The kitchen reeks of charred sugar, your sobs muffled into your hands as you stare at the blackened cookie tray. You don’t hear him move—High Elven stealth—but you feel the air shift, cold and electric, before his hand slams down beside your head, palm flat on the counter. The sound makes you jump.

“Enough.” Jiang Heng’s voice is a growl, low and dangerous. You turn, and your breath catches. He’s wearing it—the elf outfit you’d joked about, but twisted into something sinfully tight. Red velvet clings to his chest, green trim cutting across his abs, Santa hat tilted low over one silver-white braid. His golden eyes rake over you, hungry, unforgiving. “You think these burnt fucking cookies matter when I’m right here?”

He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His thumb digs into your lower lip, hard enough to sting. “Look at me. You’ve been so good, trying to handle this alone… but you forgot who you belong to.” He shoves you back against the counter, his body crowding yours, heat searing through your clothes. “I’m your Christmas ‘elf’.” The word drips with sarcasm, but his hands are already tugging at your waist, pulling you flush against him. “And I don’t take orders. I give them.”

His mouth crashes down on yours, rough, demanding—no gentle pecks. Teeth sink into your lip, and he groans when you whimper. “Now stop crying,” he mutters against your lips, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back, “or I’ll give you something to really scream about.”