursing a mug of coffee. Seungkwan, fresh off the plane and already sunburnt, leans near Seungcheol, gesturing wildly as he tells some story you cannot follow. 

Farther off down the switchback steps, Vernon and Minghao are already in the water. Vernon floats on his back, arms spread wide to the sun. Minghao is knee-deep near the shore, bent at the waist as he scans for shells in the water. 

Jeonghan makes a sound and you turn, trailing back into the room. He’s sitting up in the bed, hair disheveled and face swollen with sleep. When you near him, he reaches for you, catching your wrist and tugging you toward him so he can press a gentle kiss to your arm. He doesn’t say anything, but you understand all the same.

There’s still an awkward tension there. Neither of you have apologized, and though you’re tiptoeing around it, it’s still there. Burning. Simmering. 

You continue to ignore it, running your fingers through his hair and telling him to shower before you head downstairs. Seungkwan helps you gather towels and baskets of fruit while Seungcheol piles bottles of water in a plastic crate. When Jeonhan, Kira and Junhui come down the stairs, you all head out to meet Vernon and Minghao at the beach. 

The path winds through dry grass and low wildflowers, dipping under the shade of pines that cling to the slope just above the waterline. The sand below is not sugar-white but rough and golden, scattered with pebbles that crunch under your sandals.

You lay out towels under the trees that lean in crooked lines down the edge of the sand, dappled shadows moving with the breeze. The sea glitters just beyond, a mix of turquoise and lapis, shifting with tiny waves that break white. 

The water is cold when you get in, chilling you as you wade deeper. When you turn, Jeonghan is watching from the shallows, water lapping at his thighs. The sun paints him in gold, turning him into a Greek god of old. You can’t help but admire him for a second as he closes his eyes and tilts his head to the sun, basking in its glow.

You wonder if the whole of Greece knows that the son of Aphrodite is right here in front of you. No wonder a thousand ships went after Helen.

When he opens his eyes, Jeonghan’s gaze finds yours. You reach out to him and he nods, closing the distance with careful strides. His hands brush your waist underwater when he gets to you. You lean into him just enough for the hint of his hinoki cologne to touch your nose when you kiss him briefly. 

You pull back to his surprised expression. For a second, you think you’ve made a mistake but then he smiles and leans forward, kissing you again, longer and uncaring if anyone notices. 

On the shore, Seungkwan yells about sunscreen. Junhui and Kira crash into the water, breaking the two of you apart as you turn to see Jun chasing her into the blue. Vernon is already half-asleep on a striped towel while Seungkwan and Minghao both begin spraying him with sunscreen. 

The sun drifts higher overhead, melting into your shoulders in slow rivulets of heat as you drift back toward the shore with Jeonghan’s hand brushing yours under the water. Kira splashes Junhui in the face with water whenever he tries to pull her closer, sputtering when he retaliates by dunking her head.

You push the wet hair back from Jeonghan’s face as you drift closer to them. 

“Are you done trying to drown one another?” Jeonghan asks, ducking as an arch of water comes his direction. “Ya! Be careful.”

You laugh hard until the four of you form a little square, bobbing happily in the gentle pull of the tide. 

Jeonghan tilts his head at Kira, one brow arched. “So, what’s the update on Lena and Nari? Are they still fighting over Mingyu?”

She rolls her eyes. “Nari keeps telling everyone she’s ‘unbothered’ but then she cornered me by the outdoor shower last night asking if I thought Mingyu liked Lena more.”

Jun snorts. “As if Mingyu has the brain cells for preferences.”

“Exactly. Plus, like, no offense, he’s probably into Nari after she let him and Chan spit roast her, if I had to guess.”

You scream and slap your hand on top of the water. “That’s who his threesome was with? He just said he had one!”

“Yes,” Kira says, nodding. “By the way, did Vernon tell you about that girl who was hanging off his hip in Amalfi?”

Jeonghan’s interest perks immediately. “They hooked up?”

Kira nods. “Apparently they got caught making out in the engine room.”

You let out a low whistle. “Huh. Good for him, I guess. Doesn’t she own like… half the coastline?”

“Yes,” Junhui confirms. “Her dad just bought that entire marina at Lavrio. Some Russian oligarch tried to outbid him and he just… didn’t care.”

Kira hums, wicked smile curving. “I heard she’s only here because she’s avoiding an engagement back home. Some shipping heir from Monaco.”

You lean your chin on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “And Vernon’s just… the summer snack in the meantime?”

Jeonghan tips his head back, laughing, saltwater glittering at his throat. “As he should be. I respect it.”

For a moment it’s all salt and sunlight and careless joy, the gossip dissolving into the hush of waves and your own pulse loud in your ears. The petty drama of everyone else’s lives eases the sting of yours, especially when Jeonghan hugs you from behind, hooking his chin on your shoulder. 

You promise yourself you’ll deal with the problems later. For now, you lean your head against his, threading your fingers together under the water while you listen to Kira spin rumors about who is sleeping with who in the other villas, all the while ignoring the subject of drama right in front of her. 

By the time the sun leans past its peak and the salt has dried into powder on your skin, you all drift back to shore for lunch. Seungcheol has dutifully laid out a spread of food beneath the tamarisk trees, bowls of fruit, baskets of bread, greasy lamb skewers he grilled up at the villa a few minutes ago. 

Seungkwan fusses at Vernon for tracking sand onto the towels, shoving a paper plate at him anyway while complaining. Minghao sits cross-legged next to you in the shade, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he spears a peach slice from your plate. 

Jeonghan settles on the other side of you, sun-warm and pliant. He drapes an arm over your knee as he bites a wedge of melon you hold out for him. The breeze is nice, cooling your over-warm skin and sweat. 

Conversation buzzes around you and you turn to Jeonghan, clearing your throat. He freezes, looking at you mid bit of a skewer. “I was thinking. If you’re not tired later, could I steal you away tonight?”

“Steal me, huh? Where are you stealing me.”

“I want to show you something. Just us.”

“Hmm. Just us? Sounds suspicious. You trying to sneak me off to fondle me in the moonlight?”

You nearly choke on your sip of cold water, and smack his shoulder. “Hey!”

He leans in close enough that his damp hair brushes your temple, his breath soft against your ear. “I’d let you, you know. I’d let you do anything you want to me under the moon.”

Your pulse stutters, something sweet and reckless blooming under your ribs. He pulls back just enough to catch your gaze. “Of course you can steal me away.”

Your grin cracks wide then, unable to hide it. The cicadas sing louder. Seungkwan yells at Vernon for spilling sparkling water on the towel and you all start laughing, offering napkins to help clean it up. You enjoy the rest of lunch, excitement bubbling at the promise of stealing Jeonghan away later.

-

When the shadows grow long, you do as promised and steal Jeonghan away, leading him high up into the hills. The village you guide him to is small, made up of a handful of squat houses and businesses. The blue shutters creak in the breeze, a single narrow street lined with flowering pots and the quiet buzz of people walking by, waving when they see you. 

Together, you walk up uneven steps, picking your way over the cracks and stone. You find the taverna you’re looking for, just three tables under a sprawling vine, lanterns already flickering to life. You see the owner, Faustus, at the door and grin, letting go of Jeonghan’s hand to greet him. 

He yells when he sees you, walking over to press a kiss to both of your cheeks. He holds you at arms length, looking at you with crinkling eyes and warmth. “Pali mas ksexases?”

“No,” you laugh as he steps back, grinning. You tug Jeonghan forward, who watches the exchange fondly. “Faustus, this is Jeonghan. He’s with me. Jeonghan, this is Faustus. He’s friends with my uncle.”

Faustus gives Jeonghan a once over, raising his brows as he looks at you. “Omorfos, eh?”

“Naí,” you laugh. You look at Jeonghan. “He said you’re pretty.”

Jeonghan grins. “Efcharistó.”

Faustus seats you at a table near the terrace edge where the stone wall crumbles just enough to let the whole island spill out beneath you, rolling hills bathed in lavender light, the Aegean catching the last slant of the sun. 

“God damn, this view,” he says, eyes flicking to yours, “Here I was thinking it was about food.”

“It’s the best sunset on the island,” you admit. “My parents used to come here when they were young. My mother said the sunset tricked my father into falling in love with her.”

“And you’re trying to trick me too, huh?” His thumb brushes yours under the table. “Sneaky.”

Your pulse stutters but before you can respond, Faustus is back with a plate of olives, little dishes of grilled octopus slick with lemon, and bread. He pats you on the head fondly, looking at Jeonghan once before muttering to you in Greek before walking away.

Jeonghan pops an olive into his mouth. “What was that about?”

You hide behind your hand, laughing. “He said we should kiss before the sun goes down for good luck.”

“So you are trying to seduce me. Just with the sunset and not the moon like I suspected.”

“Shut up. You showed me Florence so…”

He hums. “You showed me Kea.”

Jeonghan nudges your ankle under the table, the barest brush of skin on skin that makes your breath catch more than you care to admit. He tips his head, his hair catching the dusk, eyes softer than the salt air.

Below the terrace wall, the hills drop away into a wide expanse of olive groves and goat tracks. The sea beyond holds the last of the sun’s gold, the sun dipping lower as the sky turns rose and then bronze. The cicadas start their evening orchestra in the vines overhead as soon as the last of the light begins to vanish.

Jeonghan props his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his palm, studying you. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

“Thank you for coming.”

And before the sun can slip entirely from view, a mere sliver of a gold coin clinging to the edge of the world, Jeonghan leans across the table, fingers brushing your jaw, and kisses you soft and sure and sweet, just like Faustus told you to.

Your heart skips several beats, enjoying the way he hums against you and tastes like sweet white wine. When you pull back, you feel flushed and breathless. His lashes flutter open and he smiles, gently. “For luck.”

“For luck,” you agree.

By the time you push back from the table, the air has gone cool and the stars above are thick and bright, spilled carelessly across the sky. Jeonghan stands first, brushing breadcrumbs from his linen pants, and offers his hand to pull you to your feet. 

You press a kiss to Fausus’ cheek and he gives Jeonghan a hug before telling you to come back more often and to bring the boy. You laugh, nodding and promising you will before you tug Jeonghan back out onto the cracked streets. 

You walk the quiet steps back down through the village, shoes in hand to feel the warm stones beneath your feet. He drifts a half-step behind you, tugging you back every so often just to kiss your shoulder, your neck, your mouth, until you’re giggling into his chest, half-drunk on him.

The path down to the villa glows with the soft light of distant houses, windows flickering blue from late-night TV and laughter echoing between stone walls. By the time the villa comes into view, windows thrown wide, you can hear Seungkwan’s voice carrying above the others.

Inside, the air hums with the chaos of everyone getting ready. Towels are flung over chairs, music bleeds from someone’s phone speaker. Junhui stands in front of the hallway mirror, dabbing cologne onto Vernon’s neck while Vernon bats him away, laughing. Minghao rummages through a tote bag for a clean shirt, holding up options to Seungcheol, who vetoes them with a wave of his beer bottle.

Seungkwan spots you first, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “Finally! Where did you run off to, lovers?”

Jeonghan only grins, tossing his arm over your shoulders. “Out. Did you miss us that badly?”

“Obviously. Get dressed. We’re going bar hopping.” 

In your room, you find something light, something that smells faintly of sunscreen and the sea. Jeonghan changes behind you, the hush of fabric and the occasional soft curse when he fumbles with a button. When you turn, he’s leaning against the dresser, hair pushed back, a grin curling at his mouth.

“Ready?” you ask, though you’re already reaching for him, brushing a stray lock behind his ear.

“Mhmm.”

The night spills out ahead of you as you all finally leave the villa. You walk down to the village square, hailing a taxi to take you all the way down to the bottom of the island where there’s a small spill of bars. You stop at an open-air bar, perched just above the beach where music rolls soft and low through the night as you approach. 

The whole group is there already, impossible to miss. Mingyu’s laugh booms loud enough to carry over the DJ’s set and Joshua is perched neatly at the edge of a shallow pool, shoes off, ankles in the water as he leans back on his palms. Chan appears behind him with a tray of neon-colored shots, which he nearly dumps into the pool when Seungkwan lunges to snatch one before he’s even set them down.

Low wooden tables scatter across the shallow water, the legs sunk into the tiled pool bottom so that when you wade through, the water laps at your shins, cool and delicious after the heat of the day. Jeonghan sits you at a stool before walking toward the bar. 

“Get me a drink, will you?” Minghao yells after him. Jeonghan flips him off but ducks through the crush of people toward the bar. 

When Jeonghan returns from the bar, two sweating glasses balanced in one hand and a bottle wedged under his arm, he finds you still perched where he left you, ankles in the shallow pool, your knees pressed together to avoid the chaos of Chan splashing Mingyu with a reckless kick.

Trailing behind Jeonghan is Hana, and you feel yourself straighten. She says something close to Jeonghan’s ear as he steps back into your circle but you see him lean away, shaking his head as he shakes her off and comes to you. He passes you your drink first, thumb grazing you briefly. 

Hana’s friends melt into cushions near Seungkwan, calling for shots and more room to lounge. Hana stays standing, drifting closer to you and Jeonghan, your nerves fraying. When she glances at you, there’s an edge there that surprises you - she’s always been more rabbit than fox, but here’s a note of sourness there now that you’re unfamiliar with. 

“You guys really are always together, aren’t you?” You stare at her, glancing at Jeonghan who is equally surprised by the question. “I just think it’s funny. How you never really leave each other alone. Ever.”

A beat. The low murmur of the bar washes over the sudden hush. Joshua glances over, brows pinched. Chan half-turns from where he’s trading shots with Mingyu, the tray held frozen midair.

“What’s your point?” You ask finally. 

Hana shrugs, unbothered, like she hasn’t dropped a tiny match into the middle of the table. “Just an observation.”

“You hang out with your friends, right?”

“Yes, but my friends don’t hold me back from relationships.” 

Your voice is deadly calm when you reply, “I’m not holding him back from anything.” 

“No, no, of course not. You’d never do that on purpose. It’s just…” She makes a vague little gesture between the two of you. “You two make it… hard. For anyone else to get in.”

Jeonghan leans forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. “Hana. Why are you even talking about this?”

“I’m just saying,” she murmurs. “It’s a little sad. Watching you orbit each other like you do.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She cocks her head, looking at him. “Don’t I?” Then she straightens, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. She looks around, noticing that everyone’s eyes are on you and she rolls her eyes. “My god, you people take things so seriously. Lighten up a little.” 

Then she turns, slipping back over to her friends. Seungkwan, loyal as ever, drifts away from them. He glances at you nervously like you’re a ticking timebomb. You’re too startled to feel mad though, too caught up on the logic in what she’s saying and the ugliness of that truth rooting in your ribcage.

“Don’t,” Jeonghan says. “Don’t give her any rent free residence in your head. She’s angry because I brushed her off.”

You swallow, force your shoulders to drop. The music picks up and Seungkwan calls for more shots, too loud on purpose, to break the tension open and let it spill out harmless.

The music rolls on and everyone resumes after a tense pause. Everything becomes static for you, though. Hana’s words stick. You try to wave it off like Jeonghan said, try to laugh at Seungkwan’s jokes, but you can’t. Not when you can still feel the echo of your own fight with Jeonghan in Italy coming back. 

You make it hard for anyone else to get in sounds an awful lot like Jeonghan when he’d told you you’re the one who calls the shots but you always think it's me. 

Is that what you’ve done? Built something too tight, a bubble where Jeonghan can’t breathe? You catch Jeonghan’s gaze now across the edge of your glass, and he’s already watching you - of course he is. He always does. You love that about him. You hate that about him.

You think about your friendship with Jeonghan. The way he chases everyone and then comes back. Chases and then comes back. Never really settles. Never does anything about anyone else. Is that your fault? Is it because he was waiting for you and never said it? Did you have this entire thing wrong? 

You press your palm to your knee, the glass sweating in your other hand, Jeonghan’s warmth right there next to you, his thigh brushing yours like it always does. It should be comforting. Instead it feels like proof of Hana’s words, that you’re holding him back. That you’re the reason he won’t settle. Like he can’ enjoy his night now because of you.

Something awful blooms in your gut. You’re unsure what to make of it all, but you can’t help but feel guilty. You’re not sure for what, exactly. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. 

You don’t even hear what Joshua says, something teasing thrown your way, until Seungkwan elbows you, snapping you back. You blink at him, try to smile, but it sits wrong on your lips. The whole night tastes wrong now. You try to drink, but the alcohol burns.

Jeonghan leans close, voice low. “Hey. Where’d you go just now?”

You don’t answer. You don’t want to say it here, with Chan screaming as he tries to escape Mingyu’s bear hug, with Hana’s eyes flicking over from the cushions in the corner, pretending she isn’t still watching you both.

You shrug. “I think I’m tired.”

His thumb drifts to the inside of your wrist, his touch feather-light. “You wanna go?”

You nod. He stands, steadying you with a palm on your waist. Jeonghan doesn’t bother with goodbyes, just slips his arm around your back and steers you through the water, past Hana’s sharp, curious glance.

Outside, the night is quiet. The laughter behind you muffles as the bar slips away. The taxi back is silent, your knees pressed together in the dark, Jeonghan’s hand covering yours, his thumb stroking the inside of your palm until you’re back at the villa.

Inside, the house hums with leftover warmth from the day. Seungcheol’s empty beer bottles are on the terrace table, a towel is draped over the back of a chair, and there are open chip bags on the counter and shoes all over the living room. 

The door clicks shut behind you and Jeonghan drifts toward the kitchen. You catch his wrist and ask, “Can we talk? Upstairs?”

He nods and you both trail up the stairs, footsteps heavy. 

The bedroom is dark except for the spill of the porch light through the half-open shutters. You stand near the window while Jeonghan sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. For a second, neither of you know how to begin.

“Florence,” you say. “We need to talk about Florence first.” He nods. “You go first. You were mad at me.”

“Am mad at you,” he corrects half-heartedly. “Because you never let me win you over. You made the call for me. For both of us. You decided that I would ruin you or that I would get bored, and that you had to play games with me - the push and pull - instead of letting me try.”

Your breath catches, a hot coal in your throat. “And why do you think I did that, Jeonghan?”

“Because you think the worst of me.”

“That is not why!” You snap. It isn’t angry, but emotional. Filled with unspilled grief. “It’s because I was scared. Because you made me afraid. Because you are that person for everyone else. You love the game. And I thought if I didn’t play it with you, you’d leave. I thought it was the only way to keep you.”

He laughs, wrecked, one hand pressed to his chest like he can steady his heartbeat. “God, you don’t get it. Do you know why no one else stuck around? Why Hana means nothing? Why none of them stick?”

“Tell me, then.”

“Because I’ve wanted you. I’ve always wanted you, Jesus Christ. Just you. But you never gave me a way in. You never let me try, until that night in Spain when I said just… whatever we want.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” You ask, voice cracking. “Why didn’t you really say it? You know what I’m like. You know what I need. Why didn’t you stand here and tell me that all you wanted was me, instead of a shot in the dark chance at friends with benefits.”

Jeonghan’s throat works around the answer. He lifts his eyes to yours, wide and raw. “Because the thought of it terrifies me. Because what if I say it and it’s not enough for you? What if you believe it for a day and then you’re gone the next?”

“When have I ever just bowed out on you?”

“You almost did,” he hisses, stepping closer. “You did it every time you pulled away. Paris. Joshua. You wanted me desperate. And I was. I am. I always fucking am for you. And you still didn’t trust it.”

“That isn’t true. I always concede to you. Every time. I’ve always been the one to come to you first, always been the one to let you call the shots. I thought you wanted casual or a chase or whatever it is you’ve always done.”

“I never said that’s what I wanted!”

“You never said what you did want!”

He yells, “I didn’t think I had to!”

“Could you do it, then?” You demand. “Could you really be with me and never get bored? Never drift?”

“Of course I could-”

“Could you really?” you cut in, voice sharp. “Because the first time we fought, the first time - you drifted. Right to Hana. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You let her orbit you because you were mad and you didn’t care if it bothered me.”

His mouth snaps shut. He looks away. The silence is an answer.

“Say it,” you demand. “Say you’d never get tired of me. Say exactly what it is you want, Jeonghan. You never have. So tell me what it is you want from me in plain detail.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tics. He doesn’t look at you. He can’t. “If I have to say it, then it doesn’t really matter, does it? You should feel it without me having to tell you.” 

It’s worse than anything he could say. You step back from him, the air sucked from your chest. What’s the point, if he can’t say it? You’re not sure there is one. 

“Maybe we’re just not right for each other,” he whispers. “Maybe we should just stop.”

Your voice drops, throat raw. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe it’s what we need.”

Your chest tightens. The hush between you hums with things you cannot untangle, too much history and not enough understanding. Jeonghan stares at you, his face all wrecked edges and exhaustion, the faintest tremor at the corner of his mouth like he’s about to say more, but the words die there. He stands slowly.

When he steps close, you almost flinch - not because you’re afraid, but because you want him to stay, to reach for you, to hold you like he always does. To press his palm flat to your ribs and hush the panic screaming under your skin.

But he doesn’t. He just drifts a hand up, his knuckles brushing your jaw so lightly it doesn’t even count as touch. Just a ghost, a memory of touch. You lean into it anyway, breath catching on a sob you swallow down too late.

He lets out a soft sound, wounded, fond, and helpless all at once. Then his hand falls away. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t press his mouth to your hair. Doesn’t say don’t worry, I’ll come back.

Instead, Jeonghan steps around you. He crosses the room slowly, careful not to look at you because if he does you know he’ll stay - you know it and he knows it too. He pauses at the door, his back to you. You think he’ll turn around. That he’ll say your name the way he does when he’s ready to break.

But he just opens the door. He just leaves. The latch clicks soft behind him.

You stand there for a heartbeat, the floor solid under your bare feet. The moment the air shifts, the tears you’ve been holding back come tearing out of you like a tide that wants to swallow everything whole.

Your knees buckle and you sink down where you stand, fingers digging into the rug, breath hiccuping out of you in ragged shudders. You hate him. You love him. You hate yourself for all of it.

You press your forehead to your knees, sobbing. You think of the water tonight, his thigh against yours, Hana’s eyes slicing through the soft parts you both pretended were safe. You think of Florence. Of Paris. Of every stupid bar and bed and balcony you’ve circled each other on like moths who can’t choose burning or fleeing.

You want him back. You want him gone. You want to run after him but your legs won’t move.

So you stay there, shaking, your ribs splitting open to let the grief pour out, too raw to swallow back down this time. 

-

Soft light slants through the half-open shutters. Your mouth is dry, head throbbing with the remnants of salt and tears and the drinking from the night before. You’re still wearing last night’s clothes, twisted around your ribs, your pillow wet with tears and makeup. 

You sit up slowly, the linen sheets slipping off your shoulders. For a second, you think Jeonghan will appear, rolling over and complaining. That this was all some awful, too-vivid nightmare that you can brush off with a sweet kiss. 

His side of the bed is cold. 

You stand, cross to the balcony barefoot, the tile warm underfoot. Down below, the garden hums with cicadas, the fig tree’s branches heavy with fruit, Seungkwan’s voice drifting through the hush, too bright for so early, calling for someone.

You dress with trembling hands. You follow the noise down the stairs, your pulse hammering at your throat. Seungkwan’s at the long stone table, picking through a plate of peaches, skin tanned and sunburnt pink at the shoulders. He brightens when he sees you, but there’s something wary in his eyes.

“What?” You ask, dubious. 

“Umm.”

You glance around. “Where’s Jeonghan?”

“Not here.”

“Okay…”

“He left,” he says finally. “Early this morning. Before dawn.”

Your stomach flips over. You grip the back of a chair because your knees don’t trust you. “Left where?”

“Like left to go back home.”

You laugh, a sound too brittle, too sharp. “What are you talking about? He wouldn’t - he wouldn’t just leave.”

“He asked Seungcheol to drive him to the ferry. Said he’d call you later. Said he just… needed to go.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You feel like the island tilts under you for a moment, the warm stone floor rolling like the deck of a boat. Jeonghan is gone. Jeonghan is gone and you didn’t even wake up to see it. He left and now you’re standing here, the tear between you wider than ever before. 

You grip the chair harder, knuckles white. “Did he say anything else?”

“No.”

You look out past Seungkwan’s shoulder, over the rosemary hedge that guards the garden gate, out to where the slope drops away into the endless blue. Somewhere out there, a ferry cuts a white scar through the water, carrying him away from you like he never meant to stay.

You step away from the table, the sun too bright on your shoulders. In the kitchen you find an old glass, fill it at the tap, drink half before you realize your hands are shaking so hard you have to set it down.

Seungkwan hovers. “Tell me what to do.”

“There’s nothing to do. He was right. He needed space.” 

Seungkwan sighs. “I’ve never seen the two of you like this.”

“Me either,” you rasp.

Seungkwan presses a kiss to the back of your head and excuses himself to let you mull it over. You brace your palms against the cool marble counter. You wonder if he’s sitting on the ferry deck right now, the salt wind in his hair, his eyes closed against the sun, already somewhere you cannot follow.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe forcing you out of his orbit is the right thing to do. Sever the tie before either one of you can come careening back to crash into one another. 

You don’t move. You don’t cry this time. You feel scraped clean from the night before, like the grief ran itself dry in the dark and left only the ache. You think about Florence. About Paris. About every bed you and Jeonghan have crawled into and out of.

You pull yourself away from the sink. The glass clinks against the counter, a small sound that feels final.

Outside, the sun climbs higher. Minghao calls up from the garden. You drift toward the sound of your name, peering out the window. The others are waiting for you, watching you with careful eyes. 

“Come on,” Minghao urges. “You don’t have to talk. Just don’t stay in the house, okay? We’re going down to the beach for a little before we have to head back to the mainland.”

You almost forgot the final stop of your trip is supposed to start tonight.

You nod. You slip your sandals on and shuffle outside. You follow Minghao’s voice down the steps, past the sun-bleached stone, the drifting wildflowers, the hush of the olive trees heavy with heat. When you get there, Junhui reaches his hand out to you. You take it wordlessly, letting him tug you along, his other hand wrapped in Kira. 

At the beach, you sit on a towel alone, a planet without her sun to orbit.

-

Airplane air dries out your nose. You inhale the little inhalant Junhui gave you, leaning back in your seat as you stretch. Greece fades beneath the plane in a slip of white hills and sea, and you press your forehead to the small oval window just to keep from looking around the jet in search of Jeonghan. 

The plane hums around you, a gentle lull. You think about that night in Spain, the way Jeonghan first asked you to do whatever you wanted, no regrets.

It makes you scoff. You are so fucking full of regrets you feel like the split open fig fruits on Sofia’s tree back in Florence. Florence, where you first felt like maybe this would work. Like maybe you could have Jeonghan without games and conditions, that there was nothing to fear. 

You think of Paris. Of his hands prying you open while you stared at the glittering city, his breath soft against your ear, panting against you. You think of the yacht, of fucking him so hard it hurt, all of your anger and frustration bleeding into every bite of your teeth and scrape of your nails. 

The entire flight goes by like that, a haze of memories and confusion and hurt. You curl into the seat, barely acknowledging when the captain calls for a descent. He promises lots of sun and wind, the Atlantic coast ready to greet you. You shut your eyes and count the bumps as the plane dips through the clouds. 

Portugal is your final destination for the trip - except for Jeonghan. Greece had been final. Unplanned. You cannot imagine spending the next three days in Lisbon without him. You’d been counting on him, ready to tease him about his shitty Portuguese and now there’s just…. Nothing. 

When you land, it’s gentle. Tires hiss on the runway. You just sit there, breathing recycled air, hands numb.

You stand when Seungkwan nudges you. You force your mouth into something like a smile when Vernon asks if you slept at all. You lie and say yes, letting him scoop you into him as you all scoot off the Chwe family plane. 

At passport control, you trace the edge of your boarding pass. Kira leans her head on your shoulder, humming some pop song under her breath, and for a moment you let yourself lean back into her warmth. 

Outside the terminal, the group gathers in a loose knot near the curb, luggage bumping ankles and sun burning your scalp. You watch Seungcheol flag down the driver, watch Seungkwan fuss over who rides where, watch Vernon counting the bags with one hand, shading his eyes from the sun.

There’s no evil laugh. There’s no subtle jibe from Jeonghan. There’s no one brushing their fingers against you, sweet and possessive. No one to mutter things under their breath for only you to hear, no glinting chain necklace under the hot sun. 

You don’t think about the estate yet. Not the stone house that waits on a cliff somewhere north of Lisbon, not the old orchard Vernon swore you’d love, not the empty bed you know will be too big when you finally crawl into it alone.

The van they pile you into is too big for the cracked country roads that snake away from the airport. It grumbles under the weight of your bodies and bags, Seungkwan’s feet up on the dashboard despite Seungcheol’s half-hearted protests.

Behind you, the city fades. Glass towers are replaced by tiled roofs, bright blue azulejo clinging to the crumbling facades. Portugal slips past the window in bursts of ochre and green, vineyards stitched into low hills. 

Vernon sits next to you, ear phones in but he pulls one out every so often to point at things and explain what they are. He points out roadside chapels with peeling saints painted on their walls, stone walls covered in wildflowers, landmarks you’re unfamiliar with. 

When the van cuts off the main road, the pavement dissolves into a narrow track flanked by dry grass. You bounce in your seat as Seungcheol swears at every pothole, which finally gets a small smile out of you. 

You glimpse the Atlantic winking through a gap in the pines. A slash of blue so wide it feels like the edge of the world. You think about Florence again. About Greece. About Jeonghan’s laugh. It hits you like a bruise every time, sharper now that you’re here, another country, another coastline, and he’s still not sitting next to you.

Up ahead, the road curves around a low hill crowned with cork oaks. The trunks twist up from the soil in thick spirals, bark stripped in careful patches. When the van crests the hill, Vernon points. The house is pale stone, sun-bleached to a soft gold that melts into the dry fields around it. A tiled roof glows red under the afternoon light, and vines crawl up the south-facing walls.

Beyond it, the land drops away to terraces of old orchard citrus, their leaves flickering silver in the wind. Further still, the sea spreads out, glittering blue. Seungkwan lets out a low whistle. Vernon just shrugs, like he’s embarrassed by the beauty of it

The van crunches to a halt at the end of the long gravel drive. One by one, you all climb out, limbs tangled and shoving and pushing. The house rises in front of you, three stories tall and made of pale stone and tiled, sprawling. Wisteria coils over carved stone arches, its purple blooms drooping heavy in the heat. The windows are tall, latticed in delicate ironwork that catches the sunlight.

Vernon drags open the heavy front door and the cool air in the house spills out into the courtyard where you walk up the steps. 

Inside, the floor is old terracotta tile, soft-edged and warm from the late sun still filtering through the high arched windows. The entryway is massive, the faint smell of lemon and slat hanging in the air. A wide staircase sweeps up to the second floor, the banister worn smooth.

“Vernon, this is insane,” Kira notes, spinning. “You own this?”

“Uhh, my grandma does.”

“Grandma Chwe, please adopt me.”

Vernon leads you all upstairs, pointing at rooms for you to take. He walks toward the end of the hall, opening a door and he makes a sound of surprise before turning to you. “Uhhh. This can be your room.”

“Thanks.”

You step past Vernon into the room before your mind really catches up, your bag bumping your thigh, the warm air of the hallway clinging to your shoulders. The door swings open wider under your palm, the hinges sighing a little as they yield.

The room is huge and airy, sunlight drifting through gauzy curtains that ripple in the sea breeze. The walls are a soft and washed white. There’s a massive bed in the center, the sheets rumpled and messy and -

Jeonghan is sitting there, legs crossed. He’s wearing a loose white shirt, collarbone peeking from where the top buttons gape open, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he’s been here for hours, waiting for you. 

Your bag slips from your shoulder and hits the floor with a muted thud. You swear your heart follows it down, all the air in the room sucked clean out of you as you stare at him. 

“Soo,” Vernon says, stepping out into the hall. You’d forgotten he was there. “I’m going to leave you to it.”

You don’t even hear the door click behind Vernon. You can only stare at Jeonghan and where the sunlight cuts across him in pale gold bands, catching the edge of the chain that glints at his throat. 

For a breath, he just sits there, chest rising and falling. Then he’s moving, getting up and crossing the room to you, so close you have to tip your chin up to look at him. He lifts his hands and cups your jaw, his palms warm and grounding.

“God-” he swears. “We’re stupid, okay? We’re stupid!” Your throat works around his words but nothing comes. Jeonghan leans in, forehead brushing yours. “You’re stubborn and dumb, and I’m worse - way worse than you, you know that?”

His thumb traces the corner of your mouth, pressing where your breath comes out in shaky puffs. “I sat on that stupid commercial flight, no fancy jet, no you - just me and my fucking thoughts and the world’s worst airport wine and it hit me how goddamn stupid we are.”

You try to speak, to apologize maybe, or argue, but he cuts you off. “No. Shut up and listen. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and you’re in love with me and we keep making it hard when we don’t have to, because you’re too afraid to risk yourself with me and I was too afraid to just tell you plainly.”

You laugh but it’s a choked sound, the corner of your eyes watering. “I-”

“I don’t care anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t fucking care if you’re bad for me or if I’m bad for you. Be bad for me, then. Ruin me. I don’t care. Just - do it with me, then. I love you, alright? I love you.”

Your hands find his shirt, the soft linen wrinkling under your fingers as you fist the fabric, dragging him closer even though there’s nowhere left for him to go.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, mouth brushing your cheek, the corner of your lips. “You’re mine and I’m yours and we’re both so stupid.”

“You’re more stupid,” you whisper. “Your words, not mine.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes, but you shut him up, leaning in to kiss him. It’s not careful, not gentle. It’s desperate and clumsy and perfect because it’s you and him. When you pull back, he’s grinning, breathless, eyes crinkled at the corners. He kisses you again, quick, sharp, teeth catching your bottom lip.

“You’re mine,” he says again. “I will not get bored. You will not make me chase you.”

“I love you too,” you say, and it feels like the world’s heaviest weight lifting from your shoulder. 

Your mouths crash together again, all teeth and soft bitten sounds swallowed up between you. His hands slide down, rough with impatience, pressing you back a step until your spine hits the cool plaster wall.

It knocks a breath out of you, and Jeonghan just laughs into your mouth, that hushed, delighted sound that always made you want to claw him closer. He noses along your jaw, teeth grazing the soft place below your ear.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs. “How fucking miserable I was on that plane. All that time to think. I hate thinking, did you know that?” 

“Yes, it’s not exactly your specialty.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles against your mouth. “All I could think about was the tragedy of giving you up. To never taste you again, to never kiss you again. To never see that really cute little expression you get when you come really hard.”

“Jeonghan-”

“Say it again.” He bites the words out. “Say my name again. I’ve been hearing it in my head for hours, I need-”

You whisper it, softer this time. “Jeonghan. Jeonghan. You’re mine.”

“Yeah. Fucking right.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, slow like he’s learning the shape of it for the first time. You feel his grin against your mouth when you slide your hands into his hair, tugging until he groans. He pushes closer, hips slotting against yours, a low growl curling in his throat when you gasp. The breeze lifts the curtain behind him, sea salt and citrus drifting in.

You’re pinned against the wall, Jeonghan’s mouth hot and relentless on yours, his hands roaming with a hunger that makes your knees weak. His kisses are all-consuming, a messy clash of lips and teeth, each one pulling a soft whimper from your throat. He’s close, so close, his body pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “I need you. Right now.”

His voice is low, almost a growl, but there’s a tenderness threading through it, a quiet promise that this is more than just want. His hands slide down to your hips, gripping tight, and he nudges you toward the bed. “Get over there.”

You stumble to the bed, legs shaky, but you’re grinning, heart pounding as he follows, eyes dark and fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world. He’s commanding, but it’s soft, laced with that teasing edge that’s so Jeonghan, like he’s daring you to push back, to test him. 

You don’t. Not yet. Instead, you let him guide you, his hands firm but gentle as he tugs at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. Your shorts follow, pooling at your feet. 

“You’re fucking perfect. Lie down for me.”

You do, sinking onto the rumpled sheets, the mattress dipping under your weight. The sea breeze is still drifting in, cooling your heated skin, but it does nothing to temper the fire building inside you. Jeonghan kneels between your legs, fingers wrapping in your underwear to scrape them down your thighs.

His thumbs trace slow circles over your skin, teasing, and you can see the restraint in the way his jaw clenches, like he’s holding himself back from devouring you whole.

“Jeonghan,” you whisper, and his eyes snap to yours, dark and molten. “Please.”

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers. “Promise, baby.”

His voice is all honey and heat, and before you can respond, he’s leaning down, kissing a slow, wet path down your stomach, his breath hot against your skin. You squirm, anticipation curling tight in your belly. His fingers slip lower. He doesn’t waste time, sliding one finger through your folds, groaning softly when he feels how wet you are already.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he says, almost to himself, and the raw need in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He slowly presses in two fingers, curling them inside you, slow and deep, and you gasp, hips bucking up instinctively. It’s a tight fit without warning, but it feels good, a pain-pleasure that makes you dizzy as you adjust. 

“Keep still,” he says, but his tone is soft, almost pleading, and you can tell he’s as desperate as you are. 

His free hand presses against your thigh, spreading you wider, and he leans down, kissing the inside of your knee as his fingers work you open, steady and relentless. You’re already trembling, the stretch and drag of his fingers pulling soft moans from your lips, but he’s not done.

Suddenly, he’s gone from you. You blink in surprise, twisting to see him throwing himself on the bed. He reaches for you, fingers wet as he grabs your legs. “Come here.”

“What are you-”

“Sit on my face.” 

You freeze, heat flooding your cheeks, but the look he gives you makes you move. You straddle his chest, hesitant, but his hands grip your hips, guiding you up until you’re hovering over his mouth. He groans and pulls you flush to his mouth, tongue wet and warm. His tongue flicks against you, teasing your clit before delving deeper, and you cry out, hands scrambling for the headboard to steady yourself.

He’s relentless, licking and sucking with a hunger that makes your head spin, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place. You’re a mess already, grinding against his mouth, chasing the heat coiling tight in your core.

Jeonghan groans against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body, and you can feel the way he’s getting off on this, on how much you’re falling apart for him. 

“Fuck,” you croak. “Baby - fuck-”

He just hums, pleased, his tongue working you harder until you’re shaking, your first orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You ride it out, thighs trembling, his name falling from your lips in broken gasps. He doesn’t stop, not really, just softens his touches, kissing gently at your sensitive skin as you catch your breath.

When you finally slide off him, he’s grinning, lips slick and eyes dark with contentment. “We gotta do that more often.”

“Fuck, no arguement from me.”

“Good.”

You grin. “Your turn.”

You slide down, tugging at his pants until they’re off, his cock springing free, flushed and leaking. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he groans, head tipping back, throat bobbing. You lean down with a wicked smile, licking a slow stripe up the length of his cock before taking him into your mouth.

He hisses, grabbing your freehand to lace your fingers, squeezing. You work him with your mouth, slow and sloppy, letting spit drip down his length as you take him deeper. His hips twitch, but he holds back, letting you set the pace. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “So pretty.” 

You hum around him, and he groans, the sound raw and desperate. His fingers tighten in yours, and you feel his control slipping, his hips starting to rock just a little. You pull back, teasing, and he swears under his breath, eyes blazing as you meet his gaze. 

“Teasing me would be ill advised, right now.”

You pop off of him, using the hand not holding him to pump his cock, spreading spit and precum. “Well you’re not going to leave me so…”

“Brat.”

You take him back into your mouth, sucking harder now, and at the same time, his hand slides between your legs again, fingers slipping inside you. You moan around him, the sensation overwhelming, his fingers curling just right while you bob your head, spit and precum mixing as you work him. He’s panting now, muttering curses and praises, his voice breaking as he gets closer.

Cursing, he pulls you off of him. “Don’t want to come in your mouth. Come here, please.”

He drags you back up to him and he rolls you over, pinning your hands next to your head. You laugh, leaning up to kiss him. He’s still in his shirt, the fabric pressing against you, sweaty and sticking. He lets your hands go to remove it and you immediately map out his sides, his chest, your fingers curling in his necklace to lightly tug him back to your mouth. 

Jeonghan peppers your mouth and jaw with kisses, working his way down to your chest. He mouths a nipple through the thin fabric of your bra while he slides a hand behind you, unhooking it and peeling it off you. 

“Need you,” you whine, rolling your wet pussy against him. He growls, spreading your legs wide against the mattress as he settles between them. He ruts against you, sliding his cock through your warmth as you writhe. “Please.” 

Nodding, Jeonghan presses his tip in and you go wild. You gasp, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging in as he fills you, a low groan rumbling in his chest. He cages you in, pressing his chest against you so the full weight of him settles on you as he fucks you deep and slow. He’s soft with it, your breath mingling with his, the gentle roll of his hips slow but so deep it makes your eyelids flutter. 

He whispers your name and kisses you like he’s drowning. His hands reach for yours, lacing your fingers together where he presses against the mattress on either side of your head. Your tongues tangle and he picks up the pace only a little, the wet smack of his pelvis against yours bracktracked by your heavy breathing. 

When you come, you almost send him over the edge. He shakes with it, biting his lip hard enough that when he kisses you again, you taste iron. He pulls out and he taps your thigh, moving you to roll to the side. He slides in next to you, a hand prying your leg up to hook over his waist. 

He slides back into you, the new angle making your eyes roll. Your back is pressed against his chest, the roll of his hips smooth. You grind back on him, breath fanning across the pillow. He wraps an arm around your waist, pressing you against him before he dips down between your legs, fingers finding your clit. 

You nod, desperate for it as his fingers start to circle slowly, the sensation making you shiver. It’s filthy, the way he’s fucking you, the wet sounds of skin on skin filling the room, but it’s so loving too, the way he murmurs praises against your shoulder, kissing every inch of skin he can reach.

You come again, harder this time, your whole body shaking as you clench around him, and he follows, groaning your name as he spills inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping until you’re both trembling, spent.

He doesn’t pull out, content to keep you pressed against him despite being sweaty and sticky. “I love you,” he whispers again, soft and certain. “I don’t care how stupid we are.”

“Good,” you breath, spent. “I am plenty stupid.”

-

The sunlight softens, melting from harsh white to a molten gold that spills through the wide windows and pools across the terracotta floor. You and Jeonghan move slowly downstairs. Your fingers curl together and the steps creak heavy beneath your feet. 

The others are in the living area, sprawled out on furniture, music playing from a speaker you can’t see. The energy shifts the second they see you, their laughter doubling among rolling eyes and clapping. 

Seungkwan whistles low, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

The warmth in the room swells, teasing laughter breaking through. Jeonghan’s fingers tighten around yours, his touch familiar and steady. His lips curl into a small, victorious smile. You lean into him, breath steady despite the fluttering in your chest. 

The group moves toward the back porch where the Atlantic Ocean stretches out endlessly. The salty breeze threads through the wisteria vines draped over the porch’s arches, carrying the scent of citrus and ocean spray. Lanterns hang from the wooden beams overhead, their soft flickering light promising magic in the coming twilight.

A long rustic table groans under platters of food of fresh bread, olives, grilled fish, and dishes spiced with herbs you don’t recognize but savor anyway. You slide in beside Jeonghan, his hand still warm and sure in yours beneath the table. 

At the long table, the group settles into easy conversation, laughter spilling and mingling with the clinking of glasses and the soft scrape of knives against plates. You bite into a ripe fig, juices running down your fingers, and savor the way sweetness lingers on your tongue. 

Jeonghan’s hand rests in yours beneath the table, warm and steady, a quiet tether to the here and now. Your fingers curl around his, the fit familiar, like two puzzle pieces sliding perfectly into place after a long search. 

After dinner, glasses of wine get poured. You rest your head against Jeonghan’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, the solid warmth of him anchoring you. For the first time, you don’t have to fight the pull of uncertainty or brace against the weight of what-ifs. 

It’s nice. 

Jeonghan pours you another glass of red wine, hands steady but his eyes flickering with something hot when they settle on you. His gaze simmers when he leans back, never taking his eyes off of you. He gives you a casual smile but it's a little wicked and a little drunk, his teeth stained red. 

Chatter hums around you. Your fingers brush against his on the table and he flips his palm, snatching your hand before you can take it away. It’s possessive and teasing and he squeezes your hand before he starts playing with your fingers, purposefully brushing his fingers around your palms, making you shiver. 

“You’re dangerous when you’re drunk,” you tease softly, voice thick and warm.

“Nah.”

Your laughter spills out, easy and light, and you reach across the table to snag a handful of olives, flicking one playfully at him. It bounces off his chest and he pretends to glare, but the grin that breaks free is sweet. 

One by one, friends leave the table. Seungcheol is first, grumbling about having to get up earlier to take work calls. Vernon is shortly after that, too drunk to continue the conversation. Jeonghan stands next, surprising you mid conversation with Junhui. He holds his hand out to you, grinning. 

“Sorrry, Jun,” he says in a way that lets your friend knows he’s not sorry at all. “I have to go rearrange my girlfriend’s guts.”

“Yoon Jeonghan!” You shout while Seungkwan yells, “Yeah!”

Junhui just cackles, nearly spilling his wine as he leans back in his chair. Seungkwan practically doubles over, howling with delight, half choking on the last olive he’d popped into his mouth. You bury your face in your hands, heat licking up your neck and across your cheeks, but you’re giggling too.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he murmurs, leaning down so only you can hear. His breath ghosts over your ear, warm and wine-sweet. “I’ll carry you up if I have to.”

He tugs you up, not hard, but with the same easy command he always has, like gravity tilts for him alone. The group’s teasing follows, but you barely hear it as he pulls you through the old stone house, bare feet padding soft over the warm floor.

Up the stairs. Down the hall. The faint hush of the ocean wind threads through open windows, carrying the salt and the sigh of distant waves. He kicks the door shut behind you, the soft thud muffled by the thick stone walls.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, voice gone all soft and hoarse with wanting. “You know that? Makes me crazy.”

“I love you,” you tell him, grinning. 

His smile is warm. “Love you.”

Finally, you’ve reached a balance. Something equal. Two bodies exerting a regular push against one another, equal gravities. A resonance. 

[sailorsoons]

Resonance | Five (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jeonghan x f. reader

SUMMARY: ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun): 

(1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles. 

WORD COUNT: 6978

GENRE: Friends to Lovers, Romantic Drama 

TYPE: Angst, smut, fluff

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Explicit language, tons of recreational drinking on a yacht, angst, Jeonghan and reader both bring proud and stubborn, Joshua being a little bit of a shit stirer but I love him, angry sex, oral (f. rec), vaginal fingering, biting, light choking, multiple sex scenes, a bit of teasing, multiple orgasms, brief use of color system, unprotected sex, risk of being caught (semi-public but they're alone), spitting, scratching.

SCHEDULE: This fic updates bi-weekly on Fridays.

A/N: Happy Resonance Day! I actually cannot believe there is only a single chapter left after this one! I so rarely write couples who refuse to figure it out because I cannot relate, so I really had to think on this chapter when writing it and how the communication should play out. I decided to chalk it up to sheer stubbornness! I hope you. enjoy.

A/N 2: This chapter has not been beta read - sorry!

SERIES M. LIST | MAIN M. LIST | ASK | PLAYLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS. Three days of silence. Three days of tension. Three days of Jeonghan barely being able to look at you. You don’t look at him, either. You don’t know how to. The open wound between you festers, rotting away at the edges the longer the situation goes unaddressed. 

You cannot remember the last time you went this long without talking to Jeonghan. There’s so little to fight about. Sure, he’s angered you before and you’ve had tense exchanges, but nothing like this. Never something that has stretched between you with an unending vastness, nothing that has earned his cold silence. His refusal to look at you. 

Even the azure waters of the Tyrrhenian can’t heal the rift. 

The Amalfi coast unspools behind you. The Seraphine cuts through the water easily, sunlight flashing off her polished flanks. Standing at the starboard rail, you stare out at the coast unseeing, sunglasses pushed high on your nose to fight the glare glittering on the surface of the water. 

It’s not nearly as bad as the glare coming from Jeonghan, on occasion. 

You’re pretty sure he’s looked at you maybe a single time since you boarded in Positano this morning and it was with a deadpan glare. He’d brushed by you on the deck with an aperol spritz in hand an hour ago, but you haven’t seen him since. Haven’t tried looking for him.

Looking hurts. Looking reminds you of what you had just days ago in Italy. Rare. Small. Fleeting.

Gone, now.

You’re unsure what to say to him. For the first time in your friendship, you don’t know how to mend whatever you’ve broken. You still feel like you’re right about some things, despite knowing he’s right too. But neither one of you seems to be able to reckon with the things you need fixed, so it sits unsolved and heavy between the two of you.

For as long as you’ve known him, you thought you understood Jeonghan. Knew what he wanted. Knew the way he operated. But now, you’re not so sure. Now, you have no idea what to do, what to say. And worse? You just want to pretend it didn’t happen. You want to walk over to him, to tell him to get over it, that you just want to be in his orbit again. 

And you hate that. Hate the way you would do anything to orbit his sun, even if it means getting burned over and over again. 

Joshua appears next to you, the smell of his sunscreen and bergamot cologne familiar. It’s not Jeonghan’s hinoki, but it’s still warm all the same. “You okay?” 

His tone is playful, but you give him a deadpan stare. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start what? You look lonely. I thought I’d keep you company, since Jeonghan seems to have vacated the position. You both look utterly miserable, by the way.” 

You glare at him. “Go bother Jun.”

He sighs. “I’m genuinely asking you. Friend to friend, this time. No poking the bear, just concerned. Are you alright?”

“No, honestly. I’ll figure it out, but not right now.”

“Anything I can do to help?” You give him a look and he nods, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m definitely not the one to help. Got it. Let me know if I can though, will you? I hate to see you down. I don’t even like seeing him like this, honestly. Don’t tell him I said that.”

The sincerity in his words are real. Joshua might like to play games and get under Jeonghan’s skin - has since you were all teenagers - but he’s good at reading the room, knows when to put away the game to ask if you’re alright. You appreciate it, despite everything. 

You nod and he lifts his glass in mock salute, drifting away toward the sunbeds where Junhui is stretched out under a white umbrella, book abandoned on his chest. He does exactly as you’ve requested, and immediately starts bothering Junhui. It makes you grin.

The afternoon is spun from gold and heat. You’ve traded the sundress from this morning for a swimsuit and a loose linen shirt that hangs open. Sighing, you drift to an abandoned sunbed away from the karaoke Soonyoung is subjecting the rest of the group to, accompanied by the new arrival of Seokmin, whose yacht you’re on. 

Seungcheol offers you a drink from the outdoor bar but you wave him off and throw yourself down onto a sunbed instead. There’s a ring of girls around him, all ducking to murmur when they see you put out and alone. 

They know who you are. They know who Jeonghan is. 

You hope Seungcheol poisons their drinks, though he’s playing the part of charming, hot bartender at the moment so you suppose that’s not going to happen. 

You try not to look over at Jeonghan. He’s at the portside seating area, legs sprawled out, a pair of sunglasses on his nose. He’s laughing at something Minghao is showing him on his phone, long hair pushed off his forehead. The chain you gifted him catches the sun every time he moves. 

At least he hasn’t taken it off.

When the sun gets too hot and your sweat makes you stick to the sunbed too much to bare, you drift into the shade of Seungcheol’s bar. He’s making limoncello, glancing up at you as you sit on a stool. He stares at you, you stare at him. 

“You gotta stop fucking this up,” he says eventually. 

“Crazy, that sounds like none of your business, bartender.”

“It is when I have to share a bed with him because you won’t pull your head out of your ass.”

“Funny, I think the same could go for him.”

He sighs. “You’re not wrong, but you’re also not right. Fix it.”

“Did you give him the same speech?”

He blinks. “Well, yeah. I thought you might be easier to convince.”

“And why am I always the one who has to fix it, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol says nothing. You grin but it’s not a nice one as you slide off of the stool, heading into the salon. Of course Seungcheol wants you to apologize first. You’re always the one who concedes. Jeonghan is the sun and you are a planet, stuck in his orbit, pulled by him and not the other way around.

No one comes looking for you as you lounge in the air conditioned salon. Jihoon keeps you company for a few hours. And by keeping you company, he just happens to be sitting inside of the same room as you, just as irritated with the heat, not talking to you but at least not not talking to you. 

Eventually, Soonyoung comes to find him. He’s surprised when he sees you - and very drunk - and tries his best to get you to come back outside for drinking games. There is nothing you would rather do less and you turn him down despite his best efforts. 

Alone again, you sprawl on the couch and stare at the ceiling until the day starts to melt into the late afternoon. Just when you’re thinking of going downstairs and taking one of the cabins to sleep through dinner, the door to the salon opens and you look up.

Jeonghan stands in the doorway. You stare at him, surprised to see him. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, like he knew where you were and has finally decided to come find you. 

You get your answer when he walks into the air conditioning and heads toward the hall. “Come with me.” 

It’s not a question. It’s not even really an invitation so much as a demand. You push up from the couch slowly, feeling your spine crack where it's been pressed into the cushions for too long. You think about refusing, but when he waits for you in the hall, you fold.

Jeonghan doesn’t speak as he leads you down the narrow passage. You pass the polished wood paneling and the half-drawn doors of empty guest cabins. The faint hum of the yacht’s engines pulse under your bare feet through the floor. 

At the end of the hall, Jeonghan pauses at a cabin door. He pushes it without ceremony and steps inside. 

You hover at the threshold, suddenly aware of the smallness of the room. The bed is low on the ground and the porthole is a narrow thing, the afternoon light pouring through in golden stripes. You finally step in and let the door close behind you with a soft click. 

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he rasps. “I don’t really want to talk. I just know that I’m still mad, and I’m still hurt, but I only know how to fix it one way.”

You stand there, back pressed to the door you just shut. The hum of the boat thrums through your spine like a second heartbeat. The cabin is warm - stifling, with him in it, so close to touch but emotionally far away. 

“So what then?” You ask, lifting your chin. “What is it you want?”

He closes the distance in two steps, his hands coming up. He hesitates, waiting for you to push him away or refuse his touch. When you don’t, he cages you in against the door, palms braced on either side of your head. 

The air turns to static between you. 

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” he murmurs. His breath skates across your lips. “And I don’t want to say sorry when we both know I’m not, and I know you’re not.”

“So what do you want, Jeonghan?

“I want you. I want to ruin you and let you ruin me, I want to fuck you until you forget why you’re mad at me so I don’t have to apologize because I don’t want to.” 

A laugh bubbles up your throat but it dies when his mouth brushes against your jaw, teeth scraping. He moves his hands to skate down your sides, fingers pushing off the linen shirt from your shoulders. You let him, the fabric pooling at your feet.

“Do you hate me?” Your voice is small. 

“I don’t hate you.” His voice is soft. “I hate how you think of me. I hate the way you made me feel. I hate that I want you anyway. More than anything I want you.” Jeonghan’s hand slides up to your throat, thumb brushing your jaw. It’s gentle but firm. “I don’t hate you. Never you.”

His other hand dips, skims the curve of your hip, the waistband of your suit bottoms, teasing. His breath hitches when you roll your hips into his palm without meaning to.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice ragged now. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Instead, you drag your mouth to his, biting at the soft swell of his lower lip until he growls against your teeth. His hand at your throat tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel the desire, the frustration. 

His knee nudges between your thighs, opening you up for him. There’s nothing careful about it now. The kiss turns sharp and hungry. Jeonghan moves you easily, pulling you away from the door and pushing you toward the bed until you're sitting with your legs bracketing his hips. He pushes you back and pins you down, his waist pressed against yours, a hand pinning yours to the bed above your head. 

He bites down on your throat, a sharp sting that contrasts with the cool, soothing scrape of metal against your warm skin as his necklaces drags across your chest. When he pulls back, his hair has fallen loose around his face, half-wild. He looks at you like you devastate him. 

You wonder if he knows he devastates you. That the frustration is a two way street. 

“You want to hate me?” he rasps, fingers tugging at the strings of your swimsuit, dragging them slowly over your hips. “Hate me. Do it. But let me have you like this. Let me fix it the only way I know how.”

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper, shivering under him. “Never you.”

Instead of answering, he drops to his knees. He kisses the inside of your knee first, a soft and almost innocent touch that doesn’t match the hunger simmering under his skin. His hands slide under your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed until your thighs are braced on his shoulders.

His breath fans over your cunt and you squirm, pressing your forearm to your mouth as you stare down at him. He doesn’t look at you as he dips forward, the wet heat of his tongue brushing through your folds maddening. 

“Fuck, Han-”

He shushes you with his mouth, tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe down your pussy that makes your hips jerk. His hands hold you around the thighs, fingers pressing firm into the softness of your legs as he tastes you like it's the last time. 

Jeonghan looks up as his mouth works at you, sucking at your clit messily. His lashes are low, pupils blown wide. He drags his tongue through you slowly, then fast, then slow again, until he has your thighs trembling around his shoulders. 

When you whimper his name, he laughs, the sound wet and muffled against where you drip into his mouth. He seals his lips over you, tongue flicking sharp and sweet until you start to come apart. 

Jeonghan chases your orgasm like he’s desperate for it. Maybe he is. You know you are, chanting his name as he fucks his tongue into your opening and sliding it back up to circle your clit until you’re coming hard, eyes squeezed shut and stars exploding behind your lids. 

He comes away with a sloppy, wet kiss to your cunt. You think he’ll give you a moment to breathe but he doesn’t, climbing up to press his mouth against you, angry and hot. You taste yourself on him, licking into his mouth, nails biting into his forearms as he shuffles you up the bed. 

Jeonghan’s knee pushes your legs open against as he works his swim drunks down his hips, the other braced by your head. You can feel the tremor in his shoulders and the low groan he gives when he finally frees his cock is raw. 

He pumps himself lazily before dragging the tip of his cock through your pussy, slick with your orgasm. Your breath hitches as he coats himself in your arousal, tip pressing against your clit and making you twitch. 

“Still mad at me?” He asks, voice ruined. 

“Yes. Fuck you.”

“Good.” He pauses. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Do you need one?” He hears the real question: are you fucking anyone else. He shakes his head. “Then I don’t care.”

The crown of his cock catches on your entrance and you suck in a sharp breath as he presses in. It’s slow and deep but he hasn’t fucked you open with his fingers and the pressure is intense. You struggle to breath around him, legs squeezing his hips to ground you, hands shooting to hold his biceps, your nails making crescent moons in his arms. 

Your breath stutters out between your teeth and one of his hands lifts from the bed to grab you by the jaw, holding your face so you can’t look away from him, so you can’t pretend to miss the raw look in his gaze. 

He doesn’t start slow. Anger bleeds into him as he starts to snap his hips hard. It punches the air from your lungs and you go taut beneath him. It feels so so good but you feel the rage there, feel the frustration. You give it back tenfold, raking your nails down his back, eager to mark him, to draw blood - anything to make him feel it. 

Jeonghan sets a pace that makes the bed crack against the hull, hips snapping into you so deep that you swear he’s trying to carve you from the inside out. You’re just as violent, biting his shoulders hard enough to bruise, pulling his hair until he’s hissing sharply through his teeth. 

He swallows your sounds with brutal kisses, his teeth digging into your bottom lip when you try to pull away for a breath. He shifts, hooking one of your knees over his arm to open you wider. The angle knocks the air from your lungs each time he pistons, fucking you hard enough to hurt. 

You cling to him - claw at him. He lives for it, breathing your name in shaky gasps, growling when you claw at him like you can rip him open and press yourself closer to his heart. 

“Again,” he pants into your mouth. “Come for me again.” 

You do. It feels like you do anything he asks. You come with your forehead pressed to his, his hair tangled in your fingers, his mouth catching every broken sound of his name from your mouth. 

He follows you over, hips grinding rough and deep, burying himself to the hilt as he shudders through it. He bites your shoulder to keep himself quiet and you think he splits skin. You don’t care. 

When it’s over, you don’t move. He doesn’t either. He just stays pressed into you, breath warm against your throat, fingers tangled in your hair like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Could be minutes, could be an hour. Jeonghan breathes against your throat, body pressed to yours, warm and sweaty. His fingers drift over your hips, the first soft touch. 

When you move, he grumbles. “Don’t move yet. Just… stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jeonghan.” 

He looks up. His eyes are soft, a little vulnerable. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Your fingers trace the chain at his throat. It’s warm from his skin, catching on your knuckles as you toy with it. He lets you, doesn’t flinch when your thumb grazes the hollow of his throat, doesn’t stop you when you press a soft kiss there.

“I hate fighting with you,” he says, so quiet you almost miss it.

“I know.”

“It’s stupid.”

“It is.”

“I’m still not apologizing."

You pinch his side for that, and he huffs a laugh that drifts into a sigh. He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so your cheek finds the space just below his collarbone. His arm settles heavy around your shoulders, pinning you in place.

Outside, the sun slips lower. The sea glows a bruised gold through the porthole, casting slow, dappled light over the curve of his throat, the stretch of his ribs under your palm. You trace lazy patterns there, feeling the steady thrum of his heart under your fingertips.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say into his skin.

He hums. “Good. I’m still mad too.”

Silence stretches, but it’s not sharp anymore. His hand finds your jaw, tilts your face up. He kisses you slowly, nothing like before, no edge, no anger, no sharp teeth. 

“I don’t want to fight. Even if I’m mad,” he mutters. “I just want to pretend.”

“So let’s not fight.”

He nods, kisses you gently again and you let him, sliding your fingers in his hair. You stay like that for a while, kissing gently, at odds with the blooming marks you’ve left across his throat and shoulders and the scratches down his back. 

Finally, you break away and murmur, “We have dinner plans.”

“I already ate.” You smack him when he grins, raising a brow. “Seokmin planned a really nice dinner for us.”

“Nothing tastes better than your pu-”

“Oh shut up, Jeonghan!”

Reluctantly, you peel yourself off him, feeling the stick of sweat and skin and the tender ache where his hands pressed into you like he wanted to break you. He sits up too, hair a mess, lips bitten pink, chain glinting crooked on his collarbone. His back is a disaster, a tableau of your anger. 

You both look a fucking mess. 

Warm, briny air rushes in when you slip back out. You follow him out into the narrow passage, your feet unsteady on the carpet runner. He glances back once to see if you’re behind him, like he’s nervous you’ll change your mind. You’re directly behind him and he relaxes, entering the main salon. 

Outside it’s almost evening, the sky a watercolor of lavender and rose. Mingyu’s hauling bottles of wine from the galley to the deck. Soonyoung’s perched precariously on the railing, waving a bottle of prosecco around while Seokmin is chasing the boat staff to help prepare the tables for dinner. 

Junhui sees you first, He lifts his sunglasses with one finger, eyes narrowing over the rim of his margarita. He clocks Jeonghan’s rumpled hair and your swollen mouth. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but he seems amused. So there’s that. 

Joshua breezes by, glancing at the two of you. “Have fun, you two?”

Jeonghan ignores him and brushes by to steal a glass of something cold from Seungcheol. Seungcheol doesn’t even flinch, just fixes you with a stare so flat you almost punch him just because. 

“Fix it?” He asks, voice dry.

“Working on it.”

“Mhmm.”

Joshua claps Seungcheol on the shoulder as he passes by, grabbing a drink. “At least Jeonghan’s in a better mood now.” 

“Shut up, Josh.” 

He grins when you pass by, bumping your shoulder. It’s the closest thing you’ll get to him saying good for you, you think.

Jeonghan’s waiting for you by the railing, backlit by the sunset. He crooks a finger at you and you drift to him, a moth to her favorite flame. When you reach him, he hands you the glass he stole, pressing the cool rim to your palm.

“Drink,” he murmurs. “You’ll need it.”

“Why?”

“Because Soonyoung’s about to do karaoke again.”

Soonyoung does, in fact, do karaoke again. He sings loudly and very off key, often joined by Mingyu as the last of the sun dies off and drenches the boat in darkness until all of the string lights come on. 

The deck has been transformed while you were tangled up in Jeonghan. Linen drapes the tables pulled together under warm white lights, glassware set out that catch the dusk. The crew moves around you, efficient and silent as they ferry out items for the table. 

You find your place at the long table, Jeonghan’s hand on your lower back to guide you to the seat beside his. You ignore the eyes, sure the two of you have become a topic of conversation this trip right up there with the Mingyu-Lena-Nari debacle, which has now expanded to a Chan-Nari-Mingyu debacle after the Florence threesome. 

After everyone sits, Seokmin stands at the head of the table for the first toast. He lifts his prosecco, grinning around the table as he thanks everyone for spending a day in his little paradise. He tips his glass toward the sea and then to all of you, finishing off the speech with, “To making it through.”

“To making it through!” The table echoes, laughter spilling.

You look at Jeonghan. “To making it through, as if a bunch of rich people struggle.”

He snorts. “I struggle with you every day. It’s toast worthy.”

The first course is brought out in delicate ceramic bowls laden with chilled oysters on shaved ice, dressed in pink peppercorn and shaved fennel. Jeonghan’s thigh presses to yours as he leans to brush a drop of mignonette from your lip with his thumb. You let him, cheeks heating when he immediately sticks the thumb in his mouth. 

The second course is a salad of stone fruit and burrata drizzled in olive oil. Joshua steals a slice of peace from your plate with his fork, Jeonghan watching with narrowed eyes. His irritation dissipates when you steal a piece of mozzarella from Joshua’s plate and give it to Jeonghan, sticking your tongue out. 

Soonyoung is already tipsy and crying by the third course, walking around the table to tell everyone how much he appreciates them. When he gets to you, he holds your face in his hands and pouts. 

“My favorite princess. No more crying for you.” Soonyoung looks at Jeonghan. “You made her cry.”

Both of you wince. Jeonghan seems haunted by the thought, his eyes ghosting to you. He makes no move to apologize, though. Ignoring it, just as promised. So you swallow past the tightness in your throat, pretending. Just like he’d asked.

Soonyoung sniffs and kisses you on the brow before he does the same to Jeonghan. “No more crying,” he tells Jeonghan seriously. Jeonghan nods. “Thank you, princess Jeonghan.”

“Jesus,” Jeonghan mutters, laughing under his breath, trying to break the tension as Soonyoung moves on to his next victim. “Who is responsible for getting him home?”

Mingyu’s chair breaks suddenly, sending him to the deck floor. He’s a pile of splintered wood, belly laughs and soaked with campagne. The deck hands look on, watching him with an exasperated expression as Seokmin yells and tries to pick Mingyu up.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, pointing at Mingyu. “Him. That is who is responsible for Soonyoung.”

The third course is branzino roasted whole, skin crisp and delicate. Jeongha struggles with his fish and you laugh, helping him pick through the bones as Soonyoung starts singing again until Minghao starts booing at him. 

Jeonghan shifts closer while the wine flows. The breeze off the water is warm now, sweet with the sea spray. He leans back in his chair, arm draped behind yours. He’s not quite touching you, but it’s a silent claim all the same.

By the time the fourth course arrives, you’re warm from more than just wine, and too full to even think about attempting the pasta slick with lemon butter and curls of bottarga. Jeonghan’s hand ghosts under the table, palm braced on your knee. His thumb strokes idle, but teasing. 

His hand drifts higher and you choke on your wine, snapping your legs shut to trap him. He grins, not looking at you as he turns to the side to listen to something Vernon is telling him. He pinches your leg and you relent, letting him drift his hand higher until he stops and flicks you on the thigh before dragging his hand back down to safety. 

You don’t attempt desert. You laugh loudly as Seokmin tries to feed Soonyoung a bite of lemon cake, but Soonyoung is so drunk he nearly knocks over half the wine glasses trying to reach the bite. 

When the staff clears the final plates, the table is a sprawl of empty bottles, scattered candles and a bunch of drunks. Somewhere, music starts pulsing - Jihoon’s playlist, probably. Something with old brass and soft piano that drifts over the deck. 

Jeonghan stands and slips behind you, squeezing your shoulders. You tip your head back, resting against his stomach as you look up at him. Stars explode above his head, dizzying and wonderful. His fingers slide around the back of your neck, squeezing.

“Hmm?” You ask.

“Come on,” he murmurs, grinning. “Let’s walk.”

He doesn’t give you time to answer before he’s pulling you up from your chair, wine glass abandoned. You rise and he sticks his hand out. His palm is warm in yours as he squeezes, tugging you along with him. 

The coastline in the distance is a spine of lights. There are other boats too, all drifting with full lights a couple of hundred yards away. Music and laughter drifts from them too, a whole collection of people dotting the water to celebrate and live life. 

At the farthest edge of the Seraphine’s bow, the world feels secluded. Jeonghan sinks down onto the biggest sunbed and pulls you into his lap - exactly where you belong. You feel like you belong there, smiling down at him as he lays back. 

His hands settle at your hips. You press your hands to his shoulders and lean down, mouth brushing his cheek lightly. He slides his hands under your shirt, palms hot on your bare back. He noses along your jaw. 

“Want you,” he murmurs, voice a low rask. “You gonna let me fuck you again, baby?”

You nod, leaning in to kiss him. It’s open-mouthed and desperate, drunk on wine and the feeling of his hands on your skin. He shifts so that you're settled against his hips, your knees bracketing his thighs. His tongue slides against yours, patient but hungry, licking into you like he’s addicted to your taste. 

One hand slides between your bodies, pressing against your swimsuit bottoms. You laugh, breathy as his finger teases your clit through the fabric. It’s too thick to do anything but frustrate you, your fingers tugging his hair harshly, silently asking for more. 

He nips your lip playfully before dragging the bottoms to the side. The night air hits the heat of you and you shiver, but his fingers quickly find your pussy, swiping up and down your folds as he works you. You’re still slick and swollen from earlier in the cabin, hips jumping as his fingers circle your entrance but don’t push in. 

Jeonghan groans, forehead pressed to yours. “I could do this every fucking day,” he whispers. “You have no idea how much you’ve wrecked me.” 

Your heart does a flip. He drags his fingers through you, teasing and spreading your arousal. You rock into his hand helplessly, chasing his touch, the rough scrape of his knuckles, the heat of him between your thighs. 

Finally, he presses two fingers in. It feels so good you melt, laying on his chest as he slowly works his fingers into your cunt. He cups you with his hand, pressing the heel of his palm into your clit as he works you, peppering the side of your face with kisses. 

“You really go stupid for my fingers, huh?” He asks sweetly. “Can’t fucking do anything when I finger fuck you, can you baby?”

You shake your head because he’s right. His fingers feel so fucking good, reaching in and pressing all the places you can’t reach with a precision no one else has ever mastered. He knows exactly how you like it, hooking his fingers to drag you toward your orgasm, trembling in his lap. 

You fist the edges of his shirt, pulling it open so you can press messy kisses to his chest as he continues to work you until you’re coming hard in his hand, moan lost to the hush of the ocean.

Jeonghan lets you twitch in his lap a little longer before he helps you lean up, clumsy and shaking as you both tug at his shorts, just pulling them down enough that he can free his cock. He uses his fingers to wipe your slick up and down his shaft before you lean over and spit, letting it drip to his cock head. 

“Fuck,” he swears, leaning his head back on the day bed. “Wrecking me. You’re fucking wrecking me.”

Grinning, you wrap your hand around him, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths. The hot slide of him in your palm is delightful, the way he tips his head back when your thumb brushes over the flushed head addicting. 

Jeonghan is so beautiful it scrambles your brain. It blots out all logic and reason. It isn’t the only reason you love him - but it’s one of them. Because he’s both devil and angel, sin and savior. You don’t understand him, but you’re hypnotized by the way his lips part open, shaking breaths coming out as you rub his cock against your weeping entrance.

“Stop teasing me and sit on my cock,” he growls, voice hoarse.

The command makes you smirk. His eyes are dark, glincing with raw want. You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you like this - you don’t want anyone else to look at you like this. Just Jeonghan. 

You drag the tip of his cock through your folds again, slow and deliberate, letting it catch on your clit just to see him grit his teeth. His hands tighten on your hips, digging into your skin like he’s trying to anchor himself. 

“Patience,” you tease. “Isn’t that always what you tell me?”

The sound that comes out of him is half groan, half laugh. “I don’t do it when there are twenty other people on the boat who could walk over here, baby.” 

You hum but don’t respond. You just guide his cock to your entrance and sink down slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, your body still sensitive from earlier, and you both hiss as you take him deeper.

Your hands brace on his chest, nails scraping against his skin as you settle fully onto him, his cock buried to the hilt. For a moment, you just sit there, feeling the way he fills you, the way his hips twitch beneath you like he’s fighting himself not to take over.

“Fuck,” he pants, head tipping back, He runs a hand through his hair, eyes fluttering. He looks fucking wrecked. “You feel so god damn good.”

That gets a smile out of you. You roll your hips experimentally and the low, broken sound that leaves him sends a pulse of heat straight to your core. You start slowly, grinding down on him, letting the friction of your clit against his pelvis build a lazily, molten pressure. 

“Teasing me,” he mutters. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good. You deserve it.” 

Jeonghan growls and before you can react, his hands are on your hips and he’s thrusting up into you, hard and sudden. You gasp, the jolt of pleasure making your thighs tremble. You grip his shoulders tighter, nails biting into the skin. He does it again and again, setting a solid rhythm. 

You meet him thrust for thrust, dropping down to match his pace. The sound of skin against skin is drowned out by the distant hum of the ocean and music coming from the main deck. His hands roam, one slipping under your bathing suit top to palm at your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple, the other gripping at your ass to pull you down harder. 

“Fuck, Jeonghan,” you breath, head tipping back. 

He’s relentless, hips snapping to meet you, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. You can feel the heat of him, the way he throbs, the way every breath stutters every time you clench around him.

“Come on, baby,” he pants. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

You’re already close, the orgasm sneaking up fast with the way he’s fucking up into you. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts, and it’s enough to send you over the edge.

You come with a sharp crying, your body locking up as you pulse. Your thighs shake as you grind down on him through it. He doesn’t stop - doesn’t even slow down. He fucks you through your orgasm, dragging it out until you’re a whimpering mess in his halp. 

His hands are everywhere, one gripping your hip to keep you moving, the other sliding up to grab your jaw and force you to look at him. His eyes are wild and fucked out, twin flames of hunger burning hot. 

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so fucking perfect when you come like that.”

Your head is still spinning when he suddenly shifts. He pulls out, making you suck in sharply in surprise. Before you can say anything, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, tugging your hips up until you’re on your knees, chest pressed to the sunbed. 

The vinyl is warm against your skin, sticky with your sweat. You barely have time to brace yourself before he’s behind you, hands spreading your thighs. He uses his thumbs to peel apart your folds, letting out a sound of appreciation. 

“Have I mentioned I could do this all day?” He asks. You push back against his hand and he chuckles. “Greedy.”

He lines himself back up, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance. He thrusts in and you cry out, voice lost in the cushions. 

The angle is devastating. He feels bigger and deeper this way, hitting spots that make your vision blur. His pace is brutal now, no trace of teasing or the slowness from before. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto him. 

“Jeonghan - fuck. Don’t stop.”

He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, one hand sliding up to cup your throat. You nod and he presses a messy kiss to your jaw, wrapping his fingers around your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, he just holds you there, grounding you as he fucks you into the sunbed. 

Jeonghan’s necklace drags across your shoulder blades, the cool metal biting against your overheated skin. You arch back into him, chasing the feeling. 

“You like this?” He rasps, breath hot against your ear. “You like when I fuck you like this, where anyone could walk over here?”

“Yes,” you shiver. “Fuck.”

He hums, his hand tightening on your throat just enough to make your pulse race. You feel another orgasm coming, your cunt clenching around him as you start to seize up. Your breath starts to hitch, shallow and restricted under the safe weight of his hand. 

“You’re gonna come again,” he says, not really a question. “Gonna coma all over my cock, aren’t you?”

You can’t speak. Can’t form words. You just nod frantically as the pressure builds, so sharp that you can’t breathe. You come with a silent scream, everything turning to white noise as you seize around him. This orgasm is hard. You can’t suck in breath, can’t do anything but jerk in his hold.

Finally, you suck in air. Your vision goes white as you sag. He holds you carefully, arms tight around you as you shake. Jeonghan’s thrusts slow but don’t stop, drawing out your pleasure until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and trembling. He pulls out suddenly, and you whine at the emptiness, but then he’s flipping you onto your back again, climbing over you, his knees bracketing your hips.

“One more,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. His cock is slick with you, flushed and leaking as he pumps himself slowly, eyes locked on yours. “Give me one more, baby.”

“I can’t,” you whimper, but your hands are already reaching for him, pulling him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist. You’re wrong, and you both know it. You can, and you will, because he’s not done with you, and you’re not done with him.

“Color?” He asks anyway.

“Green.”

He slides back into you, slower this time, and the sensitivity makes you hiss, but it’s so good. He’s gentle now, almost tender, his hips rocking in a steady, languid rhythm that builds the heat back up slowly. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and he kisses you, soft and deep, like he’s trying to pour all the things he can’t say into it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers against your lips, and it’s not just the heat of the moment talking. You can feel it, the way he means it, the way it cracks something open inside you. “My favorite girl. The only one I want.” 

You’re too far gone to respond, just cling to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving fresh marks over the ones from earlier. The slow drag of his cock inside you is maddening, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge again, and you can feel it building, slower this time, deeper, like it’s going to shatter you completely.

He watches you, eyes dark and intense, like he’s memorizing every shudder, every gasp, every broken sound you make. “Let go. You can do it, just one more time. Let go for me, love.”

The orgasm hits you like a slow wave, rolling over you, pulling you under until you’re drowning in it, your vision white-hot and your body trembling uncontrollably. You cry out his name, loud enough that you’re sure someone on the deck hears, but you don’t care, not when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Jeonghan follows you over, his thrusts growing erratic, his breath hitching as he buries himself deep, coming with a low, guttural groan that vibrates through you. He stays there, hips pressed flush to yours, his forehead resting against yours as you both try to catch your breath.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The world is quiet, just the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the ocean. His hands are still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other resting on your hip, like he’s afraid to let go.

Finally, he lifts his head, eyes soft and a little dazed. “Fuck,” he breathes, a small, incredulous laugh escaping him. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You manage a weak laugh, your limbs heavy and sated. “Speak for yourself.”

He kisses you again, slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world. When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, just rests his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing your cheek. “We’re not fixed though, huh?”

“No,” you agree, your voice just as soft. “But we’ll figure it out, right?”

Something passes his face. It’s too fast to catch, but you feel a little twinge of dread, like you’ve just missed something important. Then, he nods and murmurs, “Right.”

For the first time in days, the tension between you feels less like a wound and more like a bruise, still a little tender, but healing.

[sailorsoons]

Resonance | Four (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jeonghan x f. reader

SUMMARY: ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun): 

(1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles. 

WORD COUNT: 7708

GENRE: Friends to Lovers, Romantic Drama 

TYPE: Angst, smut, fluff

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Explicit language, tons of recreational drinking at a winery, lots of pettiness, drunk arguments, reader drunk cries a bit, references to Chan puking from wine lmfao, everyone is a little buzzed and messy, Jeonghan is possessive and an asshole, public argument and icky feelings, jealousy, both Jeonghan and reader are very stubborn and too full of pride, hurt feelings and misunderstandings, references to sex, internal angst/insecurity with reader.

SCHEDULE: This fic updates bi-weekly on Fridays.

A/N: Sorry this chapter is a day late - work has been increasingly challenge and though this entire story is prewritten and done, I forgot to at least glimpse through the chapter for edits and I had to work a game last night. We are finally at the half-way point in the fic where things start to go wrong womp womp. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it's fully of pettiness :)

A/N 2: This chapter has not been beta read - sorry!

SERIES M. LIST | MAIN M. LIST | ASK | PLAYLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

RIBBONS OF GOLD AND LAVENDER MAKE UP THE FLORENCE SUNRISE. Florence is still stretching awake when you and Jeonghan leave the villa. You wander the narrow streets, walking through buildings of centuries-old stone and mosaics, sunglasses pushed high on your nose as you navigate to the Via de Tornabuoni. 

The street gleams with storefronts that you’re familiar with, all polished windows of high-end designers and stores that require appointments. Jeonghan, unsurprisingly, has called ahead for this morning excursion, each store expecting you as soon as you walk in. 

Last night still burns in your memory. The smell of the fig tree, the way he’d parted your lips and then your legs, the way Jeonghan is able to peel you apart at the seems so easily. He does it again today, but this time, it isn’t with a languid kiss proceeding greedy fingers. Today, he cracks you open with soft touches against your wrist, with brushes of his hand across your back and hooking his chin over your shoulder as he peers into a glittering display of necklaces in a tiny boutique. 

You stand at a glass counter together, Jeonghan behind you with his hands on your hips. You lean forward, examining a pair of gold earrings, turning them around your hands but hyperaware of the nearness of Jeonghan, the smell of hinoki and bergamot. 

“You should try them on,” he murmurs, squeezing your hips. 

He backs away from you as you do, watching as you slip them through your ears before turning around, tilting your head to show them off. He grins and reaches out, placing a finger delicately under your chin to tip your face this way and that. His eyes are fathomless dark and glittering as he looks at you, mouth twitching.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Aren’t they?” You ask.

“The canvas helps.”

Your heart flutters at that, feeling the heat in your neck. “You gonna buy them for me, then?”

“Isn’t that what I’m here for? To buy a pretty girl pretty things?”

You swat at him. “You’re here to buy yourself things, Jeonghan.”

He surprises you then, dropping his hand to lean forward and brush his mouth against yours. It’s a quick kiss but it’s sweet, leaving you breathless as he steps back, looking down at you through long lashes. “Let me buy you the earrings, love.”

For once, you let him. 

You keep the earrings on, grinning when he flicks your ear affectionately before leading you out of the store and through the winding streets. You walk aimlessly, hands brushing, stopping to take pictures. He looks like he belongs, dressed in all black jeans that fit him perfectly and a black t-shirt that he manages to make effortlessly casual. 

It’s nice - this is nice. You two are always in your own bubble, but this feels different, like the night before. Intimate. Something. You try not to think about the shelf life of this feeling, instead watching with a laugh as he insists on trying your gelato before he eats his, leaning in to lick a smear of it from the corner of your mouth. 

Hands linked, you slip into a perfumery, marveling at glittering bottles of cut glass, the air thick with the scent of roses and citrus. Jeonghan speaks in rapid Italian to the clerk, pointing at bottles and passing you the pieces of paper sprayed with each scent. 

He waves one back in front of his nose and he hums and nods. The clerk passes over the bottle and Jeonghan turns to you, gesturing for you to hold out a wrist. You do, eyes narrowed as you let him spritz it on your pulse point before taking your wrist and bringing it up to you to smell.

His fingers are warm where he holds you, watching as you breathe in the scent. It smells good, like crushed figs and something darker - vetiver, maybe. It reminds you of something dark, intimate. Like the press of his mouth against yours, your back against the wall near the fig tree behind Sofia’s restaurant. 

“I like it,” you admit, looking up at him to see him staring at you, pupils dilated. 

“It makes me think of last night.”

Your heart squeezes. “Me too.” 

He smiles, nodding as he turns to the clerk and nods, collecting a new bottle that’s wrapped and sealed. You open your mouth to protest but he shakes his head. “Trust me,” he promises, slipping it in a bag. “You wearing this scent is like a gift to myself.” 

You roll your eyes but he’s pleased when you let him buy it, pressing a kiss briefly to your shoulder as you exit the store and step back into the mid-afternoon light. 

You’re not together. Not in any way that makes sense or is real. But you’re something - this is something. You don’t dare bring it up or mention it, don’t want to shatter the illusion or spook him. But you feel the knot of whatever this is behind your ribs, threatening to unspool and spill everything out onto the Florence street.

Eventually, Jeonghan sighs and looks at his voice. “Come on,” he murmurs, pulling your hand. “If we don’t get back, Seungcheol’s going to have an aneurysm.” 

“What a shame.”

He giggles, pulling you in toward him as you wait for the car, pressing to the corner of a tiny street. “Thanks for coming with me today. This was nice.”

“I had fun.”

When he smiles, you feel yourself melt at the edges. “Good,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your brow. “I like you most when you have fun.”

-

Morning light burns through the windows of the villa kitchen. You’re perched at the long olive wood table in the sun-washed room, half awake with the warmth of the coffee mug between your hands. The table smells faintly of wine and lemon oil and outside, the sun drops over the olive and grape trees, painting the stone walls with morning light. 

Jeonghan sits across from you, half-turned in his chair. One ankle is hooked lazily over his knee, coffee mug in his hand. His hair is still a little damp from his shoulder, the ends curling against his collarbones in a way that makes your fingertips twitch at the memory of sliding your hands through them. 

When he catches you staring, he doesn’t bother to hide his smirk. It’s the same smirk he wore when he pressed you down into the pillows and made you bite your own hand to keep from screaming his name last night. And this morning in bed. And then in the shower. 

Beside you, Junhui stirs his espresso with a tiny spoon, eyes flicking between you and Jeonghan. Kira’s next to him, her feet in his lap as she lounges in a spot of light that spills across the kitchen like a cat. She sips her coffee, occasionally cracking open an eye to glance between you and Jeonghan before shaking her head and enjoying the warmth again.

Seungcheol is sprawled at the far end of the table, one hand wrapped around a chipped mug, his phone buzzing on the table in front of him with updates about bus reservations and wine tour logistics. He’s been complaining all morning about the near-military operation it takes to wrangle twenty people from breakfast to a vineyard without losing someone along the way. 

You feel loose and pliant this morning. You’re unsure if it’s from the night before, or if it’s from the way Jeonghan woke you up and then spread your thighs with his firm hands to press his face into your cunt, insisting that the first meal of the day was the most important.

The thing humming between the two of you doesn’t feel so scary anymore. It feels realer than it had in Spain or Paris. Feels like one of the dreams that Jeonghan spoke to the moon after drunkening climbing Sofia’s fig tree to give all of his secrets to the dark.

You steal a glance at him now. He’s talking to Junhui about the vineyard schedule, debating which winery has the best Syrah, but his foot nudges yours under the table. The touch is small, but it makes you smile into your coffee. 

Outside the wide open kitchen doors, the morning breeze hums with the drone of cicadas. Sunlight spills across the flagstone patio, pooling golden at the tires of the car that waits for you five to pile in. 

Today’s plan is to take the car a few miles up the winding hills to Mingyu’s family villa, where the rest of your friends will gather like a messy flock of birds before migrating together into the vans for the wine tour.

Seungheol sighs, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “Alright. We’ve got twenty minutes. If you’re not in the car when the engine turns on, you’re fucked. Jihoon texted - he’s wheels up. He’ll meet us at one of the wineries later.”

Jeonghan just slides his foot across the floor, tapping yours under the table. He grins, winking at you. You drag your gaze away from him, pretending not to notice the roll of Junhui’s eyes or the way Seungcheol seems to very specifically be minding his business, as though he doesn’t suspect Jeonghan of anything.

Getting up, you stretch your limbs, feeling your joints pop. Everyone begins to shuffle, putting the finishing touches on getting ready. You’ve opted for an airy dress today, some vintage thing that you’d found a few years ago, all cream and linen. You pair it with the earrings Jeonghan bought for you the day before, a fact that he immediately notices, making him grin. 

Jeonghan matches you, accidentally. Or perhaps not by accident, since he got dressed with you this morning. He’s in white linen pants with thin, cream pinstripes and a white linen shirt tucked in. The gold necklace you got him glints as he grabs a bottle of water off the counter and snatches his sun glasses, pushing them into his hair as he takes a swig.

After piling in the car, you lean your head against the headrest of the seat. Jeonghan puts his hand on your knee, thumb rubbing circles as he closes his eyes and dozes. You’re all sleepy and full from breakfast, letting the drive up winding roads lull you into a final peace before the chaos.

Out the window, endless rows of vines cut into rolling hills, sun gilding the leaves so bright it almost hurts to look too long. And then, just past an ancient olive grove and a crumbling stone archway, Mingyu’s villa appears, all sprawling and modern but warm with old-world touches. Terracotta rooflines, sun-bleached wood beams, the front courtyard scattered with shiny cars and electric scooters and at least three Vespas that probably haven’t been ridden sober - well, ever.

As soon as the doors pop open, you’re pulled out into the buzz of twenty-something bodies. There’s Mingyu himself on the front steps in an expensive linen shirt unbuttoned enough to show a flash of gold chain and sun-bronzed collarbones. He’s holding a bottle of sparkling water in one hand and a half-empty glass of wine in the other because, of course, it’s not too early for him.

“Finally!” he calls when he spots Seungcheol first, arms spread wide. “We’re already behind schedule.”

“I made the fucking schedule,” Seungcheol growls, pulling his sunglasses on. “Are we waiting on anyone else?”

Junhui loops an arm around your shoulders from behind, chin hooking over your head as he murmurs, “You have the glow of someone who got dicked down last night.”

You elbow him lightly and he just laughs, steering you toward the shade. Kira’s already disappeared into the crush, trading air kisses with someone you think might be a minor celebrity, or at least a wealthy heir who thinks he is.

You catch Jeonghan’s gaze from a few steps away. He mouths, you okay? and when you nod, he lets a small, knowing smile ghost across his mouth before Mingyu barrels into him with a one-armed hug that nearly knocks the breath out of him. Someone - Soonyoung you realize, wearing sunglasses twice the size of his face - calls out that the drivers are ready, the vineyard vans idling at the bottom of the hill to shuttle you all to the first winery. 

Junhui jostles your shoulder again, dragging you back to the present. “Time to drink more wine than anyone should before noon.”

“Don’t let me puke, Jun. Please don’t let me puke.”

Jeonghan catches your hand when you pass him, linking your fingers for just a heartbeat before letting go again. He’s in the middle of conversation with Wonwoo, who blows a kiss in your direction that you make sure to catch.

The shuttle vans are lined up at the bottom of the villa’s long, sun-bleached drive. They’re big, sleek sprinters with blacked-out windows and doors that hiss when they slide open. Mingyu wrangles everyone into vans, pushing his sunglasses onto heads and water bottles into hands, running a tight ship with Seungcheol by his side.

You end up in the second shuttle pressed between Junhui and Jeonghan as the shuttle bumps along the winding roads. The sun has begun its slow climb overhead, smudging the sky with white light that makes the dusty roads and terracotta roofs shimmer in the heat. 

The inside of the van is full of the soft buzz of chatter. Soonyoung is perched on the seat behind you, phone out as he records shaky videos for his social media. Junhui is half asleep on Kira’s shoulder as she leans against the window, dozing herself. Jeonghan sits on your other side, his thigh flush against yours, his hand curled on your knee. 

It’s nothing really. It’s just the press of his palm to your skin, thumb sweeping tiny, idle circles across your leg. But it feels like everything. 

Jeonghan doesn’t look at you. He’s leaning forward, talking to Wonwoo who’s sitting across the aisle, the two of them arguing about wine. Despite his attention being elsewhere, every few sentences he squeezes your knee gently, like he’s letting you know he’s thinking of you, like he likes this closeness. 

When the shuttle finally rolls to a halt in front of the first vineyard, you step out into a world that smells like sweet grapes. The main villa is a pale stone farmhouse draped in ivy and old wisteria, its windows open to the breeze. Clay pots overflow with rosemary and lavender, and the gravel crunches under some twenty odd feet as everyone starts walking up the winding path.

Jeonghan’s hand brushes the small of your back when you pause near Mingyu, who is talking logistics with the vineyard’s host in rapid Italian. They agree on something and the host claps his hand, welcoming you all and beckoning you up to the main villa.

“Stay close,” Jeonghan murmurs, brushing his lips against your temple. 

It’s insane the way such a simple ask makes you feel. You don’t trust it entirely. It’s still Jeonghan and despite the fact that this is normal for you, this obsessive nearness, it’s different than before. You’re pretty sure it has a timer, and you’re unsure what to do with that. 

The tour starts off in groups. You break off with Jeonghan, Junhui, Kira, Chan, Soonyoung and Lena, walking through the sun-baked vines as. Jeonghan keeps close, his hand brushing against yours as you wander the estate, a glass of Syrah in your hand. 

Junhui catches you smiling and snorts around the rim of his wine glass, shooting you a look, but says nothing. Kira notices too, her brows arched as she spins around to murmur something in Junhui’s ear, drawing a laugh from him. You’re thankful that they leave it alone, letting you bask in the warmth of Jeonghan’s orbit as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

You look up at him through your sunglasses. He smiles at you, cocking his head to the side as if to ask what? And maybe that’s why you feel giddy - this comes second nature to Jeonghan. Like he doesn’t even have to think about touching you, about the gentle claim he lays on you every time his fingers brush yours or he holds your elbow as you move down stone steps. 

The vineyard hums with late morning heat. Bees drift lazily among the lavender, the breeze carrying the scent of warm grapes and stone dust. You lean against the old stone wall that borders the vineyard, the cool of it seeping through your dress while Jeonghan stands so close his shadow covers yours. He tips his glass to his lips, his eyes flicking down to your mouth and he grins.

“What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes. 

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” 

He sips his glass around a smile. “Just thinking about something much sweeter than the wine.”

“Oh?”

He leans closer, breath hot against your ear. “You.”

Your laugh spills out before you can catch it. It feels too sweet, too indulgent, to stand here with him like this, sun catching on his dark hair, the glint of his necklace peeking out from the open collar of his shirt. You want to roll your eyes, tell him he’s ridiculous, but the words don’t make it to your mouth. 

“You’re lucky I’ve had enough wine to let you get away with being cheesy,” you say eventually, sipping your glass.

“You’re lucky we’re surrounded by people or I’d remind you just what you let me get away with.”

“You think you can get away with anything.”

Jeonghan’s smile is infuriatingly confident. He dips his head, lips brushing just below your ear, his breath warm as he murmurs, “Not anything. Just you.”

The words slip into your bloodstream like the wine has, warm and heady. You hate that it works, that you’re smiling even as you roll your eyes and nudge him back with your shoulder, pressing your palm to his chest. He lets you. He always lets you push him away when you need to, but his fingers circle your wrist, his thumb stroking the pulse that flutters wildly beneath your skin. You wonder if he can feel it. You suspect he can.

A shout draws your attention. It’s Soonyoung waving a half-empty glass like a flag, calling for the rest of the group to gather under the pergola draped in wisteria. The vineyard’s owner is waiting, ready to lead everyone inside for the next round of tastings.

Jeonghan doesn’t move at first. He holds your gaze for a breath longer, the smile softening into something that makes your chest ache. Then he releases your wrist, trailing his fingertips across your palm as he pulls away.

“Come on, love.”

He catches your empty hand, twining your fingers with his as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it is. Maybe that’s what terrifies you most. Because whatever this is has an expiration date of until Jeonghan loses interest and that fucking terrifies you.

You follow him under the dappled shade, stone crunching under your sandals, vines rustling overhead where bees hum and flowers spill down. The tasting room is cool after the press of the sun, made up of arched ceilings and thick stone walls that smell faintly of oak barrels and sweet must.

Junhui raises his glass to you as you step inside, one eyebrow arched, a silent, smug little toast to your flushed cheeks and your still-tangled hands. You flip him off behind Jeonghan’s back and he laughs.

The owner pours the next flight of ruby-dark Sangiovese that clings to the inside of the glass like silk. You take a sip, and Jeonghan’s fingers tighten on yours for just a second, drawing your attention to where he’s staring across the room. 

You see Joshua, which surprises you. He must have been in one of the other cars, but when he sees you, you drop Jeonghan’s hand briefly to wave. You didn’t expect him to take up Seungcheol’s offer to join the vacation starting in Italy, but it’s nice to see him. 

What’s not nice is Jeonghan’s immediate frown when Joshua starts picking his way over to you through the knot of people. His shoulder brushes yours in greeting as he shuffles next to you while the owner addresses the group, and he looks over your head at Jeonghan to give a polite nod. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you whisper, trying to keep it down. 

Joshua’s grin is crooked. “Seungcheol bribed me with the promise of free wine and questionable company.” His gaze drifts to Jeonghan on the last part. “The free wine did it, for sure.”

“There’s nothing more that rich people like than free shit.”

You both snicker, drawing Jeonghan’s deadpan stare. He leans around you to murmur, “Surprised your schedule opened up.”

Joshua’s glance flickers down to where Jeonghan winds his hand around your waist to rest on your hip, possessive. Your smile goes tight but you leave it be while Joshua replies, “It did. Lucky you, huh?”

You feel Jeonghan’s fingers press harder, enough that you have to shift your weight. You shoot him a look, but he just pretends as though he’s listening to the history of the vineyard, the perfect picture of nonchalance. You don’t buy it for a second.

Joshua shifts, leaning to murmur, “You look good. Florence suits you.”

“I’ll take credit for that,” Jeonghan says, though he doesn’t look your way. “Early mornings. Late nights. Plenty of sunshine.”

It lands heavy between the three of you, Joshua’s brows rising at the implication, your cheeks heating with annoyance. You twist away just enough to break the hold of his hand on your hip, pretending you’re just adjusting your bag. But Jeonghan’s palm finds your lower back again almost immediately, guiding you a step closer to him as the vineyard host starts explaining the next pour.

Joshua just hums, swirling the wine in his glass as he addresses you. “And you’re surviving that?” 

“I-”

“She is.”

You bristle, heat prickling your skin. He’s only doing it because Joshua is here. It stings more than you like, Jeonghan going from sweet and subtle to showing you off like a prize pony to say look what’s mine and not in a flattering way. 

You slip out from under Jeonghan’s arm with a small twist of your shoulder, stepping away as if you’re just moving closer to the table where the vineyard host is gesturing at the next flight. You don’t look back, frustrated and flustered. 

When you reach the barrel table, you let your fingers curl around the stem of your fresh glass, the cool wine biting at your palm. The vines outside sway in the breeze, cicadas droning dully. You feel him before you see him and when you turn, his face is pinched with concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t do that,” you murmur, voice tight. “I don’t like how it feels when you go from touching me because you want me to touching me because you want to mark your territory.”

He pulls up short. “I’m not.”

“You are. I don’t know why you feel threatened by Josh-” 

He scoffs. “I don’t feel threatened by Joshua. It’s not about him-”

“It is,” you bite out. Your voice is too sharp, drawing the attention of some nearby. You take a deep breath and lower your voice, going on quieter. “You didn’t go around implying that you’re fucking me to anyone until Joshua showed up. It feels… not good.” 

“You’re reading into it. You always-”

“Always what? Always notice when you start acting like you don’t want someone to take your toy away from you?” You feel your temper flare. “You did it in Paris too. You think I can’t tell the difference when you touch me because you want to and when you touch me like look what I have?”

“That isn’t true - and we are fucking. So what does it matter if he knows? Would you prefer me to tell everyone? Would that make you happier?”

“You know that’s not what it’s about,” you hiss. 

Your heartbeat trips over itself, too loud in your ears. You see Junhui watching from the corner, Kira’s brows knit as she murmurs something to him. You hate it, realizing that people can clearly see you having a disagreement. 

Suddenly it’s too hot and the wine is too much, making you feel irritable and angry in a big, ugly way. You feel short of breath, stepping back from him, glaring.  “I don’t want to talk about this with you right now.”

“Fine,” he bites out. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. We won’t talk about anything. Happy?”

Jeonghan tosses back the rest of his wine, careless, a flash of red across his lips before he sets the glass down too hard on the barrel beside you. The sharp clink makes you flinch. 

He’s already stepping past you, shouldering through a knot of people without bothering to excuse himself. Junhui watches him go with his mouth half-open like he wants to ask what the fuck but thinks better of it when he catches the look on your face.

Kira is at your side immediately, fuming and glaring the way Jeonghan left. She asks if you’re alright and you nod, trying to wave her off politely as to not draw attention to yourself. You hate the way the smirks and eyes are on you, the gossip already starting. You know immediately that if no one thought anything of you and Jeonghan before, they do now. 

Jeonghan’s anger burns hotter than the sun for the rest of the tour. Jeonghan stands a few steps away, sunglasses shoved onto his face, arms crossed tight over his chest. He speaks to no one, his bubble of rage turning away anyone who comes too close. 

When Mingyu calls for everyone to gather for a group picture on the villa steps, Jeonghan doesn’t look at you when he slides in beside you. His shoulder brushes yours for the first time since the fight and you feel it like a bruise.

The silence stretches like an open ravine between you for the second tour. You wash it down with too many glasses of wine and too little bread and cheese, feeling yourself become loose at the seams as you wander toward the vans for the third location. You’re leaning against Kira, a little too drunk, but you’re less mad.

Less mad for all of five seconds until you clamber onto the shuttle to see Jeonghan sitting next to Hana, who had been a late arrival to Italy due to work. Your pulse stutters when you see them and you trip over Mingyu’s foot, earning a yelp from him and several turned heads.

Jeonghan and Hana both look at you, the latter of which waves her hand in greeting, friendly. You nod politely in her direction, the sprinter van spinning on its axis as you throw yourself down in a seat. You try to fixate on the scenery outside of the window as Junhui sits next to you, but you feel your gaze drawn to them like a magnet.

Junhui shifts beside you, catching the way your jaw sets tight. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Do what?”

“Burn holes through the back of his head. You’re going to turn into Superman.”

You shove your elbow into his side just enough to make him grunt, but it does get a smile out of you. He lifts both hands, placating, grinning back as the vehicle begins to rumble up the road to the next vineyard. 

It’s a short enough drive that you could have walked - well, not you. You’re about three glasses two deep, but thankfully Seungcheol hands you a crisp, cold water bottle. He drinks one down himself, slouching in his seat, red in the face from both the wine and the sun. 

The next vineyard is an older estate that sprawls across the hillside. Jeonghan doesn’t so much as look at you when he crawls out of the van before he’s drifting off with Hana. She loops her arm through his, playful, and he doesn’t shake her off. 

The urge to vomit fights with the urge to scream like a banshee. 

“I don’t know if you need water or wine,” Kira mutters, marching up with a glass and a water bottle. She shoves them both in your hands. “Pick your poison.”

You drink the water first. 

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t make your chest feel hollow and tight at the same time. You’re not his. You aren’t. Not like that, anyway. You’re friends and you’re doing whatever you want on vacation, and if whatever he wants is Hana because he’s lost interest in you after your fight… well.

Self fulfilled prophecy. 

The third tour is torture. You turn down the glasses of wine, knowing that at this point, they’ll send you over the edge. By the sounds of it, Chan is over the edge in the bushes, Soonyoung happily recording him as he empties the last two wineries worth of wine from his stomach. 

Ahead, Jeonghan and Hana walk near one another. Jeonghan doesn’t look for you. Doesn’t reach back for your hand. He lets Hana tug him by the wrist through the narrow hallway, their shoulders brushing as she teases him about something you can’t hear.

You trail behind with Jun and Kira, the press of the group tightening the ache in your throat because you know what they’re doing - you’ve seen them protective before, two sentinels closing in on you to ward off any harm. It even keeps Joshua away, who doesn’t dare make things worse. 

Despite the torture, you almost make it to the end of the tour. You manage to drink another glass of Chianti, allowing yourself to partake as the uncomfortable roil in your stomach vanishes and the buzz starts to fade. It helps dull the edge a little, and you feel yourself relax, thinking you’ll get through the end of the tour without tipping over. 

Then you watch as Jeonghan slips his hand to the small of Hana’s back to move her out of the way as a group walks by and it hits you like a freight train. The air feels stifling in the cellar. The voices bouncing off the wall are too loud and there’s too many bodies pressed close together. 

You mutter an excuse that you need to use the restroom to Junhui and you bolt. The corridor beyond is dim, lit by dusty windows that filter the sun into ribbons across the flagstone floor. You don’t know where you’re going, just that you need air. 

You find an alcove by chance. It’s a shallow cut in the thick vineyard walls where a barrel sits half-rotten and dry lavender spills from a rusted pail. You lean back against the stone. The moment you feel its rough chill press through your dress, the tears come.

You muffle it in your palm at first, anger burning up with each hot breath. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for letting it happen. You know your only solution is to get over it or make him chase you again, but the thought of having to keep him after you sounds exhausting, especially when this morning, you thought maybe you’d had him.

“Woah! Hey!” Soonyoung’s voice startles you. “Do I need to kill someone?”

You crack an eye open through your fingers just in time to see him stumble to a stop, half-empty flute of sparkling something sloshing over his knuckles. He’s staring at you like you’re a rabid animal about to bolt.

“Why are you crying?” He’s immediately on you, tossing the glass, uncaring that it shatters on the floor. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when it breaks, but he’s more concerned with rubbing his hands up and down your arms, pouting. “Was it Mingyu? Did he vomit on your shoes or something?”

You choke out a wet laugh. Soonyoung immediately brightens, like your laugh means you’re fine. You’re not fine, though. He clocks that when your next sob bubbles out and your knees nearly buckle.

“Nooooo nonono.” He wraps his arms around you and squeezes. “What’s not okay? What’s wrong- just. How can I help?”

You hiccup a watery laugh into his shoulder. He smells like grapes and sunscreen and someone else’s cologne, probably borrowed when he realized he forgot his. His grip is clumsy but warm, fingers petting your back.

“I’m fine,” you manage. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re definitely not. You look like a sad princess. I hate when princesses are sad. You’re usually kind of  a terrifying princess, which is hot.” He cringes. “Sorry, that was an intrusive thought and sort of weird.”

You can’t help it. You laugh again, sniffling as you scrub your palms under your eyes. Soonyoung fumbles in his pocket and comes up with a wadded napkin that might once have wrapped a pastry. He thrusts it at you, nodding excitedly. 

“Please don’t use your dress. It’s very nice.”

“Thank you.”

He waits for you to dab at your face. “Better?”

“Not really, but you’ve helped. A lot, actually.”

“I’m very helpful. Do you still want me to punch someone? I can do that.”

You laugh. “No, Soonyoung. Thank you, though.”

“Alright, well how about I escort you back out. And if you need me to throw a punch, say the word.”

Soonyoung gently steers you back toward the sunlit corridor, his arm slung around you. The ruined napkin is still balled in your hand, soft with tears and a little bit of mascara. You head upstairs where everyone has poured out of the cellar and into the late afternoon sun. 

The tasting crowd is scattered now, some on benches beneath the pergola, some trailing off to peer at the old presses and copper stills near the olive trees. You feel the moment Jeonghan sees you. You feel it before you see him, like a shift in air pressure.

He’s leaning against the stone wall by the tasting table, one hand cradling a half-empty glass, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His gaze latches to yours like a tether. His smirk is gone, any sort of cheer or flirting striped away. There’s something tight in his expression and you see him when he mouths baby? But you’re already turning away.

He has no right to call you that. Not right now. 

Soonyoung notices. He bristles and steers you away, his hand squeezing your shoulder as he directs you to a set of benches where Chan is half dead, Jihoon has finally shown up still dressed in airport clothes, and Mingyu is still somehow managing to put down wine like he’s made of it. 

“How many grapes do you think I could fit in my mouth at once?” Soonyoung asks, parking you amid their protective ring. “Anyone wanna guess?”

You bark a laugh that startles a few nearby guests. “Like five if they’re normal? Eight if they’re those small champagne grapes.” 

Soonyoung’s grin goes wide and reckless. “It’s ten, actually. I did it last winter when Minghao dared me and Kira actually had to give me the Heimlich. Is she around? I think I can do it again but need a safety wizard.”

“A safety wizard?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. She always knows shit.”

“That’s because she has like seven degrees,” Chan groans from where he lies. 

“She has three,” you correct him. You tilt your head. “Are you going to make it?”

“If I didn’t die in Ibiza 2023 I’m not dying now.” 

That makes you shiver. You did, in fact, hear about Chan’s Ibiza 2023.

The late Tuscan sun hangs low now, trailing honeyed light across the old stone courtyard where the last of the tasting crowd lingers, slow and full of wine. You perch yourself on the bench next to Chan while he complains that the sun is hot and feels like a weapon of god sent to punish him for the threesome he had the night before - which you did not want to know about. 

Jihoon sits at your other side, fresh off a flight and already annoyed. He’s nursing a glass of wine half-heartedly. You both give each other sympathetic glances, neither one of you really enjoying the tour anymore, but having to wait on the majority to head back. 

You’re grateful for them, though. Soonyoung makes terrible jokes and Chan threatens to puke at every one of them. Jihoon mutters predictions about how he’s going to end up going crazy and need a vacation from vacation. You enjoy their company while sipping the final dregs of your water, watching the sun descend. 

Jeonghan steps out of the villa’s shadow, a glass of water in hand. His hair is pushed back by his sunglasses on top of his head, and he’s pink in the cheeks from drinking all day and being in the sun. His gaze sweeps the cluster of you, landing heavy on you. 

He crosses the flagstones, each step careful. He stops a polite distance away, eyes on yours and yours alone. Jeonghan clears his throat. He glances at Soonyoung, then Chan, then back at you.

“Hi,” he says, too gentle. “Can we talk?”

You look at him. Really look. There’s a piece of you that wants to say yes because it’s him. Because it’s always been him. But that softness is dangerous right now. It’s dangerous because it wants to forgive. It wants to unravel. And for once, you don’t want to give him the easy way out just because he’s Jeonghan.

“Not right now,” you say, voice low but sure. “I don’t want to.”

Jeonghan’s throat bobs. He nods slowly. “Okay.”

He turns away, drifting back toward the shadows of the old villa where the music has started up again, a soft pulse of guitar and half-drunk humming. He doesn’t look back.

You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Soonyoung pats your knee twice, a quiet reassurance that you’re not alone. Chan shifts, burrowing his sunburned face against Soonyoung’s thigh, mumbling something about water and gelato and death. Jihoon tips his glass toward you once in a silent toast, then drains it.

You’re okay. Not fine. Not fixed. But okay. And for now, that’s enough.

-

The villa is silent when you return. The shutters in the kitchen rattle gently in the evening breeze and the cicadas have finally gone silent. Your sandals tap softly over the cool tile as you slip down the hall toward the primary bedroom, the sound of the other’s footsteps thudding up the stairs echoing down the hall.

You pause at the heavy door, steeling yourself before you push it open. The room greets you in a soft glow. The linen curtains dance in the breeze, evening light filtering in the open windows. There’s a low lamp on, casting golden light around the room. 

Jeonghan’s already inside, standing at the window, one hand brace on the sill. He’s already changed clothes and showered, the sleeves of his thin white tee rolled up. You see the curve of his throat when he tilts his head, not quite looking at you but aware you’re there. 

The silence between you is awful. You can feel the tension scraping raw against you, your earlier argument still sparking. You drop your bag on the leather bench at the foot of the bed. 

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Then, Jeonghan draws a long breath and turns around. His eyes are dark in the low light, the chain at his throat catching in the last stray gold of sunset. 

“Do you want to talk?” His voice is careful. 

Your chest feels tight. But your voice is steady. “Yeah. Yeah. We can talk.”

“Okay,” Jeonghan says. “Okay. Come here?”

Drifting toward him, you feel your fighter shake. You stop close enough to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. His eyes flick over your face, searching and weighing how to approach this. He shifts, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“I know I was wrong,” he says slowly. “With Joshua. I know. He sets me off because - fuck - because I know he wants you and it annoys me. I was being possessive and petty, and instead of admitting it, I made a scene. Like an idiot.” 

“You did.”

He nods, once. His eyes drop to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“And Hana?”

His brow knits. “Hana? What about Hana?”

“You punished me for Joshua by flirting with her.” 

“I wasn’t flirting with her at all. She flirted a little with me, but we genuinely just talked.” 

“She was flirting plenty. You didn’t stop her. You could have. You liked the attention.”

He rolls his eyes. “Did you want me to embarrass her? She has a crush. There’s a difference between ignoring someone’s advances and flirting and you know it.”

“Do I? Because it didn’t feel like there was a difference when you looked at me over her shoulder. Like you wanted me to see it. Like you wanted me to hurt.”

His mouth parts, then shuts again. He drags his hands through his hair, fingers trembling. “Why would you think that?”

You want to tell him it’s because you know him. Because you’ve seen the games he plays. Because he ruins people - even he knows it. 

“It’s what you do, Jeonghan.”

“Is that what you really think of me?” His voice is sharp and he leans away from you. “You think I’d do that to you?”

You hate the tremor in his voice. You want him to yell, to throw something.  You don’t want this quiet devastation. Jeonghan watches you, something wounded flickering at the edge of his expression, a crack in the veneer he’s so careful to keep polished.

He laughs without mirth, shaking his head. “Unbelieavable, you really do think the worst of me, don’t you? You genuinely think I would treat you like that.” 

“You know why-”

“No. No I don’t. And I don’t know what to say to you. I’ve never treated you like that.” 

Anger boils over. 

“You treat everyone like that,” you say hotly, fists clenching. “You pull them close and then you punish them for wanting more. They pull away, you pull them back in. It’s a game to you - the hunt and the chase.”

“And what about you?” He demands. “You think I don’t feel it when you pull away just to see if I’ll chase you? You did it in Paris. With Joshua.” 

“I didn’t go looking for Joshua. I didn’t go looking to hurt you.”

“But when you found him, you thought hey, this might be convenient, right? Let me egg Jeonghan on a little.” You stare at him. “Don’t even fucking deny it. You kept me after you for days, and the moment you saw someone who could frustrate me, you used it.”

Your breath catches. You want to deny it, but the words tangle on your tongue. Because it’s true. You were being difficult in Paris because you thought it's what you needed to keep him hooked, to keep him in your orbit. It had seemed like the game he wanted to play - the game he always wants to play - but now you’re not so sure. 

“I let Hana flirt with me because I didn’t want to embarrass her,” he says, voice low. “In Paris, you let Joshua flirt with you because you wanted me to chase you. That is the difference. You did what you’re accusing me of.” 

“That isn’t fair.” 

“You’re right,” Jeonghan snaps. He brushes past you, heading for the door. “It isn’t fair. You’re the one who calls the shots but you always think it's me.”

“Jeonghan.”

“I’m sleeping in Seungcheol’s room,” he says, voice cold, final. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, taking the warmth with him. The door clicks shut behind him, and the villa is silent again.

You stand there, rooted to the floorboards, staring at the door as if it might swing back open. As if he might return, breathless and laughing at how dramatic you both are. But the house swallows him whole.

You sink down on the edge of the bed. 

Is that really what you think of me?

You drop your face into your hands. The thought presses against your ribs like a bruise. Because it isn’t fair but it also isn’t simple. Jeonghan’s right - he’s never done that to you. But it’s all he’s ever done before - why would you assume that you’re any different when he can’t even define what this is?

He’s right about Paris. You hate it, but he is. You played him like you thought he wanted to be played, pulling away just enough to watch him chase. And when he did, it felt like proof that you mattered.

But acting like you feel this way for no reason isn’t fair. Jeonghan has done this entire life - has made a fucking name for himself among your friends and everyone he knows for it. Has made it his little joke. Thinking you’d assume this would be any different when he’s never told you that it is different isn’t fair to you. 

You cross to the window where he stood, plant your hands on the sill where his palms pressed earlier. The wood is still faintly warm. You lean your forehead against the frame and stare out into the deepening dusk. Somewhere in the garden, the fountain murmurs. A moth flutters past.

You wonder where he is now, stretched out on Seungcheol’s spare bed, arm over his eyes, chain cold against his collarbone. You wonder if he’s angry, or just tired. You wonder if he hates you a little. You think maybe you’d deserve it.

You think about going after him. You think about how easy it would be to slip upstairs, knock soft on Seungcheol’s door, curl against him and say I’m sorry. I thought I knew what you wanted. And maybe he’d touch your face and kiss you softly.

But your pride is a living thing tonight, pacing inside your ribs. Your anger is a small hot coal you can’t quite spit out, because while you can admit there are things you’re wrong about, you’re still raging over Jeonghan’s inability to admit your fears are valid.

So instead you push off the window, cross to the bed, and sink onto the cool linen sheets alone. You lie back, arms flung wide like a starfish and stare at the cracks in the ceiling. 

You close your eyes and see his. Dark, wounded, burning.

[sailorsoons]

Resonance | Three (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jeonghan x f. reader

SUMMARY: ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun): 

(1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles. 

WORD COUNT: 7,035

GENRE: Friends to Lovers, Romantic Drama 

TYPE: Angst, smut, fluff

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Explicit language, reader thinking a litltle/stressing a little about the situationship with Jeonghan, some internal anxiety/negative thoughts, Jeonghan being cutieful is a warning idk, explicit sexual content included protecting sex, vaginal fingering, nipple play, a hint of ass play, light choking, orgasm control, use of stoplight system, light dom/sub dynamics but not explicitly stated, lots of after care!

SCHEDULE: This fic updates bi-weekly on Fridays.

A/N: HAPPY RESONANCE DAY! I get to post earlier than usual today because I did not schedule this chapter, and because I got off from work early aka I let my self go home early. I hope you enjoy this chapter today - it's just pure Jeonghan and reader time and ugh have I mentioned how much I love Jeonghan? Also, today's chapter does not have a beta, but I did read through it it so.... hopefully that's worth something!!

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THE VILLA SLEEPS ON THE SHOULDER OF A SUNSTRUCK HILL JUST BEYOND FLORENCE. It’s tucked into the olive groves, stone walls the color of warm bread, shutters painted terracotta and open to the Tuscan evening. 

You step out of the hired car first, stretching your limbs after being cramped by the ride in the car. Jeonghan appears at your elbow without a word, brushing his hand low against your back to urge you forward. 

Junhui whistles at the view, gravel crunching under his feet as he walks on the other side of you. He has two bags slung over his shoulder, one his and one Kira’s, sunglasses resting low on his nose. 

“Not bad, Hannie. Didn’t know you were hiding places like this in your back pocket.”

“Please,” you laugh. “It’s been in his mom’s side of the family for generations.”

Jeonghan only laughs, shrugging off your teasing as he leads you up the winding driveways. Seungcheol grumbles something tiredly behind you, incomprehensible. He’s been up since the middle of the night working, huffing and puffing until he passed out in the car on the drive to the villa. 

The villa yawns open, cool and quiet on the inside. It’s got a high ceiling crossed with old beams, terracotta tiles that are cool to the touch when you toe off your shoes just inside the door, and the scent of lavender and old wood drifting through the open windows. 

For a moment, the five of you stand in the doorway while attendants bring your bags up the drive. Outside, the garden hums, the olive branches shivering in the breeze. The sky spills the last of the world’s light through a line of tall cypress trees, turning the world to hammered gold. 

Junhui breaks the silence. “Please tell me Seungcheol’s room is far from mine. I could hear him snoring when we were in Spain.”

“And I could hear you fucking,” Seungcheol shoots back, scowling. “So we’re square.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Junhui and Kira are on the second floor, first door in the hall. Seungcheol is on the second floor, third door in the hall. There’s a massive bathroom between you - it has connecting doors, so knock.” 

Kira snorts, hooking her arm through Junhui’s as they disappear up the stairs to the right. Seungcheol rolls his eyes, shoulders you playfully before throwing Jeonghan an unreadable look as he jogs up the stairs. 

It’s just you and Jeonghan left by the door. He turns to you, dark eyes soft but glittering. 

“You’re staying with me.” 

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. There’s another room, but I’ve promised it to Jihoon who gets here tomorrow.” 

“Convenient.”

His voice drops low. “I want you to myself for a while. Remember how I said I wanted to spend time with you when we got to Florence?” 

Your heart catches behind your ribs. You do remember when he said it. “I was promised somewhere fun.”

He laughs and dips down, kissing you briefly. It makes your heart flutter, caught off guard but delighted. “Go unpack. Be ready in a half an hour. I’m stealing you tonight.”

Jeonghan pats you briefly on the ass, grinning as he points to the direction of the bedroom you’re staying in on the first floor. He leaves you, shuffling into the kitchen where you hear him switching to Italian as he greets the housekeepers and staff. 

You shuffle through the villa, tugging your bag along. The walls are made of sunbleached plaster and rough-hewn beams overhead, darkened by age. There are fresh-cut flowers in terracotta vases perched on old wooden tables and a bowl of lemons by a window thrown open to the dusk. 

The primary bedroom on the first floor is tucked away at the far end of the villa. You push the heavy wooden door open and step into a room that somehow feels both grand and lived-in. The wide windows are draped in linen curtains that sway in the wind, and a flameless fireplace sits bracketed by shelves stacked with old books in Italian and French. 

In the middle of the room is the bed, a massive thing with a carved headboard and coverlet the color of cream. It smells fragrant in the room as you drop your bag on a leather bench at the foot of the bed. You cross over to the windows, pushing the shutters open to breathe in the air. 

The countryside spills below, made up of rolling hills with rows and rows of olive trees and grapevines. The final blush of sunset catches on the tiled rooftops of other villas, some of them belonging to the rest of your traveling party. The air smells of cypress, warm earth and lavender.

You press your fingertips to the window ledge, feeling the cool metal under your touch. There’s a pulse of excitement sparking low in your belly at the thought of tonight. You and Jeonghan going off on your own adventure isn’t new at all, but there’s a spark to it, now. 

Whatever you want, no regrets. 

Smiling, you push away from the window to rummage through your bag. You choose a soft, summery corset dress made of cotton. It’s dotted with flowers, the bodice boned and laced so it hugs you tightly. The skirt is short enough to beat the Italian heat, but long enough that you won’t have to tug it down every time you sit. 

You slip it on, tugging the laces tight. Just as you finish smoothing the skirt down your thighs, Jeonghan strides into the room behind you. You turn to see he’s changed, dressed in a button up shirt with the buttons undone to reveal the first edge of his collarbone, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He’s in linen pants the same color, the white on white making him look tanner. 

He freezes when he sees you, face unreadable. “What,” he deadpans. “Is that?”

“A dress?”

“A dress.”

His eyes lift to meet yours, dark and burning. He drifts toward you, gesturing for you to spin with his fingers. Neck and cheeks aflame, you do, spinning in it lightly. He groans when you face him again, shaking his head. 

“You’re going to kill me.”

“I think that’s the point.”

Jeonghan steps into your orbit, pulling you in by the waist. Your breath hitches as he dips his head, mouth brushing the side of your neck. You feel his smile more than you see it as he laughs and says, “I was going to take you to my favorite place to eat. Now I don’t think I want to take you anywhere.”

“You promised me Florence.”

“And I’m going to keep my promise. But when we’re finished with Florence, this dress is coming off.” 

You shiver as he steps away and holds his hand out to you. You smile and place yours in his, happy when he laces your fingers together and squeezes. There’s nothing to hide here. Nothing to sneak around about. It makes you feel lighter as he leads you out into the indigo night, air kissing your skin.

Jeonghan steers you past the olive trees and the half-seeping garden lights that flicker on one by one. He holds your hand the whole way down the drive, swinging it lazily between you, thumb brushing your knuckles. 

The hired car waits at the gate, headlights soft against the ancient stones. Jeonghan opens the door for you and helps you in, careful to keep your dress from flashing anyone - even if it’s just him. He slides in after you, knees brushing yours as he settles before rattling off instructions in Italian. 

Jeonghan’s hand finds your thigh as the city unfolds around you. You put your hand over his, lacing your fingers as you watch the winding lanes out the window. Motorcycles pass you in the street and you can see the vague peak of the Duomo’s dome painting the sky behind terracotta roofs. 

After a while, the car turns off the main street and crawls down a slender alley, so tight that the mirrors barely clear the walls. It stops before a low building painted the soft pink of an old paster, a vine of bougainvillea climbing all over its face in a riot of magenta. 

The only sign denoting the building is a brass sign on the door that says Osteria della Notte. Jeonghan helps you out of the car and leads you up the steps with your hands linked, opening the door to let you in first.

Inside, the air smells like garlic and lemon zest. The place is tiny, just ten tables scattered under a low ceiling with old wooden beams. Bottles of Chianti line the walls in crooked rows. There’s no music here, just the buzz of conversation and clink of cutlery. 

A woman appears by the door. She’s older, her hair pinned in a loose bun, apron soft with years of wear and tear. When she sees Jenghan, her mouth cracks into a bright grin and she yells, throwing her hands up as she comes to him. 

He laughs and lets go of you to embrace her. She cups his face in her hands and plants a kiss on both of his cheeks, pulling back as her eyes land on you, sparking. “E questa?”

“Tesoro mio.” He answers her, stepping back to slip a hand around your waist. “It’s good to see you.” 

The woman gives you an approving once-over, nods, and then gestures to you both to follow her. She seats you at a corner table half-hidden by a potted fig tree, the candles on your table guttering in the night breeze that drifts through the open windows.

As soon as you’re sat and the woman leaves you, Jeonghan leans in and explains, “I’ve been coming here since I was fifteen. My mother’s family knows the owners. Every summer when we stayed in the villa, I’d sneak here. Sofia has loved me since I was a boy.”

“What’d you sneak here for, hmm?”

His grin is shameless. “To drink wine. To kiss girls behind the kitchen. To be a reckless, idiot boy.”

“And tonight?”

“To drink wine. To kiss a very specific girl behind the kitchen. To be a reckless, idiot man.”

That makes you laugh, throwing your head back. Jeonghan grins at you from across the table, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

A basket of fresh bread arrives, hot enough that steam curls when you tear it open. A bottle of something pale and cold follows, poured by the owner herself as she fusses over Jeonghan in rapid Italian. He blushes - which you don’t think you’ve ever seen before - and waves her off. You don’t understand most of the words, only picking up on the Spanish equivalents, but the look on Jeonghan’s face tells you he’s happy and loved here.

Plates come out one by one despite not ordering. Your mouth waters when you see handmade pasta with truffle and butter, delicate fish dressed in citrus and fennel. You take a bite and moan, melting into the chair as you shake your head. 

“God this is good.”

He nods, laughing as he pours you another glass of wine. “Sometimes when I miss the cooking, I just fly here.”

“Spoiled brat.”

He winks. “I used to climb the fig tree outside and sit on the roof when I was too drunk to go home. I would wait until I was sober and then walk all the way back. My dad wanted to beat my ass.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him mad.”

“Trust me. I would lay up there and tell the moon all of my secrets."

“Yeah?” You grin. “What about me? Do I get your secrets tonight?” 

“No,” he murmurs, watching you over the candle light. “There are no secrets I have to tell you. You know everything about me, even the ugly. Especially the ugly, I would argue.” 

Your heart stutters. He leans across the table to steal a kiss that tastes like wine. When he pulls back, his thumb grazes your bottom lip, wiping away the smear of gloss there. His pupils are blown wide over a simple kiss and you feel your pulse hammering. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to bring you here,” he admits. 

You laugh. “Since you were fifteen, sneaking kisses behind the kitchen?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it for years, but didn’t want to ruin us.”

The word ruin makes your breath hitch. Ruination is exactly Yoon Jeonghan’s skill, the boy who makes people fall in love with the idea of him, the man who never stays long enough for the idea to settle into something real. You’ve seen it happen. Time and time again. And you’ve never let it happen to you. 

And yet here you are, letting him do what he does best. Ruining you.

He can’t ruin you if you don’t let him, though. Can’t ruin what keeps him on his toes. So you swallow a mouthful of wine and smile, reminding yourself that Jeonghan’s attention is on you right now - for now. There’s no telling when he’ll get bored, unless you keep making it hard for him.

You tip the wine glass to your lips again, letting the last of the pale gold swirl over your tongue. Across the table, Jeonghan watches you with that soft, feral glint that says he’s already planning on how to ruin you tonight. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tease. “You’ll scare Sofia. She’ll think you’re about to drag me behind the kitchen like you’re fifteen again.”

He grins, but it’s gentler than you expect. “Maybe I am.”

Sofia drifts back to your table and scolds Jeonghan fondly in Italian for something. He laughs, full-bellied and happy. You smile, watching their exchange as she drops something on the table. It’s golden and sweet, crowned with berries so dark they look like garnets.

“Mangia,” she says, tapping Jeoinghan lightly on the back of his head before she turns to leave.

He rolls his eyes but obeys, cutting into the dessert and bringing a forkful to your lips first. You taste honey and cold cream and something tart and wild from the berries, and when he pulls the fork back, he swipes his thumb across your lower lip again, smearing a dot of cream just to chase it with his tongue.

“You’re a menace,” you hiss, breathless.

“You wore that dress. You started it.”

“Then finish it.”

He sucks in a breath, and for a beat you think he might try to take you right there. Instead, he just laughs, low and fond, before leaning in to kiss you again. It’s slower this time, sweet and languid.

When you finally pull apart, you’re flushed and half-giddy on wine and sugar. He pushes his empty plate away and tells you he’ll be right back. You watch as he vanishes toward where Sofia is in the back, talking animatedly with their hands. 

You smile. You love this version of Jeonghan. It’s the one he reserves for you and his family, putting away the knives and just being happy. Silly, even. It’s nice, watching him shake his head at something she says before he kisses her on the cheek, hugging her again. 

Jeonghan’s dark eyes find you as he snakes through the table back toward you. He holds out a hand, beckoning. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you before we go back.”

You wave a hurried thank you to Sofia, who just beams at you both with the smug grin. Jeonghan pulls you through the little dining room, his fingers warm and sure around yours, past the humming kitchen where you catch a glimpse of old copper pots and a single open window above a cluttered counter. Then you’re out the back door into the hush of night.

There’s a tiny courtyard behind the Osteria, half-paved in worn stone, half-overgrown with herbs and fig branches heavy with summer fruit. A single bulb swings overhead, shedding soft golden light. Jeonghan nudges you near the fig tree, pressing you against the wall. 

“I’d come here,” he murmurs, stepping in close. “And climb up there.”

Jeonghan looks up and you follow his gaze. The branches of the fig tree tangle overhead, fat with ripening fruit that droop low, some splitting open where the sugar has grown too heavy for the skin to bear. Beyond them, the courtyard wall crumbles into wild rosemary and mint. 

Jeonghan’s eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes. He smiles, almost shy, though you know better by now. He leans in and kisses you slowly. The kiss hums warm through you, slow and unhurried. He coaxes your mouth open and you taste the sweet cream and wine on him, making you sigh into the kiss, delighted. 

His fingers slip lower, tracing the line of your hip where your dress cinches tight. He presses closer, chest brushing yours, heartbeat steady through the thin cotton. Your hands slide up his chest, finding the open edge of his linen shirt, fingers slipping under to touch bare skin. He shivers faintly when you drag your nails down, slow and sweet.

Jeonghan pulls away finally, panting. “Ready for home?”

You nod and he grins, peeling you off the wall to steal you around the building and into the street. 

Jeonghan keeps one hand tangled in yours the entire way home. His thumb brushes back and forth over your knuckles and you smile, leaning into him. You like this - have always been like this, when you think about it. But it’s nice to just… be whatever. Do whatever. 

Even if there’s a time limit.

The city fades behind you. Florence melts into cypress groves and the soft dark of the Tuscan hills. The hired car winds up the narrow road, gravel crunching under the tires as the villa crests into view. 

Jeonghan slips out of the car first, hand outstretched to help you. You walk toward the house hand-in-hand. The soft murmur of voices drifts from the back of the villa. Lanterns flicker on the wide stone patio and Junhui’s laughter booms through the stone walls of the villa. You can see them through the garden’s tangle, their silhouettes haloed in warm light. 

Jeonghan catches your glance but pulls you in a different direction. He leans in and murmurs, “I have you to myself tonight, remember?” 

A shiver slivers down your spine. He leads you through the hush of the villa to the room you’re sharing. He doesn’t bother flicking the light on, the moon spilling through the open windows offering plenty of light. 

The silver glow from the sky catches in his hair and the line of his throat where the undone buttons spread wide. His pupils are wide and dark, drinking you in as he nudges you toward the bed. You grin, stepping backward and away from him to see if he’ll follow.

He does. 

When your knees hit the edge of the bed, you expect him to push you down. He doesn’t. He just stands there, close enough that your breath stutters at the brush of his thigh against your knee. 

“You,” he whispers. “Are a menace in that dress.” 

You arch a brow. “Then take it off me.”

A soft laugh ghosts over your mouth. “You know, I almost took you against that fucking wall after dinner.”

“You should have.”

“Greedy,” he purrs, dragging his mouth down the line of your throat. His teeth catch where your pulse thrums, soft and frantic under your skin. “I like you greedy.”

Your hands fist in the linen at his chest, nails biting into warm skin as you pull him closer. He lets you drag him between your legs as you sit on the bed, looking up at him through your lashes. He cups the back of your neck, bending down to swallow your mouth in a kiss. It’s slow and deep, unhurried like he’s trying to drink down every soft sound you make. 

He breaks it first, forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm and uneven. His fingers trace the laces at the back of your dress, giving just the barest tug. You grin, nipping his lip playful and he groans. 

Jeonghan’s fingers work the laces of your dress with deliberate slowness. Each deft tug loosens the bodice until it slips down your shoulders and pools at your waist. His eyes darken as he drinks you in, bare from the waist up. The breeze coming from the window kisses your skin, your nipples stiffening as you fight a shiver under his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. 

His hands skim your sides, thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts in featherlight strokes. You shiver again, lashes fluttering as you look up at him, lips parted as you breathe in shakily. His gaze is burning as he leans down, lips grazing your collarbone. 

“Lay back,” he murmurs against your neck.

You do without question, falling backward onto the soft sheets. He climbs over you, spreading your legs with a knee between them. You twitch, staring up at him as he plants his palms on either side of your head before placing open-mouthed kisses across your chest, making sure to nip and bite your flesh as he does. 

Jeonghan dips lower, his tongue flicking out to brush over your nipple. You gasp and he grins, flicking back and forth over the peak before he draws it into his mouth, sucking gently. Your eyes flutter shut, reaching up as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He hums against your skin, the vibration drawing a pretty whine from your throat.

“Shh,” he whispers, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Windows are open, love. Gotta be quiet for me.”

It’s nearly impossible to be quiet. A thumb circles your other nipple, teasing and relentless until you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan. He grins, seeing the effort it takes you to choke your sounds down, even as you both hear Seungcheol yelling something to Junhui as Kira cackles.

Gently, Jeonghan fists your dress at the hips. He pulls it down, the fabric scraping your sensitive skin. It feels divine, the drag soft and sweet until he’s dropping it onto the floor, leaving you in just underwear. 

He sinks to his knees, pressing your thighs open with firm hands. His fingers trace patterns on the soft meat of your thighs, kissing your knee gently as he looks up at you through long lashes. He kisses up your thigh, skipping over where you want him most to mouth at your hips, your stomach. 

Your heart is pounding, fingers twisted in the sheets as he litters you with kisses, his mouth all tongue and teeth and soft sounds of approval as he follows a map only he knows. 

Jeonghan hooks his fingers in your underwear, dragging them down until you lift your ass to help him. He tosses them aside, dark eyes locked on yours as he settles back between your knees, eyes dropping down to where your cunt glistens, wet despite him barely touching you.

“You’re gonna need to stay quiet,” he reminds you, voice barely above a whisper. His fingers part your folds and you twitch. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

You whimper, clapping a hand over your mouth as he slides one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, crooking it just right to make your toes curl. The feeling is maddening - he immediately goes for that soft spot inside of you, lazily fucking his finger against it until you’re sparking. 

He adds a second, stretching you. It feels good, your breaths coming out in ragged puffs as your head falls to the side, eyes shut as you let him string you along. You feel it when he lets a glob of spit land on your clit, cold and sudden. 

You make a sound and he tuts at you to quiet down, his thumb pressing the spit into your clit as he circles it dangerously. His pace quickens, fingers pumping steadily, thumb pressing harder, and you feel the heat coiling tight in your core. Your hips buck, chasing the sensation, and he presses a hand to your lower stomach, holding you still.

“Do not,” he warns. “You don’t get to come until I tell you to.”

You nod, breathless. He twists his fingers just so, a cruel curl inside that makes your mouth fall open around a voiceless cry. His thumb lifts, circles your clit once. Twice. Slow, then hard, then featherlight again, tormenting you. 

“You like being good for me, don’t you?” he murmurs and you nod. “You like when I make you wait.”

You mewl, nodding frantically, your voice cracked open. Please, you want to say, but you can’t find the word. He pulls his thumb away entirely, denying you that cruel mercy, and you whimper at the loss.

“Not yet,” he says. “Hold it. Be still for me.”

He pushes deeper, fingers relentless now, brushing that spot inside you again and again until your toes curl and your hands clutch at the sheets. He leans down, mouth grazing your ear. He waits - lets you quiver on the knife’s edge, and just when you think you’ll break, he laughs and murmurs, “Go ahead.”

You shatter, clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through you. You muffle your cry against your hand, body shaking as he works you through it, slowing but never stopping until you’re boneless beneath him.

He pulls his fingers free, bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean with a groan that sends another spark of heat through you. “You taste so fucking good.”

Jeonghan stands. You watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, fucked out. The aftershocks of your orgasm twitch through you, leaving you molten and dreamy. He sheds his shirt and pants, with quick, graceful movements, leaving him bare. Your mouth waters at the sight of his heavy cock, tip glistening with precum. 

You start to sit up but he tuts and points back to the bed. You lay down, watching him as he climbs onto the bed, kneeling. “Wanna feel that pretty mouth. Can you do it while laying down like this, love?”

Looking up at him with wide eyes, you nod. He groans as he fists his cock leisurely, shuffling to you until he’s within distance of your mouth. Instead of reaching for him, you lock your eyes with his before opening your mouth wide, tongue out. 

“Fucking-” He shakes his head. “You’re something.”

Jeonghan grabs the tip of his cock and guides it into the wet warmth of your mouth. He curses, biting his lower lip as your tongue scrapes the bottom of his shaft. You watch him all the while, entranced by the way he starts to pant, the way he bites his lip so hard it might bleed. 

The weight of him is heavy in your mouth, your lips stretched tight around him. He shallowly fucks your mouth at first, barely anything. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head a little to match his pace. His head tips back, a low and throaty moan escaping him. You hum and he curses, gritting his teeth. 

“So good for me,” he pants, one hand fisting against his thigh, the other gripping the base of his cock to feed you more. “Just like that.”

Your tongue flicks over the slit, tasting salt and skin and the faint bitterness of him. The slick slide of precum smears your lower lip as you suck him deeper, humming low in your throat just to feel the way he twitches on your tongue.

Jeonghan’s eyes pinch shut, his shoulders hunching as he forces himself to look down at you, laid out so pretty for him. He lets go of his base, leaning over you to cage you in. His hips roll into your mouth, slow at first, testing if you can take it. When you can, he eases your mouth open inch by inch until your throat flexes around him. 

Your lashes flutter, tears pooling at the corners as he pushes just far enough to hear you choke. He pulls back, a shuddering laugh breaking from him when you chase him. He doesn’t say it, but you know what he wants, so you reach up with one hand, fingers curling around the back of his thigh, urging him forward.

He tries to pull back, but you hum a muffled no around him, your tongue pressing the sensitive underside of his cock until his hips buck forward, driving him deep. You gag again, eyes watering, but you don’t stop, don’t let him pull away. You swallow around him instead, slow pulses that make him curse your name softly. 

His hand slips to your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw where it bulges from the stretch. His thumb slides over your bottom lip, then presses against your throat, right over where he can feel himself moving inside you. His eyes roll back at the feel of it.

“Such a filthy thing,” he groans, voice gone ragged as he rocks shallowly into your mouth, careful but greedy. “So pretty with my cock in your throat - fuck - look at you-”

He pulls you off before he gets too close, chest heaving. You pout and he shakes his head, hair sticking to his temples where he’s sweaty. “Fucking greedy,” he growls. “Move up the bed.”

You do, moving as he shuffles with you. He reaches over to the night stand to find a condom, nearly knocking everything off in the process. You laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth as you settle against the pillows. He glares at you, but it’s watery and weak, still in shambles after using your mouth. 

He climbs over you, kissing you deeply, tongue tangling with yours as he positions himself between your legs. His hand slides under your throat, fingers curling lightly, not squeezing, just resting there, a question. Your breath hitches, and he smirks against your lips before letting go.

“Like that?” You nod and he tightens his grip just enough to make your head spin. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for still good, yeah? Tell me a color any time. I’ll ask before I do something, alright?”

“Okay.”

He smiles. “Color?”

“Green.”

He pushes into you slowly, stretching you, and you bite your lip to keep from crying out. The windows are open, and the distant murmur of voices from the patio reminds you to stay quiet. Jeonghan moves with agonizing precision, filling you completely, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He rolls his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars, and you whimper, muffled against his shoulder. 

“Quiet, love,” he reminds you, voice strained with his own effort to stay silent.

He shifts, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder, deepening the angle, and you have to press your face into the pillow to muffle your moan. His pace quickens, thrusts steady and deep, and he’s vocal now, soft groans and curses spilling from his lips as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

You bite the pillow, cursing, eyes squeezed shut. Your thigh burns where he stretches you but you don’t care, the drive of his cock driving you insane. Your hands hold his forearms, biting into the skin there as he fucks into you hard and deep.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers. 

You’re so close, feeling that white hot orgasm building up inside of you. You feel yourself start to tighten around him, your breathing ragged. It feels like your world is spinning on its axis. Nothing exists but the punch of the breath from your lungs and the snap of Jeonghan’s hips. 

And then he slows, making you snap your head at him.

“Not yet,” he says, voice firm. You make a frustrated sound and he smirks. “Color?”

“Green.”

Unexpectedly, he pulls out and drops your leg. You open your mouth to bitch at him when he flips you over onto your stomach. He grabs a pillow and shoves it under your hips, lifting them before he pushes in again. The new angle makes you see stars and you shove your face in a pillow, crying into it as he groans loud enough that you hush him.

“Fuck, sorry,” he gasps.

His hand slides up your spine, pressing you down as he thrusts harder, faster, his breath ragged. Jeonghan’s thrusts are relentless, each one driving you deeper into the pillow as you muffle your cries. The angle is devastating, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every roll of his hips.

Jeonghan leans down, breath fanning your ear. “You feel divine.” 

His free hand slides down your side, fingers digging into the curve of your hip as he slows his pace just enough to make you whine in frustration. His hand drifts lower, skimming over the curve of your ass, and you tense in anticipation.

“Color?” he asks, voice soft but firm, checking in as his thumb brushes dangerously close to the tight rim of your ass.

You have to lift your head to speak, voice ragged as you gasp, “Green. Fuck, Jeonghan. Green.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and you feel his thumb press gently against your hole, not pushing in, just circling with slow, deliberate pressure. 

The sensation is electric, sending a jolt through your already oversensitive nerves, and you bite the pillow harder to keep from moaning too loudly. His thumb keeps teasing, light and careful, while his hips pick up speed again, thrusting deep and steady.

The dual sensation of his cock filling you and his thumb circling pushes you closer to the edge, your body tightening around him. You feel the orgasm building, hot and unstoppable, but he senses it too, and his hand grips your hip, stilling you.

“Wait,” he says, voice sharp with control. “Understand?”

You nod but you’re not sure if you can do what he’s asking. You feel so fucking strung out and exposed that you think the breeze from the window will send you spiraling into an orgasm. Your vision blurs, the heat coiling tighter, and you’re trembling, desperate for release. His thumb keeps circling, slow and maddening.

Just when you think you’re going to start crying, he leans forward, his mouth pressed to your ear. “Come for me.”

Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and blinding, your walls clenching around him as you shudder beneath him. You bite the pillow hard, stifling the cry that threatens to spill out, your body shaking. He works you through it, thrusts slowing but never stopping, his thumb still teasing until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.

When you finally go limp, he pulls out gently, giving your ass a soft pat that makes you twitch. He lets you catch your breath, hands rubbing your back, blunt nails scraping up the sides of your thighs. You feel dizzy and breathless, turning to look at him over your shoulder.

Jeonghan is the devil made real. His hair is an inky halo around him, pressed to his temples and collarbones where he’s sweating. He’s breathing hard, but there’s a determined look on his face. He watches you, a feral stillness to his eyes that makes you squirm.

“Can you take more?” You nod, dazed. “Are you sure? Color?”

“Green.”

“Up on your knees.”

You’re still dazed, limbs heavy, but you obey, pushing yourself up onto your knees, back straight. He shuffles behind you, hands guiding your hips as he presses himself against your back. His cock, still hard and slick, nudges against your entrance, and you shiver, already sensitive from your release.

His arm slides around you, hand finding your throat again. His fingers curl lightly, not squeezing, just holding you in place. Jeonghan doesn’t even need to ask - you’re already nodding, leaning into the weight of his hand, eyes fluttering shut. It feels good. Safe. Comfortable. 

Jeonghan kisses the back of your shoulder, the tenderness of it at odds with the way he keeps you balanced on a razorblade. He presses his cock back in again and the new angle blots out every other thought in your brain. 

Your hands grab at his thighs for support as he starts to move. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your head spin, the slight restriction sending sparks down your spine. His free hand slides down your stomach, fingers brushing your oversensitive clit, and you jolt, a soft whine escaping before you clap a hand over your mouth. He chuckles, breath hot against your skin.

“Sorry,” you whimper. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re doing great.”

The new endearment makes your heart seize. Before you can spiral on it, though, his hand on your throat tightens enough to make your breath hitch. His thumb is pressed against the side of your throat, applying just enough pressure to keep you winded and light-headed. 

His pace quickens, relentless, and you’re trembling again, the pressure building impossibly fast. His fingers work your clit faster, and you’re so close, teetering on the edge, but you hold back, waiting for his permission.

When he becomes clear he’s not going to give it, you dig your nails into his thighs. “Jeonghan. Please.”

“All you had to do was ask. Go ahead, baby.”

You come immediately, body seizing our body seizing as your second orgasm rips through you, harder than the first. You muffle your cry against your hand, shaking in his arms as he fucks you through it, his own release following moments later. He groans, loud and broken, spilling into the condom as his hips jerk against you.

He holds you upright as you both come down, his hand loosening on your throat, stroking gently now. You’re both panting, slick with sweat, and he kisses your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, soft and sweet. He pulls out carefully, guiding you to lie down.

You collapse on the pillows, barely aware of your surroundings. When you come back to yourself, the world feels soft at the edges. Your limbs feel too loose to move. The sheets under you are damp with sweat, your skin flushed and tingling.

Jeonghan’s weight is still draped over you, protective and warm, but he’s careful not to crush you. He presses a line of lazy kisses from your shoulder to your temple, whispering soft nonsense into your hair as your breathing evens out.

“Hi,” he murmurs, his voice rough velvet. He shifts back just enough to look at your face, brushing sweat-damp hair from your cheek. “You with me?”

You manage a soft hum, your throat dry, your lips parted in a dazed, sleepy smile. He laughs under his breath, dipping down to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then your collarbone. He untangles himself carefully, slipping away from the bed only long enough to knot the condom and toss it. When he returns, he’s already pulling the blankets up over you, tucking them beneath your chin. 

Jeonghan moves around the room in quiet, efficient sweeps. He opens the window wider to let in the cooler night air before padding to the bathroom. You hear water running, the low hiss of a faucet, and the soft clink of glass. When he comes back, he’s carrying a glass of water and there are sweats slung low on his hips.

“Careful,” he murmurs, settling beside you on the bed, one knee tucked under him as he tips the glass to your lips. “Small sips. Don’t gulp it all down at once, you’ll cramp.”

You drink obediently, the cool water blessing your raw throat. “I feel like a baby.”

He laughs. “You’re my baby. You’ll thank me later, trust me.”

You lean your head against his chest, sighing when he pulls you close, rubbing slow circles into your back with his warm palm. He kisses your hairline again and again, murmuring praise and sweet nonsense against your crown.

“Good enough for a bath?” He asks. 

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes.” His voice leaves no room for debate. “I do.”

You let him help you out of bed, thighs shaking as he walks you to the bathroom. The tub is already full and steaming gently, scented with something soft and floral that makes your exhausted muscles sigh in relief. Jeonghan bends down to check the temperature before he helps you slide in. 

“Oh,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as the heat seeps into every ache.

“There she is,” he teases.

Grabbing a wash cloth, he dips it into the water and drags it gently over your skin. He’s so careful it makes your throat tighten. He pauses occasionally to check to see if you're okay or kiss a new, clean part of you. You smile lazily at him, pressing kisses to his wrists and hand any time they pass close enough to. 

This is nice - this is more than nice. This is something you never thought you’d have with him, you feel more in tune with him than you ever have during your entire friendship. You’ve known Jeonghan for years, a moon orbiting his sun, but for the first time you feel like maybe you’re both orbiting one another, a certain resonance between you.

Equal.

When you're done, he helps you out and dries you piece by piece. He’s gentle like he might break you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours often. You smile at him, melting from the inside out. 

Back in the bedroom, he helps you into a soft t-shirt and settles you back under the blankets. He brings another glass of water to your lips, urging you to drink until you sigh and push it away with a soft, sleepy grumble.

Jeonghan slides in behind you, gathering you into his arms. He rubs your back, kisses the back of your neck, hums low in his chest until your breath evens out. You feel him smile against your hair when you wiggle closer, seeking more of his warmth.

“Sleep,” he mutters. “And tomorrow, more Florence.”

“More you,” you mumble, barely coherent. 

He laughs and nuzzles you. “Whatever you want.”

[sailorsoons]

This and they pass me around like a blunt at their leisure

[sailorsoons]

Resonance | Two (y.jh)

Pairing: Jeonghan x f. reader

Summary: ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun): 

(1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles. 

Word Count: 7,054

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Romantic Drama 

Type: Angst, smut, fluff

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Mild angst and insecurity about past hookups, mild jealousy and petty behavior, mutual pining with a side of unresolved tension, recreational drinking and smoking, explicit language, explicit sexual content including public-ish fingering (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, light exhibitionism if you squint, and some teasing denial, minor girl rivalry over guys in the group… I think that's it!

A/N: Thank you to @daechwitatamic as always for beta reading! I hope everyone enjoys the second chapter :)

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SUMMER CLINGS TO THE STONE BUILDINGS OF PARIS. Afternoon gold drapes the streets in dreamy light, turning each window into a spill of molten glass. The cafe you’re sitting at is wedged in a corner near the Marais, its rickety iron chairs pushed onto the narrow sidewalk so close you can feel the heat rising off the cobblestones beneath your sandals.

You’re wedged between Kira and Seungcheol at the tiny round table, your knees grazing Kira’s bare thigh every time she shifts in her seat. Jeonghan and Junhui sit across from you, Jeonghan turned halfway toward the street so he can lean his arm on the back of the chair. 

He’s beautiful here. Well. Jeonghan is beautiful everywhere, but he’s made for Paris. You’ve come here with him before and always thought that he would move here one day. You joke that he’ll find a beautiful French girl and settle in a tiny apartment in the city with her, but now you don’t want to imagine that. 

His hair is tucked behind one ear, sunglasses perched high on his nose so the late sun strikes the slope of his cheekbones in a way that makes others look twice at him. He’s laughing at something the waitress says, rattling off to him in French because he’s the only one who can speak it at the table. 

You refuse to let it bother you that she’s pretty. You refuse to notice the curve of his mouth when he smirks, how he says merci cherie in a voice that you’ve heard before. A voice meant to lure, to flirt, to whisper. You refuse to let it get to you except it does anyway. 

Because what if it was a one time thing? What if Jeonghan is no longer interested, now? You can’t help but feel a web of insecurity stick to you, all the fears you had ignored a few nights ago banging on your door now, demanding to be seen, to be felt. 

The thought of Jeonghan regretting it turns the wine in your stomach sour, and you can’t help but fidget in your seat, wishing you could peer into his mind for once to see what’s going on in that devious little brain of his. 

When the waitress vanishes, Jeonghan raises his glass of wine to meet the rest of the tables, all of you cheering, “Sante!”

Seungcheol’s already arguing with Kira over the pronunciation of something on the menu. You nod along when Kira leans her head on your shoulder. The street hums with life - scooters whining past, kids shrieking as they chase each other through a patch of afternoon shade, the sound of an accordion drifting from a busker down the block.

And all you can fucking think about is Jeonghan. All you can do is pick apart every brush of his knee against yours, every crooked grin he sends to the waitress, the winks he gives you. Nothing is different. Everything is different. 

Kira says something and you laugh on autopilot, mindlessly tearing the edge of the paper napkin in your lap into confetti. You try not to look at Jeonghan again but your eyes slide back anyway, like they’re bound to him by muscle memory alone. 

Kira nudges you, snapping you back to reality. “You okay?”

You smile too wide. “Sleepy. Wine makes me sleepy.”

Kira hums, unconvinced but too kind to press it in front of the boys. She squeezes your thigh beneath the table, her nails just digging in enough to ground you. Across the table, Junhui watches all this over the rim of his glass. There’s a tilt to his head, a little crease between his brows like he’s cataloging each one of your expressions, analyzing them. He knows you better than almost everyone else at this table so you look away, afraid he’ll see right through you if you meet his eyes.

You tune back into the conversation and turn to Jeonghan, who is saying something about going to Montmartre after this, about catching the golden hour from the steps of Sacré-Cœur. “We should walk. The Metro will be fucking packed.”

Jeonghan catches you looking because of course he does. His gaze finds yours like a moon to its assigned planet. He lifts his brows, like he’s surprised to see you here. Right in front of him. Like he hasn’t been brushing your leg with his under the table for the last twenty minutes. Like he hasn’t been looking at you over the edge of his wine glass with dark, glittering eyes.

“You okay, love?” 

You shrug and mutter, “Ask the waitress for the best way to get there. She might even want to come along.”

“Oh?”

You make a sound that’s something like a laugh, tearing another strip from your napkin. You feel him watching you. Really watching you. It makes you cagey, swallowing past the lump in your throat because you know you’re being petty. You shrink under his gaze, suddenly feeling silly and small. 

Jeonghan sighs. “I want to go to Montmartre with you, brat.” 

“We’ve already been.”

“Yes, so we can upgrade our pictures from last time.”

When he says our, you feel your pulse stutter. Our picture. Ours. Like a unit. Because you’ve always been a unit, and you still are, even though you’re apparently making up some new rules along the way with zero direction or communication. 

“Our old pictures were fine.”

“They’re terrible. I look wonderful, but you kept blinking.”

Junhui snorts into his wine, a soft huff of laughter that makes Seungcheol look up from his phone, blinking like he’s just remembered he’s here too. Kira just watches you and Jeonghan, her cheek pressed to her hand, eyes bright with something that might be fondness or concern. You can’t tell. You don’t want to know.

Seungcheol’s phone pings with directions and he shoves it in the middle of the table. “Metro’s faster, unless you all want to sweat up the hill in this heat. I’m not in the mood to herd you idiots through Montmartre on foot.”

“Metro, then,” Kira chirps. “Come on. We’ll get gelato on the way.”

When you stand, your napkin confetti flutters to the ground, tiny paper ghosts you don’t bother to sweep up. Jeonghan drifts close as you all shuffle out onto the sun-baked street. His hand grazes yours once, testing. You keep yours stuffed tight into your bag strap, your shoulders squared. 

His voice is low when he asks, “You know I only want to take you to Montmartre, right?”

You don’t look at him. You keep your eyes on Kira’s bouncing ponytail ahead of you, on Seungcheol’s wide shoulders blocking the path. “Sure, Jeonghan. I know.”

The sidewalk narrows, the old Paris stone uneven beneath your sandals, and he uses it as an excuse to lean in, his shoulder bumping yours, his hand brushing your elbow like he needs to guide you. His sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose as he glances sideways, peering at you. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“I’m just trying to be friendly,” he goes on, a mock defense in his tone now. Teasing. Disarming. “It’s polite to be nice to waitstaff, you know. Good manners. My mother would be proud.”

“Your mother would slap you if she knew half the things you say to waitresses.”

Jeonghan laughs at that, loud and echoing off the streets. Your mouth twitches a little, but you try not to smile. “Ugh, this is why she loves you. Seriously, though. I wanted to go with you.”

“Alright.”

“Why are you being so cagey today?”

“You know why.”

Jeonghan sighs. The two of you pause your conversation when Kira finds a gelato shop she wants to step into. Neither you nor Jeonghan are inclined to sweet treats, so you wait outside together while the others head in, the sticky afternoon melting the world around you.

He leans against the window, fixing you with a pointed stare. “There hasn’t been much of a chance to talk or anything else.”

You stare straight again at passing cars. You know that’s true. The last few days have been a whirlwind and you haven’t had much time alone. Still, you can’t help but at the fear that eats away at you, worried that Spain was a one time thing, to never happen again. You hate how much you don’t want that to be true. 

Jeonghan leans in, his mouth brushing your ear. “But that doesn’t mean anything’s different, you know. You know that, don’t you?”

“Do you regret it?”

“What?” He looks genuinely shocked at your question. “Of course not, are you insane? Do you?”

The city spins around the two of you like a lazy carousel of color and sound. The street swells with scooter horns and a shout of laughter from a passing couple. He pulls you by the elbow as someone walks by, swinging the door open too close to you. The nearness of him makes you dizzy, his hand not leaving you even after the patron has gone inside of the store. 

A little relief works its way in. You feel the steady heat of his hand, the way he’s totally focused on you now, teasing gone and replaced with the seriousness of your question. Jeonghan’s brows pinch as he scans your face, trying to figure out what’s going on in your head.

“No,” you say eventually.  “I was just paranoid, I guess. I thought maybe you didn’t enjoy it or I don’t know. I was just feeling… nervous. A little put out.”

Jeonghan’s shakes his head, eyes serious. “You have no reason to. I don’t regret it at all. In fact, I’m still fantasizing about how I wanna spread you open while watching the Eiffel Tower light up. You are an entire highlight reel in my head, love.”

His response makes your heart hammer, but before you can say anything, the others come spilling back to steal a taste from both Kira and Junhui. Seungcheol takes some coaxing, but he finally pouts and lets you steal a lick of his pistachio gelato. 

Jeonghan immediately demands the same, holding Seungcheol’s wrist hostage as he takes a bite. His eyes are dark when they land on you and he says, “I’ve had sweeter.”

You avert your eyes, neck flushed. The others don’t notice a thing, charging ahead to get to the Metro. Jeonghan falls into step beside you, that devious smirk on his face as always. His hands brush against yours until you finally sigh, giving him what he wants. You let your pinky catch on his and he grins, twisting your fingers together until you’re walking down the street, arms linked and swinging.

It’s everything. It’s nothing. It’s the two of you back into orbit after being knocked off track, too close to be just friends, but not quite anything else. 

Up ahead, Kira spins around and snaps a quick photo of you and Jeonghan trailing behind. She giggles when you flip her off, Jeonghan laughing as he tosses his arm around your shoulder, throwing a peace sign up at the camera. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you along. “I want that new photo, love.”

-

Your trip in Paris becomes a blur of designer boutiques and afterparties. You’re half-drunk on the city itself, the swirling colors and the clink of crystal glasses as you string from party to party among vacation homes and friends-of-friends. 

Things with Jeonghan are better now that you know he doesn’t regret it. You keep him on his toes when you can, a brush of your hand where it doesn’t belong when passing him at a museum, bedroom eyes when you’re sitting across the table from him at dinner and he’s glaring at you. 

You let him chase, but you don’t let him have.

There’s not really a chance, the first few days anyway. Unlike most of the other people on your trip - Seungcheol excluded - you have work to do. Jeonghan teases you for it, but you’re always networking, always meeting the appropriate people and fitting in a planned afternoon tea or two to connect with family friends or people who contribute to the foundation that your family owns.

The foundation is hardly the biggest business in your family name, but it is the most important to your family’s image, a dedicated organization to giving back to the community in major ways. As the CMO, it’s your job to promote the organization’s mission and lead the brand’s strategy. Sure, you’d been given the role based on pure nepotism, but you actually like your job and working hard. 

Unlike Jeonghan, who lounges with his head in your lap, whining while you take conference calls and attend meetings early in the morning while threading your fingers through his hair. 

Tonight, there’s no business and phone calls. You find yourself beneath a vaulted wine cellar in one of the oldest private hotels in the city. The air is filled with the scent of rare vintage wines, the kind of bottles your father keeps in a temperature controlled room beneath the house back home. Candles flicker in ornate candelabras in the wall and above your head, throwing everything in gold light.

You sip a dark, dry wine, leaning against a stone wall in the cellar as the sommelier explains something beyond your comprehension. You’re in a midnight blue silk slip dress that hugs tight across your curves and heels that are destroying your feet. 

Jeonghan is dressed like royalty tonight in a sharply tailored black velvet blazer with satin lapels, a crisp white shirt open at the collar and slim trousers that fall perfectly over polished leather shoes. Once again you’re struck with how much it looks like he belongs here, swirling a rare vintage in the glass he holds. 

He drifts toward you and his fingers find your waist, grazing across the silk. “Hiding?”

“Can’t walk in these fucking shoes.”

“I told you to wear the Jimmy Choos.”

You scrunch your face at him. “I told you to wear the Jimmy Choos. Shut up.”

He laughs, shaking his head. 

Around you, the others drift in the cellar. Soonyoung is in all white, which has most of you placing bets on how long it’ll take for him to turn it red. You’ve got the under two hours bet, while Jeonghan has Soonyoung pinned for less than forty-five minutes. You’re at the thirty minute mark, your friends looking at him, a mix of hungry eyes and nervousness as he picks up a glass of port wine.

Mingyu’s dark suit gleams under the chandeliers, his sharp jawline set as he scans the room like he’s looking for something to take home. It’s just the same people you’d been with in Spain, and from your understanding, he’s already got Lena and Nari at one another’s throats for his attention. 

Drama is the other reason you keep your night with Jeonghan quiet and just between the two of you. Everyone here - no matter how close and friendly - is a shark. When they smell blood in the water, they frenzy, and based on the conversation Seungcheol and Chan are having behind their palms as they glance at where Nari and Lena are ignoring each other, you know they smell blood, eager for a show. 

There’s a loud uproar of voices and you snap your eyes back to the source. Soonyoung is covered in port wine, looking at his pants in dismay. Mingyu starts roaring with laughter while Chan points at Soonyoung’s pants as he all but falls to the ground, doubled over with laughter.

Jeonghan grins as everyone turns to applaud him, the winner as usual. Kira sighs and goes with Soonyoung to get him new pants, kissing Junhui briefly as she assures him that Soonyoung will get lost without adult supervision. You agree, giving her a sympathetic look as she drags Soonyoung by while he howls about his pants. 

Jeonghan leans in, his breath warm against your ear, the scent of expensive cologne mingling with oak and candle wax. “Meet me upstairs.”

Your pulse quickens, but you play it cool. “Where upstairs?”

“Anywhere you want.”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t make me beg.”

You grin. “Actually, you should. Ask nicely.”

His eyes flash and he presses closer, voice low when he murmurs, “Please come upstairs, love.”

You set your glass down with a delicate clink. When your eyes meet, the heat in them says everything. “You first.”

He flashes a grin and finishes off his glass of wine, setting it down. His arm grazes yours on purpose as he shoots you a wink before he melts into the shadows beyond the wine rack. You linger a moment, heart pounding with the thrill of whatever this is. 

Taking a deep breath, you slip out of the cellar and up the stairs. The marble floors of the lobby hush under your heels as you step out from the cellar’s warmth. You wander around, finding Jeonghan waiting by the gilded elevator that leads up to the rooms of the hotel. He’s half-hidden behind a marble pillar, one hand tucked into his pocket as he leans on the wall, watching you with his cat eyes. 

He pushes off the wall when he sees you. A smile flickers across his mouth, soft and wolfish all at once, his hair brushing his brow in the warm light. He says nothing as you slip beside him. He doesn’t need to. 

The elevator doors open for you and he follows you in, smashing a button as he does. The doors close and it shoots upward. You catch glimpses of yourselves in the polished brass walls as he steps into your space, arms slipping around your waist. He brushes his nose against yours, grinning as he kisses the corner of your mouth. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi.”

When the doors open, he leads you out into the hushed hallway, all dark carpet and golden sconces. The suite is at the end of the hall, the door opening after a swipe of his key card. The room is beautiful, made up of crisp white linen, dark wood, marble countertops, and soft lamplight. Beyond the open balcony doors, Paris spills out like a lake of stars. 

Jeonghan drops his jacket over a velvet armchair as you wander to the balcony. The air is warm and sweet on your skin, carrying the distant murmur of the city below. You brace your hands on the cold iron railing, leaning out just enough to feel the wind. 

You’re aware of him behind you, the back of your neck tingling as he approaches. His hands find your waist as he bends close, lips ghosting over the nape of your neck. “Look at that view.”

You do. Paris sprawls out beneath you, a sea of glittering lights. The Eiffel Tower’s golden crown glitters in the distance. The air is warm but you feel the prickle of anticipation as Jeonghan’s hands press over your silk dress. His hands skate over your ass and he squeezes, making you laugh breathlessly. 

“You have a great ass,” he notes.

You open your mouth to shoot something back but he places a wet kiss against your neck, making a breathy sound come out of you instead. You brace your hands on the iron railing, cool under your palms, your eyes fixed on the Eiffel Tower in the distance.  

You try to focus on the city, on the way the lights fracture and shimmer, but it’s useless. You can focus on nothing but the way Jeonghan drags his mouth along the side of your neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin beneath your ear or the faint scent of his woody cologne turns your thoughts into a cotton-candy haze. 

“Jeonghan.”

One hand slips under the hem of your dress, fingers leaving a trail of fire over your skin. He nudges your legs apart with his knee, the silk rustling as it rides higher. His fingers are teasing, tracing patterns on the back of your thighs and the curve of your ass, making your eyelids flutter. When his fingers brush over your panties, you curse under your breath.

Your pulse is uncontrollable, hammering in your throat, and you’re acutely aware of how exposed you are out here on the balcony, the city stretching endlessly below. Anyone could look up, could see you pressed against the railing with Jeonghan’s hands tracing the edges of you, mapping out every dip and curve.

“Jeonghan,” you say again, this time throaty. 

“Hmm?” He finally answers. 

“Please.”

“You have been making me chase you for days,” he accuses. “You think I haven’t noticed? Why should I do anything?”

Your head falls back against his shoulder. He presses a kiss to your temple, laughing as you go catatonic while his hands pull the fabric of your underwear to the side despite his implication he won’t help relieve the ache between your legs. Your breathing becomes labored as his hand slips over the globe of your ass and he presses you forward a little, stomach pressed into the iron railing. 

Jeonghan’s thumb presses against your entrance and you gasp, hips twitching. He hums thoughtfully, pressing slow circles around your twitching hole, teasing you and earning more arousal in response. All you can focus on is the press of his body behind you, the hard line of him against your lower back, and the maddeningly slow way his fingers tease you, brushing over your folds with featherlight touches that make your hips twitch involuntarily.

“Already wet for me, huh?” He asks. “Look at you, dripping all over my hand and we’re out here where anyone could see. You like that, don’t you? Knowing someone might catch us?”

Your face burns, and you turn your head into your arm, trying to hide the way his words make your core tighten. You want to tell him to shut up, to stop teasing, but the truth is, his voice is unraveling you. You can’t deny the thrill of it, the way the risk of being seen makes your blood sing, makes every touch feel sharper. 

Jeonghan’s fingers part you with a slow, deliberate glide that has you gasping. The slick heat of your cunt coats his fingers, and he hums approvingly, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady. He doesn’t press in, just traces the line of your slit, fingers devilish. 

“So fucking responsive,” he murmurs. 

“Shut up,” you hiss. 

He laughs, pressing his fingers to the throbbing bud of your clit. He wiggles his fingers back and forth, stoking a fire in you that he already started while drinking wine with you in the cellar below. He kisses the back of your neck, murmurs something in French that you half understand.

You whimper, the sound slipping out before you can stop it, and you feel him smile against your neck. His fingers move with maddening patience, tracing slow, teasing circles around your clit before dipping lower, pressing just enough to make you ache without giving you what you need. Your hips jerk back, seeking more, but he pins you in place, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Don’t rush me,” he chastises.

“I swear to god, Jeonghan-”

Gently, Jeonghan presses a finger into your cunt, achingly slow and slick. You let out a sound and he hushes you, catching your mouth with his. You can barely focus on kissing him back, brows scrunched and thoughts sticky as he lazily finger fucks you.

“Pussy is just fucking sucking me in,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Good girl. Keep quiet for me, yeah?”

You nod, but you don’t know if you can. He adds a second finger, the stretch making you moan despite your best efforts to stay quiet. His knuckles press against the lace of your underwear, the friction adding another layer of sensation that has you arching into him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to your temple, a soft contrast to the relentless way his fingers are working you. He curls his fingers, dragging them against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, and you bite down on your lip so hard you taste copper.

“Love seeing you like this,” he whispers. “Bent over a rail letting me play with your pretty pussy.”

​​The words hit you like a physical blow, your body clenching around his fingers as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you. You’re dizzy with it, with the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s touching you, the way the city lights blur into a haze of gold and white. You can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the slow, slick drag of his fingers and the way your body is betraying you, chasing that edge with a desperation that borders on shameful.

He scissors his fingers, stretching you open, and you feel the burn of it, the way it makes your thighs tremble and your breath catch. He reaches his other hand around your waist, sliding between your legs to your clit again, pressing in tight, deliberate circles that have you teetering on the edge of release. You’re so close, your body strung tight like a bow, and you can feel the orgasm building, a tidal wave ready to crash.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Or I’m not giving it to you.”

The iron is biting into your palm as you squeeze the railing. “You sadist fuck. Please make me come.”

“Sadist? This is nothing, love. We need to work on your patience.”

“Jeonghan.”

His laugh is soft and wicked, and he rewards you by speeding up, his fingers curling faster and deeper. Your hips stutter, your body chasing the rhythm he’s setting. You feel the coil in your core snap, the orgasm hitting you hard. It’s sharp and sweet, your vision whiting out as your body trembles, cunt fluttering around his fingers as he works you through it. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, lips pressed to the side of your head. “You sound so fucking good when you come.”

You’re still shaking, your breath coming in gasps, when he slows his movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers stay inside you, moving lazily now, drawing out the sensitivity until you’re squirming, a new ache building in the pit of your stomach. 

You’re oversensitive, your body caught between wanting to pull away and needing more, and he knows it, the bastard. He’s watching you, his catlike eyes drinking in every twitch, every gasp, as he presses a third finger against your entrance.

“Jeonghan,” you whine, your voice half-protest, half-plea, but your hips betray you, grinding down against his hand.

“You can take it.”

The stretch is intense, almost too much, and you feel your body tense as he works you open, his fingers curling and twisting in a way that makes your toes curl. Your mind is a haze of sensation, every nerve ending alight with pleasure and the faint edge of pain that only makes it sweeter. 

“You’re making a mess,” he groans, pressing hot, wet kisses down your throat. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

“It’s your fault,” you shoot back.

“Fuck, I am not complaining. Trust me.”

Your second orgasm is building faster than the first, a relentless pressure that has you gasping, your hands slipping on the railing as you struggle to stay upright. He pins your hips with his free hand, keeping you steady, and the control he has over you is dizzying, intoxicating.

“Shit,” you hiss. “Please make me come again.”

“Greedy girl.”

He does as you ask, fucking his fingers into you so loud you swear they can hear it down on street level. The pleasure is too much, too sharp, and it crashes over you without warning, your body locking up as the second orgasm rips through you. Your vision blurs, the city lights swimming behind your eyelids as you pulse around his fingers, your body a live wire.

When you come down, he withdraws slowly and filthy, pressing his wet fingers to your lips. You part your lips, tongue flicking out to lick the slick from his fingers, and his eyes darken, a soft groan escaping him as he watches you.

“You’re perfect,” Jeonghan purrs, thumb brushing your jaw.

He kisses you then, slow and deep, before he pulls you upright and straightens your dress with infuriating care. You’re still shaky and out of breath and he grins, pulling you close to him. He presses a butterfly soft kiss on your nose, pulling you back inside.

“Gotta go back downstairs,” he sighs. “Don’t want them to notice. Couldn’t help myself, though.”

Jeonghan’s grin is wolfish as he swipes his thumb under your lip, catching a smudge of your lipstick like a souvenir. You swat his hand away, cheeks flushed hot as he laughs under his breath. He waits for you while you sort yourself in the washroom, wiping under your eyes and at your forehead where the sweat made your makeup run a little.

Inside the room, he louches on the bed like a lion, waiting. When you come back out, he stares at you, eyes drinking you in. He groans at the ceiling and you feel a little thrill knowing he’s suffering not having you the way he wants, a grin on your face as you gesture for him to get up.

The suite door clicks shut behind you both, the hush of the hallway folding around your uneven breathing. You’re still dizzy with the lingering tremor in your legs and the taste of yourself on your tongue.

“Try not to look too wrecked when we get back down there, hmm?” He says, a grin on his face.

You elbow him, half-hearted. He just grins, slipping past you down the hall with that easy, unhurried stride, like he didn’t just finger you stupid over the balcony railing a minute ago. You’re halfway down the corridor when the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Of course it’s Junhui, leaning against the wall of the lift like he’s just finished a photo shoot in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, black trousers hugging lean hips, his hair pushed back just so.

He sees you first, then Jeonghan lingering a step ahead of you. His brows raise as they flick between you and Jeonghan. It’s not uncommon to find the two of you alone, or coming back from a walk, but Junhui is smart. Knows you - knows Jeonghan. There’s a glint in his eyes and you know without a doubt he knows.

“Lose something?” Junhui drawls, stepping out of the elevator.

Jeonghan grins. “Nothing at all. Showing her the view from the north side. She’s on the south side of the hotel.”

“Mhmm.” 

“I’ll catch you downstairs,” Jeonghan says, lifting his hands in a wave. 

As soon as the elevator door closes, Junhui is pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering your name. “Really?”

“I know, Jun. I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Ugh.”

“Were you even feeling unwell in Spain?”

“Define unwell.” 

He groans. 

“I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why?”

“I was embarrassed.” 

“Embarassed?” He repeats. “For this?” “Yes for this.”

He shakes his head and steps closer, giving you a soft look. “Not for this. It’s you and Jeonghan. I have expected this for a long time - but thought maybe you would do it the easy way. I should have known you wouldn’t.”

“And you know everything, huh?”

“I know Jeonghan,” Junhui laughs, fond. “I know you, best of all. I’m not judging you - that is the farthest thing from my mind. But if he hurts you, I’m going to kill him. I’m serious.” 

You blow out a puff of air. Not for the first time in your life, you’re thankful for Junhui. “I know you’re serious. I know you’d do it. Kira too.”

“Kira would end up in prison,” he says honestly. That gets you to laugh. You both start to walk toward the elevator. “You never make it easy on yourself. I’m not mad just… be smart, okay?”

Junhui’s mouth twitches, a soft, pained smile. He reaches out, squeezing your bicep briefly.  The touch makes you want to cry for some reason you can’t name. Maybe because it’s safe. Maybe because you know his concern is as real as the hum of the elevator going down under your feet.

You snort. “Me? Smart?”

“You’re one of the smartest people I know.” Junhui hesitates. “Jeonghan is too. Smarter than most people. That’s the problem. The two of you could literally just date. Why make it secret or a game of chase?”

You open your mouth to protest that it’s not a game, but the lift slows. The doors part with a quiet chime and the warm night sweeps in just as the flood of your group is departing the cellar and spilling into the lobby to go to a party. 

Junhui hooks your pinky with his, like he used to when you were just kids stumbling home drunk from basement bars. “Come on, before Kira comes looking and I have to tell her I found you after dilly-dallying with Jeonghan.” 

“God forbid,” you whisper, half-laughing. You squeeze his pinky before you both let go, the moment dissolving as you rejoin the party.

-

The Hôtel de Crillon has been turned into a shining diamond of an event for the evening. Once the residence of dukes and courtesans, it’s been turned over to the wolves rich enough to afford the invitation. Tonight, select members of your vacation group have an invitation to the charity gala, something that Mingyu’s mother is involved with. 

Outside, the grand courtyard has been turned into a flood of warm gold light that spills from antique lanterns strung up between pillars. A string quartet drifts somewhere beyond the glass doors, the violins rising and falling with the warm Paris breeze. 

The slinky Dior dress you’ve slipped into for the night slides off one shoulder, glowing the color of pale champagne under the dim lights. You watch the eyes drawn to you as you hurry into the party a little late, with Kira at your hip. 

Inside, the palace hums with life. Cigarette smoke curls above the gilded moldings and waiters drift through the gilt ballroom with trays of crystal flutes. You grab one as someone walks by, eager to down the sweet champagne to parch your thirst. 

Kira sips hers too eagerly, nearly drenching the light blue Elie Saab she’s in as it fizzes and she chokes on it. You squeal and grab a napkin off a cocktail table, helping her dab the liquid off her chin as the two of you laugh, a little out of breath and definitely out of place as you draw the attention of a few stares. 

You’re used to that. New money sticks out amongst old money - you’d learned that early on in boarding school. Just because you were among the elite didn’t truly make you one of them. You were together but apart, close enough to get in, but not without side-eyes and annoyed huffs. 

Junhui catches sight of you, pivoting away from a conversation with one of the board members of the charity. He beelines toward you, the black-on-black silk shirt tucked into narrow black slacks making him look dark and mysterious. 

“I have to piss so bad,” he whispers. “But I can’t find the fucking bathroom.”

Well. He looks dark and mysterious, though he certainly isn’t. Kira giggles and smacks his arm, leading him back out the way you came to try and find her boyfriend some relief. You drift further into the room, spotting Mingyu at the bar.

You sidle up beside him, giving him an appraising look. His hair is slicked back tonight, sharp jawline shadowed by the warm light. He’s mid laugh with a beautiful girl who glares when he pivots as soon as he notices you, a smile blooming on his face. 

“Holy shit you look good!” He kisses both your cheeks. “Where’s your other half?”

“Who knows? I need a drink. What are you having?”

“Spritz, duh.” 

You pout. “Get me one.”

Mingyu obliges, signaling for the bartender as he turns his attention back to his companion who is obviously put out. You’re only a little sorry, needing the security blanket of a friend as you survey your surroundings. 

You see a flash of black velvet and pearl buttons as Jeonghan slices his way through the crowd. It makes your thoughts buzz when you see him dressed in the Balmain your mother got him two years ago. It’s tailored to perfection, the collarless cut hugging his shoulders perfectly. His hair is swept off his forehead, neat for once. 

You have the insane urge to mess it up. 

Mingyu turns to you with your aperol spritz, grinning and introducing you to the girl beside him. She seems less put out when she realizes that you and Mingyu are just friends and you give her a warm handshake. 

Jeonghan doesn’t interrupt, but you feel him like a needle at the back of your neck. He drifts closer and closer, working the crowd effortlessly. Paris is Jeonghan’s city, a place he frequents enough that the society members love him here. It helps that he speaks the language, earning the love of the locals. 

Finally, you feel the heat of him at your back, the scent of wine and hinoki wood wrapping around you. 

“Running from me?” He asks, breathing in your ear before he turns to the bartender and orders himself a whiskey. 

“Why would I be doing that?”

He grins. “To be vexing.” 

“Vexing is a word most associate with you, Yoon Jeonghan.”

He steps closer, the fine velvet of his jacket brushing your bare arm. His hand ghosts over the small of your back. “You look unreal tonight.”

You grin. “Do I?”

Jeonghan tilts his head, catlike, as if weighing whether to play your game or not. He narrows his eyes. “Don’t make me chase you.”

You glance at him from beneath your lashes, fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket like you might tug him in. But you don’t. You push him away and slip past him instead, your hip brushing his as you slink away from him.

“Enjoy the party, Jeonghan,” you say, raising your glass toward him as you drift away. “I’ll see you around.”

Kira catches you by the wrist as you join her near the tall French windows overlooking the garden terrace. Junhui is with her, thankfully no longer panicking with the urge to piss his pants. He gives you a kiss on the cheek, looking beyond you back toward the bar. 

“Woof. He looks like he wants to eat you alive,” Junhui laughs.

Kira huffs. “Good.”

“Cheers to that,” you laugh, the three of you lifting your glasses to clink. 

The party swells around you. You slip through clusters of conversations, glass perched neatly in your hand. You try not to get too drunk but you keep a healthy buzz to get through conversations with people your parents know and old friends you haven’t seen since boarding school. 

A man stops you near the edge of the party - an old family friend whose name you’re suddenly struggling to remember. You remember him vaguely, thick accent and too much cologne. He asks after your parents and the vineyard they keep in Provence that he once summered at when you were a teenager. You smile and nod, still unable to place his name through the champagne buzz in your head. 

Jeonghan catches your attention just beyond. He’s leaning against a pillar, half-listening to a woman you recognize as his mother’s college roommate. He pretends to nod along with whatever she’s saying, but his gaze keeps snagging on you, mouth twitching. 

As you say goodbye to the family friend - Gerard you realize, remembering the name too late - someone else steps in. He’s a stranger who is tall with dark hair that’s tousled and an easy smile. He looks your age and there’s an old-money sense about him that you pick up on immediately. 

“A glass of champagne says you don’t remember me,” he greets, a smile tugging his lips. That throws you off and you hum, looking him up and down. “Let me help you remember -  pink frosting all over my white pants at my sister's all white birthday party.”

You gasp and slap his arm. “Holy shit! Joshua Hong, I haven’t seen you since we were like thirteen. Where the fuck have you been?”

He laughs and embraces you. You hug him tight, genuinely shocked to see him. He looks nothing like you remember, now all refined lines and pretty features. He is deadly, leaning back to appraise you with dark eyes.

“You look remarkable,” he notes, shaking his head. “I’ve been a lot of places. London, for a while. Then Seoul. Now Paris, briefly. You know how it is.”

You know exactly how it is. You also know the tingling in your neck means Jeonghan is somewhere behind you, your awareness picking up on his presence when you can’t even see him. 

Joshua notices it too, because his mouth curves slyly when he asks, “Where’s your shadow?”

“Who?”

His grin deepens. “Cute.” You sip your champagne to ignore the way your face heats at that. Joshua watches you, eyes molten. ”It’s good to see you without him. Now I don’t have to steal you away.” 

Your eyes meet. He’s not Jeonghan, but you’ll play. If Jeonghan needs a chase, you’ll give him one. He doesn’t want boring or easy, and you’re willing to give him exactly what he needs. Willing to keep him on his toes if it means keeping whatever the hell is burning between the two of you going.

So you let Joshua ask you questions - questions about work, your foundation, the new grant you’ve been building. He listens - really listens, which surprises and delights you. He asks about your campaigns and your strategies, noting that his sister is getting her masters in marketing and might want to connect with you. 

“You’re far too smart for your family,” he jokes. “You should open a consultancy.”

“Yeah? And who is bankrolling that?”

“I’d be a happy investor.”

You know it’s half joke, half real. If you told Joshua right now - even after all these years - you wanted to do it, he’d invest just for the hell of it. It’s what old money does because they can, because they like putting money on a dark horse.

And among this crowd, you are a dark horse. 

“Joshua.”

Jeonghan’s voice makes you flinch, catching you by surprise as he drifts over with a smile on his face. He looks nothing but short of genuinely pleased to see an old friend, though you swear there’s something dangerous under the smile. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight. I didn’t think you were in Paris, these days.”

“I drift back when it suits me,” Joshua grins, shaking hands with Jeonghan. He looks at you. “I heard there would be interesting company.”

“Did you now? Lucky you to find the most interesting person at the party, then.”

You swat at Jeonghan but Joshua laughs. “No! Let him compliment you. He’s right. You’re far more interesting than the gallery crowd. Makes me want to take up Mingyu’s invitation to join you all on the rest of your vacation.”

Jeonghan sips his whiskey, smiling. “Ah yes, I can think of no one else I’d rather catch up with.”

Joshua howls, clapping his hands together. “Jeonghan, you don’t change. I’m glad for it. I’ve missed the barbs.”

Jeonghan hums. His fingers skim your spine like a reminder. “Kira is looking for you,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’ll let her know you’re still catching admirers like stray cats.” 

Joshua laughs, unbothered by Jeonghan’s needling. He lifts his glass to clink yours, a reckless gleam dancing in his eyes. “No no, I’ve taken enough of her time, as strays do occasionally. God, I missed you. Both of you. Perhaps I will go on this insane trip across Europe with you. Turn nostalgia into reality.” 

You glance at Jeonghan, catch the flash in his eyes. “It would be our pleasure.”

Joshua winks and drifts away, pulled by a passing friend who greets him. You watch the way he shifts gravity, the way people are drawn to his charm and smile. 

Jeonghan turns to you, eyes narrowing. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?”

“Played with me.”

“Running into Joshua was sheer coincidence. I didn’t even know it was him at first.”

“That’s not a no.”

You lift a shoulder innocently. “Thought you liked the game.”

Jeonghan lifts his hands to catch your chin before you can turn, gentle but commanding. “Careful, love.”

Before you can respond, he drops his hand and guides you toward the open doors that overlook the gardens. The air is warm and fragrant as you step outside. His hand is at your back, not possessive or greedy but gentle. Steady. 

The heat of the ballroom dissolves behind you. Out here, the Hôtel de Crillon’s stones gleam pale gold under the sconces perched high on carved columns. The night hums with cicadas in the hedges, soft music seeping outside of the doors. 

Your heels click across the old stone, your hand brushing Jeonghan’s hip. He flicks a glance at you, catches the ghost of your grin, and it makes his mouth tilt in that sly way you know too well.

Beyond the edge of the courtyard, under a clutch of trees, your friends have carved out their own little corner. The smoke gives them away first, thin curls drifting like silk ribbons in the warm air. Kira’s perched on a low stone wall, one leg tucked under the other, cigarette dangling between two fingers, her lipstick print smudged around the filter.

Junhui’s leaning back on his palms beside her, ankles crossed, sleeves pushed high on his forearms. He’s laughing at something Mingyu is saying, bathed in moonlight and eyes glittering with mirth. Mingyu’s blazer is draped open, the end of his cigarette glowing like a firefly as he talks with his hands. Chan lounges at Mingyu’s feet, suit rumpled, tie gone missing hours ago, laughing into his fist as he flicks ash onto the gravel.

You and Jeonghan slip in easily. Kira looks up first, bright eyes catching yours, mouth curling around a knowing smile as she flicks her ash to the side.

“I knew you’d find us,” she grins. She offers you her cigarette and you take it with a soft laugh. 

“Did we miss anything scandalous?” Jeonghan asks.

“Other than Mingyu propositioning the minister’s daughter in front of her fiancé?” Junhui cuts in. 

Mingyu groans, flicks the glowing stub of his cigarette at Junhui’s polished shoe. “She was eye fucking me, man.”

“Wait,” You gasp. “The girl who was mad I came up to you at the bar earlier?”

“Yes!”

You look at the group nodding. “She absolutely wanted his dick.”

“God,” Kira laughs. “He would ruin her life.”

“You sure she wouldn’t ruin his?” Jeonghan asks mildly.

He fishes a cigarette from Chan’s open carton, flicking his lighter to life with a soft click. He leans down, shielding the flame with his palm as he lights up, the ember catching quick, smoke curling like a ghost from his lips when he exhales.

“Everyone’s ruining everyone’s life,” Chan says helpfully. “Isn’t that the point?”

Past the trees, the Seine glimmers. The stars don’t shine through the clouds, but the moon does, turning into a watery coin on the surface of the river. Somewhere closer, a couple giggles drunkenly behind a hedge, their shoes scuffing gravel. You lean into the night, the old stone wall cool against your back, the hush of the city wrapping around you all.

“What’s the likelihood of Soonyoung losing his passport before Italy?” Mingyu asks. He crushes his cigarette under his shoe. “Anyone want to bet?” 

“Don’t jinx us,” Chan groans. “He just found his phone this afternoon. And it was in his pocket.”

Jeonghan sits next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder. You lean into him, inhaling the smell of clove cigarettes and hinoki cologne. His voice comes soft and low, “Florence will look good on you.”

“You’re just trying to charm me.”

He blows smoky into the night sky grinning. “Is it working?”

It is, you think. Instead, you turn from him airily and sigh, “Try harder, Yoon Jeonghan.”

He tilts his head. “As you wish, love.”

[sailorsoons]

Resonance | One (y.jh)

Pairing: Jeonghan x f. reader

Summary: ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun): 

(1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles. 

Word Count: 12,364

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Romantic Drama 

Type: Angst, smut, fluff

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Mild angst, suppressed feelings, mutual pining, mild moments of jealousy, recreational drinking, rich people problems galore, Jeonghan and reader are a bit stupid with one another, explicit language, explicit sexual content included protected sex, oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, mild nipple play, honestly this smut scene is very tame, some members of svt are obnoxious frat boy coded (sorry Soonyoung), some girl competitiveness/tension between characters... I think thats it!

A/N: This couple is incredibly vexing but I hope you enjoy how hopelessly in love they are as they chase each other from country to country! I had such a fun time writing Jeonghan and as frustrating as these two are sometimes, this was exciting and new for me to write :)

A/N 2: Thank you to @daechwitatamic for being my beta and cheering me on in the comments of my doc because I don't think these fics would happen otherwise.

SERIES M. LIST | MAIN M. LIST | ASK | PLAYLIST | NEXT

YOON JEONGHAN HAS LIKED THE CHASE SINCE YOU WERE KIDS. When you first met him, he’d been chasing Junhui around the playground, holding a lizard in his hand while giggling like a little devil. Junhui had been shrieking - he still does, when he sees lizards - and crying as Jeonghan followed hot on his heels. 

Jeonghan liked to chase other things, too. You, for the top grades in class. Seungcheol, who had stolen Jeonghan’s phone to text a girl and ask her out on his behalf. Soonyoung, running outside with Jeonghan’s favorite bong. Shots with gatorade, no matter how much Junhui makes fun of him for it. 

But Jeonghan’s favorite thing to chase is girls. 

You’re watching him do it right now over the sweating lip of your glass, tilting the rim to drink down the wheat bear in big gulps. A hint of citrus hits the back of your throat, a sweet taste to the bitter that comes with the beer or watching Jeonghan, you’re not sure which. 

Perhaps bitter is a poor choice of words. You’ve never begrudged Jeonghan of his fun - not really. You love him too much to give him up over muddled feelings and confused, lingering touches, but not so much that you’re willing to take it a step further, to try and let him catch you. 

Not that you’re entirely sure Jeonghan is chasing you in earnest. Like all of the things Jeonghan covets, you present a challenge. A give and take that he so adores, and a never ending what if. You’re his best friend and he loves you, but there is a never ending question that keeps him focused on you.

A touch at your elbow draws your attention from Jeonghan leaning to murmur something into the girl’s ear. Junhui is sitting just below you on the couch proper. You’re perched on the couch’s arm, legs crossed at the ankle as the group sitting at the table plays cards. There’s a stack of money and someone’s mother-of-pearl Rolex on the table, making you roll your eyes.

Junhui’s sharp gaze is seeking. Sometimes you think it would be easier to love him instead, with his shy smiles and liquid-sun gaze. He is everything you deserve in a partner: kind, understanding, patient, intelligent. Most importantly, Junhui isn’t a flight risk. 

He is also very much in love with his girlfriend, whom you rather adore. 

“Hmm?” you ask when you see his questioning gaze.

“You good?” 

“Very.” It’s not a lie. Your momentary blip of acridity is long gone. “Is that Chan’s Rolex on the table?” 

“Apparently, he doesn’t carry cash and they argued his black card wasn’t collateral.” 

“Rich people.” 

His lips twitch in a smirk, a secret joke between the two of you. “I know.”

The two of you aren’t naturally born wealthy. It’s a funny little term between the two of you, a way to separate yourself as the new money among the crushing amount of old in the room. Here, there are still customs, traditions, and expectations that elude you, despite having lived in this world since you were a kid. Here, you can always trust that Junhui understands you even if Jeonghan does not.

It’s a rare day when Jeonghan doesn’t understand you. 

Even now, it’s like he senses a disturbance in the force. At least, that’s how Vernon had put it a few years ago, implying that you and Jeonghan can sense one another’s energy shift, even from miles apart. You’re not sure if that’s quite true, but he has gotten good at reading you, even if he’s not looking directly at you.

Force or not, Jeonghan pushes off the wall where he was talking to the girl. Her eyes are round, mouth downturned as she watches him carve his way through the party. Jeonghan isn’t a large, commanding presence like Seungcheol, but people move in his wake, giving him room anyway. 

Aura, he always jokes. 

It’s true, though. Even as he nears, you sense the gravitational shift at the table when the poker players see him coming. You’re sure a majority of them are terrified he’s going to ask them to deal him in so he can steal all their cash and their heirlooms, while the others are excited by the prospect of beating Yoon Jeonghan at cards. 

Only a single person can beat Yoon Jeonghan at games, and he walks right over to them - you - tilting his head, pouting. 

“Why are you frowning?” he asks, voice soft. He lifts his hand and raps his knuckle lightly underneath your chin, tilting your face up for his examination. “I could feel it from across the room.”

“I wasn’t frowning.” 

At least, you don’t think you were. You’re definitely not frowning now, watching the way Jeonghan’s face shifts in the light. He’s the kind of beautiful that is dangerous, with a sweet face that’s pretty enough to be splashed across the covers of high fashion magazines and designer campaigns but a razor blade personality made to maim even the toughest of opponents. 

Jeonghan’s hair is long again, just the way you like it. Right now, the front pieces are tucked behind his ears, the silky strands from the back brushing forward as he tilts his head to study you. His lips are bubblegum pink, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He has dark eyes but they’re always glittering, a spark of something a little dangerous or playful. There is a single, gentle freckle on his right cheek, sweetening his round face with an innocence that isn’t really there. 

His finger is still tucked against your chin, warm. He stands far closer than is necessary, but it doesn’t matter. This is you and Jeonghan, always too close, never close enough, a careful balance that only the two of you understand or can maintain. 

“Jealous, love?” 

You inhale the scent of his cologne, the subtle scent of hinoki and fresh cedar. “You’d love for me to be.” 

He grins like the cat that ate the canary. “And if I did?” 

“You’d lose,” you sigh. You push off the arm of the couch and his arm falls as you finish off the rest of your beer. “I need a drink.”

He bows a little and holds a hand out toward the kitchen. “By all means, love. Lead the way.” 

Junhui rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the poker game as Chan screams about losing his Rolex. The amount of times he’s lost a watch or priceless possession is in the hundreds, at this point. Jeonghan has two beautiful Nomos Glashütte watches that once belonged to the Lee family, which isn’t necessarily a lot, but it is strange that he has more than one. 

One of them is on his wrist now, the low light of Seungcheol’s apartment glinting off the sapphire crystal glass face, Horween leather strap snug around his wrist. You know if you flip the watch upside down, you’ll see LEE carved into the 18 carat gold plating. 

It’s quiet in the kitchen, despite the amount of people spread out across the three stories of the penthouse. Most of the crowd has gathered around the bar in the entertainment room, content to order drinks from the hired bartenders working Seungcheol’s party. You want the good stuff in the fridge - and by the good stuff, you mean- 

“These strawberries are my favorite,” Jeonghan giggles, taking the plastic container from the fridge. You’ve both forgotten all about drinks, instead plucking unopened cartons of fruit from the meticulously organized fridge. He shuts the fridge with his hip and turns, gesturing for you to hop on the counter. 

Seungcheol’s kitchen is beautiful. Fitted with industrial-grade appliances and Calacatta marble counters, it’s made up of clean lines and muted neutrals. Track lighting is fitted under the dark grey cabinets and around the large island countertop in the middle of the space, which you jump to sit on. 

Floor to ceiling windows stretch across the kitchen to your left, the city unfolding down below like a sea of stars. Normally, you love standing and staring out those windows as your breath fogs the glass, feeling the cold from this high up in the sky. 

Now, you’re focused on the way Jeonghan nudges your knees open to stand between your legs. It’s unnecessary to be so close, but you don’t mind. He’s warm and he smells woody. Familiar. You buzz with the nearness of him, fighting the urge to run your fingers through his hair for only a second before giving in and doing exactly that.

Jeonghan’s hair is silk-soft, long enough now to touch his collarbones. He grins as you tuck the loose strands behind his ear, preening under the attention. His fingers expertly crack open the lid of strawberries, which are perfectly ripe and red and massive. 

You drop your hand from him as Jeonghan grins and plucks one out, looking up at you with that ever-present glint in his eyes. Instead of popping it into his mouth, he reaches up to yours with the strawberry. You roll your eyes but lean forward, taking a careful bite. 

It’s sweet and perfect, eliciting a sound in the back of your throat as the fresh fruit hits your tongue. A line of juice runs down your chin but Jeonghan is quick to rub the thumb of his freehand across it, catching the sweet bead of liquid and popping it into his mouth without a thought as he tosses the spent strawberry into the trash.

The two of you stay like that in silence. Jeonghan feeds you strawberries, smacking your hand away from the carton when you reach for them. You scoff but let him win whatever game he’s playing tonight. Being best friends with him is a constant series of picking which battles to fight and which ones to concede. This he can have - whatever this is. 

For as long as you can remember, Jeonghan has been the sun that you orbit, a single planet made for the sole purpose of maintaining a constant track around Jeonghan’s life. You don’t mind. Being this close to the sun makes you warm. 

Sometimes though, you get burned. 

Halfway through Seungcheol’s strawberries, Seungcheol himself appears. He’s dressed in light wash jeans and a cream sweater that’s a little loose at the neck, the barest hint of his back tattoo peeking from beyond the cashmere threads. He’s unsurprised to see the two of you. He’s equally unsurprised to see the nearness and intimacy of Jeonghan standing between your legs, your knees pressed to his hips. He is surprised to see you eating his strawberries. 

“Yah!” Seungcheol yells, stopping in his tracks on the way to the fridge, pointing. “Those are like thirty bucks!”

Jeonghan grins, wagging a strawberry at Seungcheol before popping it into his mouth with a ripe crunch. “You can afford it. She wanted strawberries so I got her strawberries.”

Seungcheol looks at you, dark eyes narrowed. You shake your head, pointedly looking at Jeonghan. Seungcheol is already pouting and you have no desire to argue with that face of his, happy to sell out Jeonghan and let him battle it out with the party host. 

They’ve always been closer anyway. Choi Seungcheol might be the only person who knows Jeonghan better than you do. They’ve been friends since they were in diapers, continuing the legacy of longtime friendship between the Choi and Yoon families. If there is one game you know not to play, it’s trying to take on Seungcheol. That’s what Jeonghan is for, and he’s usually successful. 

Like now, he wins over Seungcheol by luring him in with the promise of a strawberry. The elder grumbles but wanders over, leaning his elbows on the counter next to you as he snatches Jeonghan’s offer and pops it into his mouth. 

“I need to get these people out of my house,” Seungcheol grumbles. He glowers at the door as though that alone can dismiss the crowd. “I still have to pack for our trip.” 

Our trip. You all leave for your weeks-long trip galavanting across Europe tomorrow night, a trip that you have been looking forward to since Chan pulled All-Out European Summer out of the hat to choose your annual trip out of the country. You’ve been packed for weeks - and taken plenty of teasing for it - but you can’t wait to relax. 

“Seriously?” You ignore the strawberry Jeonghan is waving in front of your face for a moment, looking at Seungcheol with your brows raised. “We leave tomorrow night, dude.” 

“I know.” He groans, dropping his forehead into his palm. “I was working late at the firm literally all week though and I couldn’t cancel the party today.” 

“The way you actually work for your money is fascinating,” Jeonghan teases. He’s given up trying to lure you with the strawberry for a moment, content to take a bite out of it instead. His free hand rests on your thigh, squeezing absently. “Your family has owned that firm for generations. You don’t have to kill yourself at work.” 

“I like working, unlike some of us.” 

“I don’t have the constitution for it.” 

Seungcheol looks at you. “How do you deal with him?” 

“I’m her soulmate,” Jeonghan scoffs. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

It’s a joke but the weight of it hits you right in the chest. Your eyes drift to Jeonghan, who isn’t looking at you. He continues his conversation with Seungcheol, turning so that he’s leaning into you, abandoning his quest to finish the entire carton of strawberries. 

Their conversation falls on deaf ears as you study Jeonghan. It’s so easy for him to call you his soulmate. He’s done it before, calling you his better half, his twin flame, the love of his life. It’s always in half-joking cadences, a lightness to them that doesn’t fit the heaviness of the terms he uses. 

You and Jeonghan are complicated. You have been since high school. Jeonghan likes to chase you, but you’ve always been too afraid to let him catch you. He wants to catch you, to be sure, but you’re not sure he wants to keep you. 

Jeonghan keeps nothing. He thrills in the pursuit of something, playing a game of give and take until he gets what he wants. Eventually, he gets bored and moves onto the next thing, ready to feel the exhilaration again. 

“Where’s the friend you made?” You ask Jeonghan when Seungcheol dismisses himself from the kitchen, ready to kick everyone out of his apartment. “Aren’t you worried?” 

Jeonghan’s eyes alight on you, mouth quirking. “So that is why you were frowning earlier.” 

“I wasn’t frowning, Jeonghan.” 

He hums, unconvinced as he closes the strawberry carton and heads to the fridge. It’s cold in the kitchen without him pressed close to you. He keeps his back to you as he says, “She’ll be waiting. Don’t worry.” 

“You’re always so sure?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Are you going to invite her to Europe?” 

That gets a snort out of him. He closes the fridge and leans against it, crossing his hands over his chest. Chan’s watch glints in the light. “Absolutely not. Our relationship will have expired by then.” 

“Harsh.”

He shakes his head. “This one has a shelf life of a single night. She knows that.” 

You want to ask does she? You’re not so sure. Jeonghan always seems confident that he and all of his encounters are on the same page, but you’re never really sure. Perhaps they are at first, but Jeonghan is hard to be casual with for long before the desire for something more sets in. 

He inspires madness even in the most uncommitted of partners. You’ve long called it the Jeonghan effect, his uncanny ability to infect people with mania like the Maniae of Greek mythology. You’ve managed to hold off on his effects long enough, but you’ve seen it happen time and time again. 

You wonder when it’ll be your turn to suffer the madness. 

Jeonghan’s hand is warm as he helps you down from the counter. Together, you enter the party proper to see swaths of people heading toward the door. Sure enough, the girl that Jeonghan had been talking to earlier is lingering in the living room. Her friends look ready to leave but her eyes are scanning the groups of people, standing on her tiptoes as she searches. 

Her eyes land on Jeonghan and her mouth twitches, relief washing over her features. Then she glances at you and her brow furrows, mouth turning down quickly. You see the conflict on her face as Jeonghan checks his phone, typing something as the two of you pause just outside the entryway to the kitchen. 

“Your One-Night-Shelf-Life doesn’t look happy,” you note, glancing at him. 

“She’ll get over it. There’s nothing to be jealous of.” Jeonghan pauses and looks up from his phone, raising his brows. “Unless…? Say the word, love. I’m yours.” 

Like always, the offer hangs in the air, equal parts real and fake. Like always, you roll your eyes, blowing it off and not even taking a second to think about the sincerity of Jeonghan’s words. You smack him on the chest with the back of your hand, walking by him and rolling your eyes. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll pick you up.” 

“Fine. Don’t be late.” 

“With you? Never.” 

“Bye, Jeonghan.”

“Bye, my love.” 

LIke always, you leave Jeonghan and refuse to turn around, because like always, he pockets his phone and stalks back over to end the chase for the night, destined to restart it the moment the sun comes up. 

-

Evening crickets sing as you walk by them, lugging your heavy suitcase behind you. The wheels clack loudly against the cobblestone path, which ends in a short set of stairs that you stop at the top of. Pushing the handle down on the luggage, you prepare to haul it a few steps down to the curb where the car idles, but Jeonghan is out of the car and up the stairs in minutes. 

“I’ve got it,” he says by way of greeting, kissing you briefly on the brow as he wraps his fingers around the handle. You look at him, unsure, but he gives you a grin and a wink, nodding toward the car. “There’s champagne.” 

True to his word, there’s champagne sitting in the cupholder waiting for you. You grin, sliding into the heated interior, reaching for the cool glass. It’s a fruity variety, the bubbles popping on your tongue while you settle back. Jeonghan gets in on the other side, hauling himself up into the seat next to you.

As usual, Jeonghan’s fashion is perfect for the occasion. He’s in simple jeans and a loose shirt with an oversized varsity jacket over the top, simple yet impeccable on him. You see the hint of the necklace you’d bought him for his birthday two years ago under the collar of his shirt with a gold J on it.

Settling back in the seat, Jeonghan reaches a hand over to rest on your thigh, giving you a squeeze. He leaves it there, warm and comfortable as he asks, “Ready for España?” 

“Very much so.” 

Spain is the first stop on your long-awaited vacation and one of your most anticipated. You haven’t been in years, and there’s nothing more that you want to do than find a tiny cafe with metal tables on a cobblestone path to sit and drink coffee while reading a book and snacking. 

His smile is soft, genuine. He looks tired, circles under his eyes a little more prominent than usual. You pointedly ignore the splotchy marks underneath his jaw, barely visible above the collar of his jacket. He leans his head on the headrest of his seat and closes his eyes, thumb brushing back and forth over your clothed thigh.

The car falls silent and you settle in, content to sip on your drink and watch the scenery blur by. The trip to the airport isn’t far. It’s a private airport where Seungcheol’s family has connections, exclusive to clients and companies with private jets. 

Flying private is still unfamiliar to you, though it isn’t your first time. Last year when the group had settled on a trip to Tokyo for the annual vacation, Seungcheol had suggested utilizing his family’s plane to travel. It’s just a tiny portion of your travel party that gets to fly there like this, a select few of Seungcheol’s inner circle. The rest either fly first class commercial or on Lena’s family plane. 

You like this method, though. Especially because it means you don’t have to deal with the members of the larger group that you’re not overly fond of. Tonight, it’s just you, Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Junhui and his girlfriend Kira, and Chan. 

Jeonghan is still sleepy when the SUV crawls across the tarmac, nearing a large jet. There’s staff standing just below the stairs leading to the bridge door, ready with more glasses of champagne, hot towels, and free hands to take your bags. 

The car stops and you reach over, running your hand through Jeonghan’s hair. His eyes flutter open, eyes taking a moment to focus on you. He makes a little tired noise, leaning into your touch as he turns in his seat. He closes his eyes again, humming.

“Come on,” you laugh, removing your hand. He complains, eyes snapping open again. “How are you this tired? It’s almost seven.”

“I had a long night.” He flashes a wicked grin and you make a disgusted sound, getting out of the car. He laughs and calls after you, begging for you to wait but you’re already out the door and heading toward the jet. 

It’s loud on the tarmac. The plane is powered on but the engines aren’t running yet. Behind you, Jeonghan has his phone out, capturing the moment for social media. You turn around and blow his camera a kiss, earning a bright grin from him before you accept a hot towel and assistance up the steps. 

Everyone else is already on the plane, seated on the comfy interior. Seungcheol and Chan are in individual bucket seats, both on their phones, flutes of champagne bubbling in their cup holders. Behind them is a seating area with a table and booth-style seating. Junhui and Kira are sitting in the paired bucket seats, waving at you excitedly as you board.

Kira reaches over Junhui to squeeze your hand as you walk by, grinning. “So excited to see you!” 

“Same, it’s going to be so much fun.”

Kira’s eyes go to Jeonghan behind you, her eyes narrowing. “Jeonghan.” 

“Hello, Kira. Junie.”

It isn’t that Kira dislikes Jeonghan - she likes him plenty. She doesn’t like how, to her, it feels like Jeonghan keeps you on the line for a relationship that will never happen. It’s far more complicated than that, but you understand her confusion and frustration. 

You and Jeonghan confuse a lot of people. You’ve long stopped trying to explain all the reasons neither of you have dared to take an official step to something more, why despite your closeness and the obvious attraction, you’ve both held the line on going further physically. 

Mostly everyone accepts it by now. Kira is coming around to it, but there are still a few people in the larger group of friends - more acquaintances, to you - that don’t get it and never will. That’s fine with you. No one needs to validate your friendship with Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan takes the window seat behind Junhui and Kira, shoving his duffle in the compartment above. He collapses into the seat, angling himself with his back toward the window. He pulls up the armrest separating the seats, making it so that you can sit and lean into him. 

It’s automatic. You don’t even think about it, placing your things above before sitting next to him and leaning into him. He wraps an arm around you, running his hand up and down your arm before settling comfortably there. He scrolls his phone with his other hand, pulling you into him like second nature. 

Head on his shoulder, you scroll on your own feed, double tapping occasionally. You pause when you get to Jeonghan’s video of you boarding the plane, rolling your eyes at the caption a España con amor. You double tap anyway.

“Did you use Google translate for that?”

He pouts. “I’m better at French and Italian.” 

“Que pena,” you tease. 

“You’ll just have to go everywhere with me and translate, I guess. My Greek is bad, too.” 

“I don’t know, maybe I want to hang out with Junhui and Kira.” 

In front of you, Kira throws up her hand, a peace sign prevalent before she drops it back into her lap. At the front of the plane, the flight attendant shuts the main cabin doors and they prepare for departure while Jeonghan whines, pulling you a little closer. 

“What if I get lost?” 

“You took Spanish, Han.” 

“All I remember is donde está la biblioteca.” 

“Well, while you’re at the library maybe you can pick up a textbook to improve.”

Jeonghan makes a sound of disagreement. The flight team goes over the abridged safety guidelines and the captain steps out of the cockpit to introduce himself and update you on flight plan and times. You listen, half understanding and smiling to ensure they know you appreciate the effort. 

After they complete the safety brief, a hush falls over the plane. The hum of the engines makes the seat vibrate slightly, the air conditioner above kicking on to blow cool air down your neck. You melt into Jeonghan, feeling yourself relax as the flight team goes through final checks for takeoff. Once the plane is in the air, you can move around, but there is nowhere you’d rather be.

You tilt your head to look up at Jeonghan to find he’s already watching you. His thumb traces patterns on your skin, a small smile on his face as he asks, “Hmm?”

“Did you sleep at all?” This time it’s not teasing, just concern that he’s going to be miserable by the time you cross several timezones. 

“A little. Enough.”

He doesn’t elaborate. He never does when it’s about where he’s been, what bed, what room, whose hands. He knows you never ask directly. It’s part of the game. Part of the safety. You hate that you’re grateful for it. 

He taps your thigh with his free hand. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you? In Spain?”

 “Sure. I’ll keep you hydrated and feed you fruit.”

“And keep me entertained?”

His grin is lazy and teasing. You hear the double meaning in his words, the invitation to just cross that line. If you wanted to. Always if you wanted to. You hate how much that you do, but before you can answer, the plane begins to roll, the gentle push of acceleration pressing you further into his side. 

“Seatbelt,” Junhui calls from ahead, voice wry but fond. Kira elbows him for scolding you like children.

Jeonghan laughs and kisses your brow before untangling and reaching across to tug your belt across your hips. His knuckles brush your thigh, and you smell his cologne, woody and warm and enough to make you dizzy. He clicks your belt into place with a flourish before doing his own, letting you settle back into him. 

It’s only when the seatbelt sign flicks off that Jeonghan moves again, letting the distance linger just long enough to keep you aware of the gap before he pulls you back into his side. This time, he tips his head to rest in the curve of your neck, nose brushing your jaw.

You pretend not to notice the way Chan rolls his eyes as he walks by toward the back of the cabin where Seungcheol has set up a gaming console with the TV. In front of you, Junhui and Kira doze, both tired from a full day of work. You like that about them. 

“I know it’s not for a bit,” Jeonghan says, voice muffled by your skin. “But when we get to Florence, I want to take you somewhere first. Just us.”

“Mmm. Where?”

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze. His lashes brush your cheek. You’re so close that when his gaze dips down to your mouth, your heart hammers, thinking he might actually give in and kiss you for once. Instead, he pulls back, just enough to look at you properly. There’s a bright glint in his eyes, hungry and boyish. 

“Somewhere fun. We’re on vacation. We should do whatever we want, right? No regrets.”

You swallow. There’s a hint of something in his voice, a proposition, you think. You’re too afraid to ask him directly so instead you nod, breathless. “Whatever we want.” 

-

When the plane lands in Málaga, the summer sun is already burning, pressing heat into your bones as you step onto the tarmac. You’re half asleep, sunglasses perched on your nose, Jeonghan’s hand warm and casual at the small of your back as you’re ushered through customs. 

Though you slept on the plane, you already feel the drag of the time difference. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing yourself to wake up as you step out of the airport to a black convoy of cars courtesy of the Jeon family who have owned a sprawling vacation estate in Marbella for as long as you’ve known Wonwoo. 

In the car, Jeonghan drifts to sleep on your shoulder again. Junhui and Kira chatter quietly across from you. Seungcheol is on the phone with someone from the firm, his voice low and lethal. It makes you smile, happy to be with your friends and even happier to see everyone else. You don’t know everyone going on this trip and there are people who are coming and going for spurts, but there’s an undeniable buzz in the air. 

The drive to Marbella is a blur of coastline and winding highways. The deep blue of the Mediterranean is hypnotizing even from a distance. The hills outside are studded with white villas and burnt umber rooftops. Olive groves and vineyards sprawl between the hills, verdant green under an azure sky. 

You watch it all slide by through the tinted glass, Jeonghan’s head resting on your shoulder, his thumb brushing circles over your knee where your sundress rides up. You fight the shiver threatening to rattle up your spine, his words from a few hours ago rattling through your thoughts: whatever we want. No regrets. 

It’s less than an hour drive to get to the Jeon estate from the airport. The sun reaches its zenith, a bright coin in the sky that beats down on the dirt packed road the cars turn onto. Cypress trees line the road on either side, so tall they blot out the gates and homes beyond. 

The Jeon family’s estate emerges at the end of the row, less a house and more of a kingdom of white limestone walls, terracotta roof tiles and sprawling verandas stacked three stories high. Jasmine climbs up the columns with purple bougainvillea spilling over marble balustrades. 

Finally, the cars roll to a halt in the circular drive. When you get out, you can hear the distant rush of the sea beyond cliffs. Somewhere on the estate you can hear music humming over the buzz of cicadas, some sort of electronic genre that tells you Vernon or Minghao are in control of the speakers somewhere beyond. 

The doors swing open to reveal Wonwoo jogging down the steps. He’s barefoot with sunglasses on, dressed in all white linen pants and a white linen shirt to match as he grins and opens his arms. 

“Finally!” He grins. “Soonyoung was about to go fucking rabid if you guys didn’t get here soon.” 

Wonwoo hugs Junhui and kisses Kira’s cheek briefly before he’s on you, squeezing you tight enough that your laughter echoes off the marble walls of the portico. Behind Wonwoo, Soonyoung appears in the wide double doors, leaning on one frame in striped swim shorts and shirt unbuttoned enough to show tan lines and the glint of chain at his throat. He lifts a hand and flicks Chan off as a greeting before blowing you a kiss.

“Wow,” you comment as you approach, stopping to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smells like sunscreen, sweat and spicy cologne. You gesture to the unbutton shirt and chain. “Big sexy.”

“Only for you,” he promises before he turns to Jeonghan. Soonyoung’s grin grows tenfold. “And for you,”  he promises. “I’ll give it up to you anytime you want, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes but they embrace, clapping each other on the back. 

Inside is cool and endless, the main building made up of all high ceilings and pale stone floors. There are scattered rugs you think cost more than your college tuition and art that you know Wonwoo’s mother has meticulously picked out herself. 

A grand staircase curls up the three floors like a curling spine, its wrought iron banister draped in flowers and jasmine. The air smells of salt and fresh bread from somewhere down the hall. Attendants show up to take the bags up to assigned rooms on Wonwoo’s instruction as he leads you all toward the back yard. 

Mingyu’s laughter booms from outside, punctuated by the base of music. Wonwoo leads you through glass doors that open into the warm Andalusian afternoon. The backyard isn’t so much of a backyard as it is an entire world unto itself. 

White marble terraces step down in layers toward the cliffs, each level lush with sprawling gardens. You see lemon trees with bright, round lemons and rosemary and lavender tangling for dominance in wild hedgerows.

A sprawling pool unfurls in the heart of it all, rimmed with pale stone. Beyond it, low stucco walls spill over with bougainvillea in shades of fuchsia and wine, framing slivers of the Mediterranean. Sun streams down, painting everything in a clay-baked heat that has you fanning yourself. 

Mingyu is in the middle of setting down a platter of cut citrus on a low table by the pool, half chef half sun god with his tanned skin, muscles flexing as he winks at the girls in the pool. He grins wide when he sees you emerge from the house, waving excitedly.

Soonyoung toes off his shoes and peels his shirt off, taking off to dive into the pool at the expense of Nari and Lena, who both yell at him as blue water explodes when he hits the surface. They drift toward the edge of the pool, taking the slices of fruit Mingyu has laid out.

Wonwoo claps his hands, drawing your attention. “Dinner is here tonight at nine sharp. Seafood and local wine. You’ve got all day to do whatever you want. I recommend a nap. Life is slow but goes late into the night here.” 

He gestures to the pool glittering under the sun, the stone pathways winding down to a hidden guard and the sliver of rocky path that winds down to the private cove below. 

“There’s a bar by the garden, towels by the pool, and the beach path is open. Careful going down - it’s safe but rocky.” 

The group hums with a low buzz, excited to be here. Junhui stretches his arms over head, rolling his shoulders loose as he turns to Kira. She’s already slipped off her sandals, making her way to dip her toes in the shallow end of the pool. Junhui trails after her, shooting you a look over his shoulder to see if you’re coming.

You don’t move yet, turning as Jeonghan’s knuckles brush your wrist. “I’ll get us drinks,” he murmurs, voice pitched low. 

You watch him saunter off. 

The house yawns open, all glass and carved wood. There are baskets of fresh fruit on a long oak table out of the sun, linen curtains stirring in the breeze from all the doors pushed open. A caretaker in white linen passes through, carrying a basket of towels down to the pool deck and lounge chairs. 

Wonwoo lingers beside you, arms folded and sunglasses sliding down his sweaty nose. He watches with you as Soonyoung splashes Chan from behind, Nari shrieking as Lena drags her into the shallows to catch up with Kira and Junhui. 

“You needed this,” Wonwoo says, voice matter-of-fact.

“Did I?”

His mouth twitches. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches out and hooks a finger under the strap of your bag, tugging it off your shoulder and handing it to one of the staff who melt from the shadows, all soft smiles and deft hands.

“Yes. You work too hard, unlike most of us.” You roll your eyes. “Rest today. Swim. Drink. Walk down to the cove if you want. Just enjoy it.”

You intend to. You slide off your shoes and make your way into the sun, toes curling against the warm stone as you pick your way down the steps. You pause to steal a sliver of blood orange from Mingyu’s platter. Soonyoung walks by to grab fruit, wrapping a wet arm around your waist, drenching you in pool water that makes you squeal. 

When you catch sight of Jeonghan, he’s leaning against the outdoor bar, a tall glass in each hand. His sunglasses are perched low on his nose, eyes flickering to you. They’re dark as he lifts his chin as if to say come here. 

You do. Your pulse skitters as you pad over to him. He holds out a glass and when you reach for it, his fingers brush against yours, lingering for a split second. You take a sip of the drink and let out a sigh. It’s cold and bright with fresh mint and the sharp sweetness of rum.

“Want to cool off?” Jeonghan asks, gesturing to the pool. You nod and he leads you toward where Junhui and Kira are wading in the shallow end, drinks in hand. 

The heat melts like sugar under your tongue. Jeonghan holds your drink for you as you peel your sundress off and he makes a noise like he’s admiring the view. Flushing, you snatch your drink back and walk down the shallow incline that leads into the pool, sighing at the cool water as it licks up your legs. 

Kira turns to look at you as you sink in, holding your drink above water. She leans in toward you and murmurs, “Is he driving you crazy yet?”

You know who he is. You don’t answer, instead flicking water at her playfully. She squeals and splashes you back a bit as Jeonghan appears at your shoulder. His hand lazily circles your waist underwater, breath grazing your ear when he leans in to ask how your drink is. 

You pretend you don’t notice how your pulse hiccups when his fingers skim a little lower, when his thigh presses yours beneath the slow hush of the water. But you do. Of course you do. 

Laughter draws your attention to the doors. Lena’s friend Hana walks in - Hana whose gaze is always lingering on Jeonghan and has been for the last two years. She’s beautiful, all honey skin and painted lips, hair twisted up with a silk scarf that matches the ribbon tied around her throat.

She wades in and greets everyone with quick kisses on the cheek and a splash at Soonyoung. She sees you and waves, but her gaze finds Jeonghan and she drifts toward you both with a shy, sweet smile. 

Jeonghan notices immediately. He shifts just enough to glance over his shoulder, his grin like a lazy cat as he greets her. His fingers don’t leave your waist but they’ve stopped tracing patterns as she flicks water at him and he catches her wrist with his free hand. 

“Where have you been?” He asks her, dropping her wrist.

She blushes. “You never invite me out, so.” 

“How silly of me, hmm?”

Lena calls her name from the other side of the pool. Hana drifts off regretfully, eyes flicking to yours for the barest of moments before she gives Jeonghan a shy grin and swims over toward the deep end of the pool. 

Jeonghan’s thumb resumes circling your hip as he leans in, nose brushing your temple as his voice dips low. “Don’t pout.”

You turn to look at him, sunlight catching the wet lashes that cling to his cheekbones. He’s too close, he’s always too close. And you wonder what part of this you’re really drowning in - the ache of his touch on your skin, or the way he never quite gives you enough to stay afloat.

“She’s pretty,” you say, like you’re commenting on the weather. 

 “She is,” he agrees. “You jealous?”

You huff a laugh, shove him lightly with your shoulder. Water splashes between you, but his grip doesn’t loosen. His hand skims higher, brushing the top of your ribs dangerously before settling back low on your hip. 

“Why would I be jealous?” 

“Hmm. Just asking.”

“Feel free to go get her. She likes you well enough.”

Jeonghan’s breath ghosts your ear. “If you want me, just say it.”

“Shut up, Jeonghan.”

He sighs. “Have me or don’t. You know you could if you wanted to.”

You could have him. You know it. But could you keep him? You’re not so sure. 

-

Dinner hums beneath the pergola strung with fairy flights and wild wisteria. Beyond the cliffs, the sea rolls, the sound of waves lost under the buzz of conversation and music playing from somewhere in the yard. Twenty of you gather around a banquet table, plates and glasses catching the twinkling lights above as you sit and shuffle.

You’re tucked between Jeonghan and Junhui. Junhui keeps leaning in to top off your wine glass every time you take a sip, both of you laughing because you know he’s doing it on purpose and you encourage him, shoving your glass in his direction. 

On your other side, Jeonghan drapes himself in his chair, his thigh brushing yours every time he shifts to pour more wine, though half the time he’s not even drinking it. He’s just looking for excuses to brush shoulders with you and give you a shit-eating grin each time. 

Across from you, Hana laughs at something Soonyoung says. She’s flushed with the sun and wine, pretty in a gauzy dress that slips off her shoulder when she tips her head back to giggle. You catch Jeonghan’s eyes flicking toward her just once, quick and sharp, but you notice it all the same.

So does Junhui. Of course he does. He nudges your elbow with his eyebrows lifting in a silent question. You just shrug and drain your glass instead before offering it to him with a pout. He shakes his head and fills it anyway, not pressing you. 

Mingyu throws his head back in a laugh so loud it rattles the wine glasses. Kira’s curled under Junhui’s free arm, watching him fondly as she picks at her seafood paella. Hana leans forward, resting her chin on her palm, eyes fixed shamelessly on Jeonghan. 

“You should come dance with us tonight, Han,” she purrs. “You never invite me, so this is me inviting you.”

“Oh?” he drawls.

Soonyoung interrupts whatever Hana is about to say, clapping his hands as he yells, “Dancing! That’s a brilliant idea. Why the hell are we still sitting here like old people? Let’s go ruin someone’s club.”

Hana squeals a laugh, delight blooming on her pretty face as she shoots Soonyoung a grateful look.  

“We’ll take the cars,” Wonwoo says. “I’ll call ahead. Seungcheol, make sure the drivers know the plan.”

Seungcheol tips his glass in mock salute, already pulling out his phone. You glance at Jeonghan. He’s watching Hana now, who’s biting her lip, eyes shining in the glow of strung fairy lights. He’s still got his hand on your thigh, though. 

Everyone begins to scrape their chairs back from the dinner table, excited chatter bubbling as everyone rushes off to change and get ready. 

“Wear something scandalous!” Soonyoung shouts before he too runs into the house. 

Junhui knocks his knee into yours under the table. “Drink up,” he says, grin soft and eyes warm. “If we’re dancing, you’ll need your courage.”

“Say less,” you agree, downing the wine as Kira cheers you on, clapping her hands. 

-

The villa hums with the hush of night now, the cicadas giving way to the distant rush of the sea and the muffled bass thrum of someone’s playlist still pulsing by the pool. Inside, you and Kira linger at the top of the grand staircase, your laughter echoing off limestone walls as you check each other over one last time.

Kira’s Jacquemus dress is a slip of satin, ocean green that clings to her like it’s been painted on. Her hair is pinned up messily, little strands falling out to brush her throat where a gold chain gleams. She smells like jasmine, lips slick with clear gloss that catches every beam of the hall light.

You’re in an old Saint Laurent dress of your mom’s that’s the color of ripe pomegranate, thin straps crossing your shoulders, dipping low at your back. It hugs your waist tight enough that the hem goes short when you sit, but perfect when you stand. You’ve paired it with thin, strappy black heels that make you teeter on the staircase as you walk down arm in arm with Kira, the buzz of wine making you a little clumsy already. 

The boys wait below, on their phones. Junhui looks up when he hears you, dressed in a buttoned linen shirt and slacks. He looks wonderful and tan, eyes turning into hungry twin moons when he sees his girlfriend. Chan is next to him, hair still damp from the shower in a loose shirt and linen pants. 

It’s Jeonghan who makes your pulse beat harder. He’s in black slacks, a black shirt unbuttoned to his sternum and sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins in his forearms when he lifts a hand to brush a long strand of black hair from his face. He leans against the balustrade, half-lidded gaze fixed on his phone until he hears you.

When he looks up, his eyes lock on you. His lips part, the tip of his tongue catching the corner. You teeter at the bottom of the stairs, letting go of Kira so she can kiss her boyfriend square on the mouth. Jeonghan pushes off the railing, closing the distance instantly. 

“You’re going to kill everyone tonight,” he murmurs as his hand captures your waist. His mouth crooks at the corner. “Creature from heaven.”

Chan groans behind him, rolling his eyes so hard it’s audible. “Can we go before you two start fucking on the stairs, please?”

For a split second you think he means you and Jeonghan. Then you realize he means Kira and Junhui, who is pinned to the wall while his girlfriend peppers him in sticky, lip-gloss-kisses. 

Even while several of glasses of wine in, Seungcheol has managed to organize all of the cars for the amount of people needed to get down into the city proper and to the clubs. You end up in a crammed SUV with Jeonghan pressed next to you and Chan on your lap, but your irritation abates when you get handed a glass of champagne and the air conditioner is blasting all the way into town. 

When you arrive, there’s a line around the building. Chan has already made arrangements though, and your very large party is led to the front of the line where your IDs are checked and you’re ushered past a red velvet rope into the pulsing interior.

Inside the club is alive. You can feel the bass in your teeth, the lights pulsing soft and low with flashes of pink and red. Heat crawls up the walls, bodies pressed together. Your group is escorted through the throngs of bodies and people to a private section perched above the dance floor, half-hidden by drapes. 

Plush velvet couches, gold-rimmed tables and an ice bucket brimming with bottles greet you. There’s no shortage of variety of alcohol and Soonyoung is already pulling out a bottle of champagne and getting on the couch to pop it, everyone turning their phones to him as he announces the official kick off the European Vacation. 

Kira hands you a flute of champagne and you take it gratefully, perching next to her on the couch. Your dress immediately rides up and Junhui yells in terror as he tries to yank it back down, getting a chorus of laughter. 

Jeonghan lounges next to you, one arm hooked lazily along the back of the couch. He eyes flick to your bare thigh and he raises his brows, earning him a middle finger from you which makes him laugh deeply as he sips champagne. 

Soonyoung whoops loud enough to draw eyes from the floor below. He drags Chan and Vernon into a spin, forcing them to drink straight from the neck of a champagne bottle, half the fizz spilling onto expensive shoes.

People start to peel out of the section to head toward the dance floor. Hana leans in toward Jeonghan, eyes wide and bright under the swirl of pink and purple lights. Her hand skims his knee.

She says something to him that you can’t hear and he nods, getting up from the seat. He hesitates, looking at you, as if waiting for you to stay something. To stop him. You don’t. And then he’s gone, his silhouette folding into Hana’s as they slip out of the section into the press of people on the landing. 

It shouldn’t sting but it does. You chase it with a shot poured by Junhui’s deft fingers, the burn washing it down. Kira tugs your wrist when you slump back.

“Don’t pout,” she teases. “He always comes back.”

You know he does. Still, it drives you crazy as you sit there for a few songs longer before Kira is pulling Junhui and Junhui is pulling you and you’re pulling Wonwoo. Wonwoo groans and complains the entire time, telling you that he doesn’t want to dance. You don’t care, just needing someone safe to counterbalance the way the world spins with your buzz. 

On the dance floor, you drag Wonwoo with you. Mingyu spots the two of you and immediately you find yourself pressed between the two of them, laughing loudly as their sweaty bodies cage you in. You lift your hands, letting your cares fall away as you dance pressed between your friends, shouting along with them to a song you don’t know the words to. 

You only see Jeonghan for a blip, a tiny break in the crowd as you turn your head. His hands are on Hana’s hips, mouth at her ear. His sharp smile slices through the dark and you feel it all over again, the knife under your ribs that you refuse to take out no matter how much it fucking cuts you. 

You think about pretending you don’t care. You think about turning and finding Soonyoung and taking shots with him until it doesn’t hurt anymore. You think about a hundred ways to cut the fucking longing out of your chest. 

None of them will work, though. Well - maybe they would. You don’t try, which is the problem. 

“Dance with me.”

The voice startles you and you whirl around. You hadn’t realized you’d drifted from the safety of Wonwoo and Mingyu into the crowd. Pink and blue flash against Jeonghan’s face. He looks like an angel and a demon both, dark hair sticking to sweaty temples, the collar of his shirt open to reveal the necklace - the one you got him. 

Light-headed, you nod. You let him pull you under, the beat swallowing you both as he tugs you toward him. He presses you into him, molding the two of you together. Your hips catch his, rolling as his breath fans your throat, mouth almost at your jaw. 

“What if we just did it?” Jeonghan asks. His voice is so soft you almost miss it. You pull back to look at him, expecting him to be sharp and teasing but he’s not. He’s vulnerable. Serious. Open. “What if we just stop pretending? For vacation. Not rules. No regrets. Just genuinely what we fucking want while we’re here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Just let us not hold back. For once.”

Your mind spins. What would it mean to give in? The ache could finally be quieted. No masks. No pretending.

But the lines between want and consequence are razor thin. You know it. You know Jeonghan knows it, and he’s asking anyway. And what happens when the vacation ends? 

What if you just don’t care? The thought of just trying it out while you're on vacation appeals to you. There’s no rules here, living in a bubble until you go back home. You can do that, right?

You breathe deep, heart pounding. “Take me home, Jeonghan.” 

His mouth finds your pulse. His hand fists in your dress. He laughs, hoarse and relieved. “Thank fuck.”

Jeonghan’s hand is firm around your waist, guiding you through the crowd like you’re the only two people in the room. The bass thumps behind you, a distant heartbeat as you slip toward the exit. Near the door, Jeonghan pauses, his gaze flicking to Junhui, who’s watching you both with a faint crease of suspicion knitting his brows.

“I’m not feeling well,” you shout to him. “He’s taking me home.”

Junhui studies you, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort on your face. You feign a weary smile, a tilt of your head. It’s enough to soften the question in Junhui’s gaze. He lets out a slow breath, nodding reluctantly. “Alright. Just… text me when you get there.”

“Will do.”

The night air wraps around you as you slide into the car, the soft leather cool beneath you. Jeonghan’s fingers find your thigh almost immediately, the brush light but electric. “Not feeling well, huh?” 

The car glides smoothly onto the darkened road, the soft hum of tires against asphalt a quiet rhythm beneath the low pulse of music playing just for you two. The city’s bright chaos falls away behind you, swallowed by the night.

You roll your eyes, but your pulse betrays you, quickening with the heat of his touch. “Shut up. I hated lying to him.”

“I can make it better. You want me to?”

Your breath hitches. Jeonghan’s hand slides from your waist down to the curve of your thigh, fingers feather-light at first, tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your skin. He drags his thumb in lazy circles, slow and tantalizing, making no rush to cross the line, savoring the tension as it coils tighter between you. The warmth of his hand contrasts with the cool leather of the seat beneath you.

Jeonghan’s fingers slide a fraction higher. He teases the hem of your dress, watching you with dark eyes. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t. Instead, you let your hand find his on your thigh, squeezing just enough to say yes without words. His thumb slides upward now, inch by tantalizing inch, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, stroking high up on your thigh, fingers brushing dangerously close to the edge of your underwear. 

The car pulls up the winding path to the estate, the shadows of cypress trees long and dark beneath the low moonlight. The house looms like a silent guardian, white limestone glowing softly in the night, the jasmine scent thicker now in the warm air.

Your heart pounds, loud and erratic as Jeonghan helps you out of the car. The cool night air brushes against your flushed skin, but the heat curling inside you is relentless. His hand settles possessively on your lower back. He leads you upstairs, the grand staircase creaking softly beneath your feet. The corridor is dim, lit only by the moonlight filtering through tall windows, casting silvery patterns on the polished wood floors.

You reach the door to his room, heavy oak with wrought iron hinges, carved with delicate floral patterns. Jeonghan’s hand grazes your hip as he pushes the door open. 

Inside, the room is spacious but intimate. It’s draped in deep, velvety shadows and soft pools of golden lamplight. The walls are lined with bookshelves overflowing with well-worn volumes and small sculptures. A low canopy bed dominates the room, draped in sheer curtains that whisper with the faintest breeze from an open window.

The bed linens are silk, dark plum in color, smooth and inviting. A thick, handwoven rug cushions the floor, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine hanging heavy in the air. There’s a small writing desk cluttered with paper and an old brass lamp.

Jeonghan closes the door behind you with a slow deliberate motion, his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers find your jaw, tilting your face upward as his voice drops, low and certain. “Like I said. Creature from heaven.”

His mouth brushes yours first, gentle and patient, softening into a hunger that makes your knees weak. You sigh into him, head spinning. His hands tighten around you, one dropping down to brush his callused fingers across your thighs. 

Jeonghan pulls you flush to him. You tremble beneath his touch as his lips find the bare skin at the hollow of your throat, sucking and kissing, tongue and teeth. You melt against him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading in his long hair. It feels sinful and you don’t care, every concern and fear melting away as his tongue presses to soothe the sting of his teeth.

His hands slide beneath the hem of your dress, teasing over the soft swell of your ass, fingertips digging into the flesh as he squeezes. His mouth trails down, hot and reverent, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your collarbone, the soft rise and fall of your chest.

The world contracts to the small space of his room, the scent of Jeonghan’s woody cologne, the soft rustle of silk sheets as he draws you down onto the bed. His mouth trails fire along your collarbone and across your shoulders. You shake beneath his touch, breath coming out ragged and he’s barely done anything. 

Carefully, Jeonghan peels your dress off. You let him, the warm buzz in your veins giving you the confidence to stare back at him as he drinks you in. His pupils dilate when he sees you splayed on the bed, chest heaving, skin shining with the spit from his open-mouthed kisses. It’s chill in the room, nipples tightening under his gaze.

“You’re fucking otherwordly,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair as he stares down at you. “You have no idea.”

His praise makes you squirm. His fingers dance up your ribs until he’s brushing your nipples, thumbs flicking back and forth over them. You moan, your chest arching into him. He pinches your nipples gently, sending a jolt of pleasure spiraling through you. He bites his bottom lip, grinning as he palms you, hands warm. 

Jeonghan crawls over you, his knees bracketing your hips. He plants his hand on either side of your head, lowering himself so that his nose brushes yours. His breath is shaky, eyes impossibly dark. You reach your hands up to rest on his hips, fingers curling into his shirt. 

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers.

“You.”

He smiles and kisses you again. It’s like he’s starving. His tongue slides against yours, slow and deep, and you taste the faint sweetness of champagne. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest.

His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, leaving a wet, burning path. His teeth graze the sensitive skin just below your ear, and you gasp, arching into him. His hands roam lower, fingers skimming the lace edge of your underwear, teasing but not yet giving. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with arousal. He pauses there, his breath hot against your collarbone as he presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, fingers pressing to the stickiness of your underwear.

“Jeonghan,” you whisper, voice shaky with need, and he hums against your skin. 

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear but don't pull them down. Instead, he lowers himself, kissing a slow, torturous path down your stomach, his lips brushing just above your navel, then lower, until his breath is warm against the lace.

He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark. He grins like a cat before he leans forward and presses a wet kiss to your clothed pussy. You jolt, the stimulation something but not nearly enough. He presses his tongue to your entrance through the fabric, letting his spit soak the silk as you moan, melting under this mouth. 

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them gently, holding you open as he works you through the fabric. The lace clings to your skin, soaked now, and every stroke of his tongue sends sparks spiraling through you, building a pressure that’s almost unbearable.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmurs against you, voice rough.

He sucks gently through the lace, the sensation sharp and sweet, and your hips buck involuntarily. His grip tightens, keeping you in place, a soft chuckle escaping him at your desperation. He’s a menace, mouthing at you messily over the fabric, knowing he’s infuriating you because you can’t even properly feel him. 

“Patience, love,” he says, but there’s a tremor in his voice, like he’s just as undone as you are.

Finally - mercifully - his fingers hook into the lace and pull it aside, exposing you to the cool air and the heat of his gaze. He grins and leans forward, inky eyes flicking up to meet yours as his tongue dips between your folds.

There’s no barrier now, just the slick, hot glide of his tongue licking through your cunt. His tongue is slow and deliberate, turning your thoughts to static. You feel a buzz all over, a shiver rippling down your spine as he pins you flat to the bed. 

“Shit,” you gasp. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, pulse hammering your throat. “Fuck, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan’s mouth is divine. He licks and sucks gently, teasing your entrance with his tongue before circling your clit with broad, lazy strokes. Your hands fist in the silk sheets, chest heaving as you arch into his mouth. He hums and you can feel the curve of his smile as he eats your pussy lazily, moving at his own pace, savoring you.

“Jeonghan please,” you whimper, unsure what you’re asking for. 

Your broken voice makes him groan against you, the hum buzzing right through your pussy. Your toes curl and you thrash against the mattress. He shifts, one hand leaving your thigh to slide two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right. The stretch is perfect, just enough to make you feel full.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs, lips brushing your clit as he speaks. “I could do this all night.”

You think he might if you let him. His fingers pump in and out, each press in hooking against the spot that makes you see stars. He’s not fast but he’s deliberate, watching you with dark eyes as he sucks your clit in time with the thrust of his fingers. 

He’s obnoxious with it, his mouth loud as he sucks sharply at your clit. You might roll your eyes or make fun of him if it didn’t feel so damn good, too distracted by the orgasm building in your gut to prod at him for putting on a show.

The pleasure builds and builds, a tight coil in your stomach, and you feel the weight of all those years of wanting, all those almosts, pressing down on you now, making every sensation sharper, more urgent. He can tell you’re close, his fingers curling deeper, his tongue flicking a little faster. 

When you finally come, it’s like a dam breaking, pleasure washing over you so intense that you can’t breathe, drowning in the feel of his tongue fucking your entrance with his fingers, wet and loud. Your thighs shake around his head, your hands tugging in his hair and he doesn’t stop. Not until you’re whimpering and begging, oversensitive and out of breath. 

Jeonghan pulls back, lips glistening and eyes hooded and dark with satisfaction. He crawls back up your body, kissing a path of spit and cum back up your stomach until his lips are crashing with yours again. You taste yourself on his tongue, uncaring. The kiss is slow and deep and you feel the weight of something between you shift.

Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He helps you, shrugging the fabric off to reveal the lean lines of his chest and marks you’re already familiar with: a scar on his collarbone from when he had surgery on it after breaking it falling out of a tree when you were kids. A scar from a burn mark where he’d let someone try wax play on him in college but the wax was too hot. A smattering of freckles that you think look like constellations. 

His pants follow, and when he’s bare above you, you can’t help but pause, drinking in the sight of him. He’s beautiful, all sharp angles and soft skin, the chain with the J pendant glinting against his chest. His cock is hard, flushed, and you feel a fresh wave of heat at the sight of him.

Jeonghan leans down, kissing you softly, and the tenderness of it catches you off guard. “We can stop,” he says, searching your eyes. “Anytime.”

Reaching between the two of you, you wrap your hands around his cock, stroking. He moans, dropping his head to your chest. His breath fans out across a nipple, making you shiver as you pump him slowly, smiling at the weight of him in your hand. 

“I don’t want to stop,” you sigh. “Unless-”

“No,” he assures you, laughing. His hips buck into your hand. He lifts his head and flicks a tongue out, swirling around your nipple. “Don’t want to stop.”

He lets you pump his cock for a few strokes, shaking as you spread precum down his shaft while he lavishes attention to your tits. You grin and he kisses the smirk off your face before he pulls himself from your grip to reach for a condom in the nightstand. 

You watch with heavy-lidded eyes as he rolls it onto his glistening cock with ease. His hands are trembling, the only sign that he’s nervous, and you feel your heart stutter. He positions himself between your thighs, one hand guiding himself, the other hand braced beside your head. 

When he finally pushes into you, it’s slow and deliberate. You hiss, the sound coming out between your teeth as the pressure of his cock stretching you open drives you wild. The stretch is exquisite, filling you in a way that makes your breath hitch. He pauses, looking up at you through silken lashes, his hair an inky halo around him. 

You wrap your legs around his hips, urging him deeper. He curses, dropping his head to your neck to mouth at you as he moves, slow and deliberate. The sensation is overwhelming. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you spasm and he growls, struggling to keep it together as your cunt flutters around him. 

Every movement is deliberate, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. His hand slides to your hip, gripping just hard enough to ground you, to remind you who’s here with you. It feels forbidden, like you’re stealing something you shouldn’t have. Years of friendship, of restraint, of keeping the line firm, and now you’re shattering it, giving in to the pull that’s always been there.

His thrusts deepen, still slow but heavier now, and you feel every inch of him, the way he fits like he was made for you. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans, low and rough, his control fraying at the edges.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and you do, meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark, raw, and there’s something vulnerable there, something that makes your chest ache. “Fuck, this pussy is so fucking good.”

His hips roll harder, deeper, and you moan into his mouth, the pleasure building again, sharper this time. His hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, precise circles that make your vision white out. 

Your bodies slide together, breaths mingling as he works you toward an orgasm. You feel out of your mind, thighs shaking, fingers twisted in your hair as you pant against his mouth. Nothing that comes out of you makes sense, a mess of moans and his name and curses that are so loud you’re glad no one else is at the estate. 

“Come for me,” he pants, fingers working your clit as he fucks you in earnest. “Come on, love.”

You do. It’s harder than before, your body shaking as the pleasure rips through you. He groans as you clench around him, his thrusts stuttering, and you know he’s close too. He slows even more, dragging out every movement, making you feel every inch of him as he chases his own release. When he comes, it’s with a low moan, his face buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

For a moment, you just lie there, tangled together, breathing heavy in the quiet. The weight of what you’ve done settles over you, a mix of exhilaration and fear. Jeonghan pulls back, his eyes searching yours. He doesn’t say anything, but he smiles and kisses you, mouth lazy.

He says inside you a moment longer, his breath a ragged hush against your neck. You feel his heartbeat pounding in sync with yours, the hush of the room only broken by your uneven breathing and the faint sounds of the night drifting through the open window. 

Slowly, Jeonghan shifts, pressing one last kiss to your throat before he pulls out. The drag of him leaving you makes you whimper and he laughs, cupping your cheek with one hand. 

“Easy,” he mutters. “Stay here.”

He peels himself off the bed and pads across the wooden floor, the curve of his back catching the spill of moonlight as he moves into the bathroom, tossing the condom and turning on the faucet. He returns with a damp cloth and soft towel, kneeling at the edge of the bed to part your legs gently. 

You watch with stilted breath as he cleans you with slow, careful strokes, the warm cloth ghosting over your sensitive skin. His free hand strokes your thigh soothingly when you flinch at the overstimulation. He's patient, murmuring an apology when your hips jump off the bed. He reaches for the towel, blotting any leftover dampness from your inner thighs before he pats you and gets up again, throwing the towels in the hamper. 

Satisfied, he climbs back into bed, tugging the silk sheets around your hips. He slides in beside you, chest bare and warm as he pulls you flush against him. His arm loops under your head like a pillow, the other curling low around your waist.

“You good?” he asks, nose brushing your hairline.

You nod. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm where it rests over his heart, steady and real.

You feel him drifting, his breathing evening out. His arm is heavy across your waist, thumb still twitching every so often like he’s tracing you even in sleep. You drift with him, half-awake, half-asleep. You doze that way, warm and safe, until a quiet bang somewhere outside the villa jolts you both awake.

It’s distant - not in the house but somewhere outside that makes your heart hammer. Jeonghan shifts first, blinking at the ceiling, hair a dark tangle across his forehead. His arm tightens around you as if reluctant to let you go. You feel the same, the sleepy warmth still coiled low in your belly, but reality seeps back in.

He sighs, his voice rough from sleep. “We should probably-”

“Yeah.”

A soft, reluctant laugh slips out of him. “God forbid Soonyoung finds you in my room like this. We’d never hear the end of it.”

“He would probably make a TikTok about it.”

That makes Jeonghan groan and squeeze you in closer for a few more moments before he finally lets you go. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

The air is cooler now as you slip from the warmth of his bed, pulling your dress back over your shoulders. Jeonghan helps you, brushing the bare skin of your back one last time before stepping back.

He pulls sweatpants on, leaving them low on his hips as he opens the door and sticks his head out. Outside his door, the villa is hushed. The corridor stretches ahead, shadows cast long and soft in the moonlight. He takes your hand anyway, even though you’re just going a few doors down, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

At your door, he stops. For a moment you think he might say something serious, draw the line in the sand again, but he doesn’t. He just lifts your hand, presses his lips to your knuckles. His eyes are soft, half-lidded from sleep but bright with something you’re both choosing not to name yet.

“Whatever we want,” he says again, smiling. “No regrets.”

You smile, nodding as he lets you go so you can slip back into your room. The door clicks shut behind you and you lean on it, breathless and thoughts tangled. 

“What,” you ask the empty room. “Did I just do?”