> last updated: 02/23/26
> navigation: 📱smau | 🔞 smut | 📝 on going | 💌 finished | 💣 popular | 🍀 personal faves | 🗞 one shot | ⏰ hiatus | 🏆 award-winning fic | 📓 drabble/short fic
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✰ enhypen masterlist
𝙇𝙀𝙀 𝙃𝙀𝙀𝙎𝙀𝙐𝙉𝙂
→ waiting room 💌🔞💣💣🍀🏆 pairings: heeseung x female reader // genre: college friends to lovers, fluff. smut, this fic was inspired by the song waiting room by phoebe bridgers. synopsis: for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with. w/c: 21k
→ girlfriend simulator 💌🔞🍀💣 pairing: heeseung × fem!reader // genre: fantasy; romcom; fluff; comedy; light sci fi; college au; game simulator; slow burn; smut (mdni). synopsis: when heeseung agrees to test jungwon’s new dating sim game, girlfriend simulator, he expects a dumb, half finished game, until he boots it up on his switch, the screen glitches, and he’s dragged straight into the world he just created. the “girlfriend” character, you, isn’t scripted at all; and heeseung has to figure out how to get out while accidentally developing feelings for a girl who inconveniently does not exist in real life. // w/c: 37k
→ the sweet escape 💌🔞📓 pairings: bowser! heeseung x princess peach! reader | genre: mario bros au, smut (mdni!!), i would say crack fic bc come on, cheating, rivals to lovers, pwp, secret relationship | synopsis: you're tired of being princess peach: the perfect life, the perfect husband, the suffocating routine. for months you've been secretly fucking heeseung, the bowser: fake kidnappings that turn into real, filthy nights of rough bondage, his mouth devouring you, his cock claiming you while you pretend to resist. | w/c: 5k
→ see you at the movies 📱⏰ pairings: heeseung x female reader // genre: social media au (smau), fluff, crack, strangers to lovers, movie theatre au. synopsis: every thursday night, you walk into the theater alone, big popcorn in hand, like it’s a sacred ritual. heeseung, the overworked (and nosy) employee, can’t help but wonder—do you just hate people, or are you on a mission to watch every movie ever made? either way, he’s starting to think he kinda wants to be your plus-one.
→ gameboy 📱 🗞 pairing: pro player! heeseung x fem! reader // genre: smau (social media au), fake texts, situationship, one shot, player!heeseung
𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙅𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙉𝙂
→ just like heaven // part 1 & part 2 💌 🔞 pairings: brother's best friend!jay x female reader // genre: 80s/90s au, childhood friends to lovers. synopsis: you never planned to fall for your brother’s best friend, jay. but the summer before college, on 1989, something shifts—between mixtapes, quiet drives, and the kind of closeness that sneaks up on you. and after a few cassette tapes and long drives, the love you never planned for starts happening. w/c: 21k in part 1 and 15k in part 2
𝙎𝙄𝙈 𝙅𝘼𝙀𝙔𝙐𝙉
→ nicest guy 📱🔞💌💣💣🍀 ft. sunghoon pairings: jake x fem!reader x sunghoon // genre: social media au (smau), fluff, crack, smut | synopsis: you decide to go to your first college party after two years, and after having to take care of two different drunk men, your college life changes drastically.
→ manchild 🔞💌💣💣 pairings: cowboy!jake x fem!reader // genre: cowboy au, strangers to lovers, smut \ synopsis: you’re trouble, and jake sim knows it. you flirt like it’s your job, wear sin like perfume, and make men beg without even trying. he’s the only cowboy who doesn’t chase you. so naturally, he’s the only one you want. a small-town, slow-burn, filthy little game of who breaks first. w/c: 9.5k
→ responsible guy 🔞💌💣💣 pairing: coworker!jake x fem!reader // genre: coworkers to lovers; smut (mdni!); romcom // synopsis: jake swore he’d never blur the line between work and whatever-this-is. one rule, easy enough. but then you showed up, turning coffee breaks into sharp little dares, late nights into the kind of conversations that feel a little too charged to be harmless. he keeps telling himself it’s work, strictly work, but every glance, every brush past, makes that excuse thinner by the second. // w/c: 13k // this fic is part of the man's best friend collab!
→ i don't wanna be just friends 🔞💌💣💣 pairing: jake x fem!reader // genre: smut (mdni!!), friends to lovers, college au, slowburn-ish // synopsis: jake was stuck. sex had gotten boring, always the same routine, nothing exciting enough to stick in his head. he wasn’t exactly searching for something new, but when a stupid bdsm test came up in conversation with you, he found himself way too curious. suddenly, he’s researching kinks at 3am, making reddit posts like an idiot, and realizing that maybe he doesn’t just want answers, he wants to try them with you. and maybe all he wants right now is ask: i don’t wanna be just friends, don’t wanna be away from you, can i be a pet? // w/c: 28k
𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉
→ nicest guy 📱🔞💌💣💣🍀 ft. jake pairing: jake x fem!reader x sunghoon // genre: social media au (smau), fluff, crack, smut | synopsis: you decide to go to your first college party after two years, and after having to take care of two different drunk men, your college life changes drastically.
→ how i met sunghoon 🔞💌💣💣🍀 pairing: downbad!sunghoon x fem!reader // genre: romcom, friends to lovers, slow burn, smut, crack // synopsis: sunghoon was always the kind of guy who fell too hard, too fast, the type who thought a shared playlist meant commitment and that liking the same sandwich was fate. spoiler: it never worked out. well, that’s until you showed up. he didn’t mean to fall for you. you were just his friend. the funny, smart, annoyingly pretty friend. it wasn’t supposed to turn into heart flutters and late-night guitar practice. but somewhere between friendly teasing, shared drinks, and the world’s longest friendzone, sunghoon realized he might actually be in love. oops! // w/c: 28k
𝙆𝙄𝙈 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙊𝙊
→ coming soon!
𝙔𝘼𝙉𝙂 𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙒𝙊𝙉
→ night changes 💌 pairing: jungwon x fem!reader // genre: stranger things au, romcom, mystery, slowburn, strangers to lovers, 70s au, paranormal // synopsis: jungwon never planned on spending his nights dodging half-demodog girls. he just wanted to be normal hawkins boy in 1976, or at least make it through a party without running away from girls. instead, he ends up pulled into something bigger: training sessions he never asked for, government secrets, and a girl who never tells him her name but keeps saving his life anyway. does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes? jungwon knows it does. but what scares him more is how quickly he stopped wanting to run from any of it. // wc: 22k
→ just my luck 💌🔞 pairing: jungwon x fem!reader // genre: luck swap au, romcom, fluff, crack, strangers to lovers, slowburn, roommates to lovers; smut (mdni) // synopsis: when your impossibly good luck vanishes overnight after kissing a stranger at a masquerade ball, a fortune teller confirms what sounds impossible: you transferred it to someone who needed it more. now you have to find jungwon who accidentally stole your fortune, except you start to think that maybe meeting him was the luckiest thing that ever happened to you. word count: 33k
→ jungwon text's as your brother (nicest guy spin off) 📱🗞
𝙉𝙄𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙈𝙐𝙍𝘼 𝙍𝙄𝙆𝙄
→ 717 amortentia 💌 pairing: slytherin! niki x gryffindor!fem!reader // genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers // synopsis: in your final year at hogwarts, all you wanted was quiet. until a transfer student from durmstrang is placed in slytherin, paired with you in advanced potions, and starts asking the wrong questions. when students begin falling ill and secrets bubble beneath the castle’s surface, you find yourself tangled in a web of forbidden magic, deception, and a boy who was never supposed to care. he came to investigate you. he stayed to protect you. but in the shadows of the castle, even love comes with a price. // word count: 21k words
─ enhypen smau masterlist
── coworkers to lovers series: heeseung | jay | jake | sunghoon | jungwon
── .✦ when enhypen steals your food── .✦ enhypen x latina girlfriends── .✦ enhypen texts after your first kiss── .✦ enhypen when you're interested in league of legends── .✦ enhypen ways of saying they miss you── .✦ enhypen reacting to your new ig post── .✦ did you break up with him yet? (enhypen as your ex)
── .✦ stop using my account! (enhypen as your ex)
✰ txt masterlist
𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄 𝙔𝙀𝙊𝙉𝙅𝙐𝙉
→ your heart got teeth 🔞⏰ pairings: mafia!yeonjun x female reader // genre: enemies to lovers, yeonjun as your childhood bsf, mafia au!! smut, yeonjun is mafia leader and reader too. synopsis: years ago, yeonjun shattered your life with a single lie — and vanished. now he’s back, offering salvation laced with secrets, handing over pieces of your land to save the very people he once left to die. old scars reopen as you're forced into an alliance stitched together with memory, resentment, and the kind of tension that never really left. while danger brews at every border and loyalty crumbles beneath ambition, you must decide if the devil you once loved is worth trusting again — or burning with everything else. w/c: 28k
𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄 𝙎𝙊𝙊𝘽𝙄𝙉
→ 1980s horror film 🔞💌🏆 pairing: soobin x bi!fem!reader // genre: smut, slowburn, friends to something, power play, pwp // synopsis: you are mostly into girls. everyone knows that. soobin knows that. but that never stopped him from watching you like he knew something you didn’t. he’s your favorite boy, your quietest tension, you flirt with him because you think it’s fun. until one night, a horror movie, and a question you weren’t ready for — are you really not into guys? and maybe it was never about boys. maybe it was just about him. w/c: 15k
𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙄 𝘽𝙀𝙊𝙈𝙂𝙔𝙐
→ scott street 💌🍀📓 pairings: beomgyu x female reader // genre: childhood friends to lovers, beomgyu as your ex, romance. this fic was inspired by the song scott street by phoebe bridgers w/c: 3.3k
→ out of tune // part 1 // part 2 // part 3 💌🔞 pairings: producer! beomgyu x female reader // genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, smut on part 3. // synopsis: you and beomgyu have been at each other’s throats since day one at HYBE. both of you are producers, both of you are talented, and both of you absolutely refuse to lose to the other. whether it’s competing for the best demo, fighting over studio time, or bickering in team meetings, everyone knows one thing: you and beomgyu cannot stand each other so, of course, your boss decides to put you two on the same project—producing ENHYPEN’s next album. together. as in, sharing a studio, making creative decisions, and not murdering each other in the process. and suddenly, the tension isn’t just about work. w/c: 27k in part 1 and 26k in part2
escreve algo com jay piloto de f1 e a leitora wag juro to obcecada esses dias por causa do casamento do leclerc 😭😭😭😭
amo vocês alimentando minha obsessão pelo jay ❤️✨
— jay é aquele piloto naturalmente confiante no paddock. postura perfeita, óculos escuros, macacão meio aberto na cintura depois da corrida. mas a postura muda completamente quando ele te vê esperando perto da garagem.
— ele sempre te procura na multidão. entrevistas, engenheiros falando, câmeras… nada importa até ele achar você encostada no muro dos boxes.
— antes de entrar no carro, ele tem um ritual: encostar o capacete no seu ombro, murmurando um ‘te amo’ baixinho, por um segundo. ninguém entende muito bem, mas é o jeito dele “se ancorar”.
— você sempre usa alguma peça da equipe dele. às vezes a jaqueta enorme do time, às vezes só o boné. jay ama porque parece que você faz parte da equipe. (até pq, você é parte da equipe pra ele)
— nas corridas mais tensas ele fica absurdamente focado, quase frio. mas no rádio da equipe, quando vence, a primeira coisa que ele pergunta é: “ela tá aí?”
— quando ele sobe no pódio e o hino toca, ele sempre olha pro paddock. não pras câmeras. pra você.
— depois das corridas, jay chega ainda com o cheiro de gasolina e borracha quente, cabelo bagunçado e suado do capacete. ele te abraça forte, como se tivesse passado horas prendendo a respiração, te dando mil selinhos.
— ele adora quando você entra na garagem da equipe e todo mundo já te conhece. os mecânicos brincam dizendo que você dá sorte.
— jay finge ser todo sério nas entrevistas, mas quando perguntam da vida pessoal ele solta um sorrisinho de canto e muda de assunto rapidinho. TODO VERMELHO.
— viagens são metade do relacionamento. aviões, hotéis, jet lag. mas jay ama porque sempre encontra você no final de cada corrida. (aliás, sexo em muitos muitos lugares diferentes, países diferentes, e mtooo sexo no jatinho).
— quando a corrida foi ruim, ele fica quieto no motorhome. frustrado. você senta do lado dele no sofá e ele acaba deitando a cabeça no seu colo, só querendo um carinho seu.
— quando a corrida foi perfeita… ele aparece correndo pelo paddock e te levanta no ar sem se importar com absolutamente ninguém olhando.
— no fundo, todo mundo no paddock sabe: ele é caidinho por você.
{❄️} headcanon sobre como seria o término/possível volta, entre você, e seu namorado bambam.
— jay sempre foi seu namorado doce, educado, que fazia de tudo por você; não havia sentido ali um término, mas fora necessário.
— você recebia MUITO hate por parte das fãs, e em um dia específico, após cair no mundo obscuro do twitter, e ler por horas todo aquele material de tortura, você decidiu que não aguentava mais.
— jay estava cumprindo compromissos de seu calendário, e voltaria para o apartamento de vocês dois dias depois.
— mas quando voltou, encontrou o ap vazio, silencioso, e sem a sua bagunça, o seu calor, o seu cheiro.
— primeiro entrou em pânico. já havia estranhado o fato de você não respondê-lo, por isso havia voltado com um dia de antecedência. quando não te viu por lá, não conteve a crise de ansiedade.
— a respiração descompassou, acelerada, o coração batendo forte, as mãos tremendo, te procurando, tentando te ligar.
— até que encontra uma carta sua, explicando tudo, e pedindo desculpas por ter sido covarde. ele fica acabado.
— ele fica acabado. chora sozinho, de soluçar mesmo, liga pro heeseung desesperado, e o hyung dele até vai lá pra consolar o bichinho.
— te manda um milhão de mensagens de texto, e de voz:
amor, pfvr, vamos pelo menos conversar, n me deixa assim, eu tô me sentindo pessimo
não acredito que deixei isso acontecer com vc, eu sempre prometi que ia cuidar de vc e te proteger, me desculpa ter falhado, me desculpa ter errado com você
eu te amo muito, sem você não tem sentido continuar nesse apartamento, tudo aqui é nosso. a gnt ia construir nosso futuro aqui, lembra?
vida, me responde por favor
vida
eu te amo mt cara pfvr
— não consegue dormir direito, acorda de madrugada achando que você enviou mensagem, mas era só notificação do ifood.
— não tira por nada a própria aliança. sente que ali tem você ainda pertinho.
— de tanto te procurar, te acha na casa de uma amiga, e bate na porta tarde da noite com os olhos vermelhos.
— começa a falar, mas engole as próprias palavras, respirando devagar, porque se falar tudo que sente rápido, sabe que vai chorar.
— “jay, não é tão simples…”
— e ele desaba. e você também desaba, por vê-lo chorar. jay está tão magoado, tudo dói. só quer poder te abraçar, te beijar, quer seu carinho, seu afago.
— ele não aguenta, acaba com a distância e te abraça muito forte, murmurando mil pedidos de perdão, e jurando nunca mais deixar que te façam mal.
— a noite acaba com vocês agarradinhos na cama do quarto de hóspedes da casa de sua amiga, ele murmurando palavras doces, ainda com uma leve dor de cabeça de tanto chorar, mas finalmente depois de dias, se sentindo em paz.
avisos. jake namoradinho x reader, oral!masc, dry hump, namoro proibido. ah! nenhum jake foi ferido subindo em árvores durante essa one shot.
Seus ouvidos tendem a lhe enganar, mas desta vez não. Realmente era o característico som de uma pedrinha em sua janela de vidro. Desacreditada, você deixa sua escrivaninha, onde permanecia estudando desde cedo, e vai até a porta da pequena varanda de seu quarto. Abre as persianas, e enfim abre o vidro. O coração acelerado e o frio na barriga dizem muito sobre seu pressentimento de ser exatamente quem é.
O maluco do seu namorado, parado na grama de seu jardim, com uma sacolinha nas mãos.
“— Porra, Jake! ‘Tá doido? Se meu pai te pega aqui ele te mata.” — você sussurra desesperada.
“— Mata nada! Ele nem vai saber. Puxa essa cadeira aí pro lado, vou subir aqui pela árvore.” — ele diz, já trepando no ypê florido que tem em seu quintal.
“— Jakeeeeee!” — reclama manhosa, chega a bater as perninhas no chão.
“— Ô gatinha… Puxa aí. Prometo que não vai dar ruim, só queria te dar um beijo. ‘Tô cheio de saudade.”
Os olhos tão escuros quanto a noite brilhavam no breu que era seu gramado. Você suspira fundo, ainda tentada a ter razão, mas acaba cedendo ao biquinho de seu namorado. Ele sobe pela árvore, e finalmente, em silêncio, está em sua frente.
Estava com um moletom grande, o capuz tampando além do cabelinho jogado para o lado, pois também estava com um boné virado para trás. Retira os óculos de grau do rosto, apenas para passar a lente levemente no tecido do casaco, para limpá-la.
“— Suei, aí, embaçou tudo…” — murmura limpando.
“— Jakey…” — você murmura assim que ele coloca o óculos novamente no rosto, e o abraça, se perdendo dentro do quentinho de seus braços fortes.
Você sempre fora uma menina de rédeas curtas. Seus pais eram extremamente rígidos com sua educação, nunca permitiram namoros, saídas, festas… Nada além do foco, mesmo que amargo, na faculdade de engenharia, e nos estudos.
Sua mãe fora a primeira a saber que estava namorando. Os sorrisinhos bobos pro celular, as rosas que recebia, as ligações fora de hora que melhoravam seu dia em 100%.
Até que ela indagou sobre o assunto, e você não conseguiu mentir. Havia conhecido Jake na faculdade, e estava totalmente apaixonada. O jeitinho atrapalhado do menino havia lhe encantado.
Exigiu que Jake saísse para jantar com ela, e com seu pai, para que conhecessem o rapaz. Quando ele chegou, de boné para trás, roupa despojada, e o pescoço arranhado, não causou uma boa impressão. Mas decidiram dar um voto de confiança, desde que não atrapalhasse seus estudos. E não havia atrapalhado até então. Até… Decidirem ir a pedra do sal com o Jay, o Markinhos e o Nana, e você chegar em casa às oito da manhã meio bêbada. Ah, sua aula começava às seis e meia.
Desde então, mesmo sendo maior de idade, estava de castigo, sem poder sair, e consequentemente sem poder ver Jake.
No meio daquele abraço gostoso, lhe veio a dúvida:
“— Como cê conseguiu entrar aqui no condomínio sem interfonar?” — pergunta meio abafada.
“— Jefferson.”
“— Ué. ‘Cê conhece o porteiro?” — ele acena que sim.
“— Joga bola comigo toda quinta, no racha lá perto de casa.” — ele diz com humor, e você sorri.
“— Você é doido, cara. A gente não tá nos Estados Unidos não, era risco de cair dessa árvore e eu ter que chamar o Samu. Vem, entra.” — o puxa para o interior quentinho de seu quarto.
“— Iam ter que chamar o Samu se eu ficasse mais um dia sem te ver. Ia morrer sabe de quê? Saudade.” — eita como era poeta.
Sentia o cabelo grudar em sua nuca por conta do suor. Muito calor. O moletom de Jake já havia ido parar no chão, e ele estava apenas de calça de moletom em cima de ti, ambos na cama, se beijando, se amassando, matando a saudade um do outro.
Amava poder ser a única a ver Jake daquele jeitinho, bagunçado, todo vermelho, com a boquinha inchada e os olhos quase fechando de excitação.
Os sons manhosinhos que saiam da boca dele serviam unicamente para te deixar mais molhada. Era tão íntimo, os transformava em dois burrinhos por sexo, sendo levados pelo momento. Jake não parava de moer o quadril no seu, aquela esfregação gostosa, forte, simulando estocadas, desesperado, e com tesão.
“— Não trouxe camisinha, achei que eu não ia conseguir nem subir a árvore, quanto mais ainda ter pique pra transar.” — ele murmura com a boca coladinha na sua, e você ri.
Não tinha camisinha em seu quarto, porque sua
mãe provavelmente iria ver. E se visse, saberia que você e Jake já transam. E se soubesse, contaria ao seu pai. E se seu pai soubesse… Mais castigo.
“— Eu posso fazer uma coisa por você então.” — diz, mexendo no cordãozinho no pescoço dele.
“— O que?” — sussurra, os pelos arrepiados ansiando por sua resposta.
“— Levanta, Jakey.” — ele a obedece sem pestanejar.
“— O que ‘cê vai fa-ah… Ah….” — a frase morre em um sopro quando você abaixa a calça dele, e o põem na boca. De uma só vez, o sujando por inteiro de baba.
Imediatamente Jake põem a mão em sua cabeça, segurando um pouco de seu cabelo para auxiliar a ditar um ritmo.
“— Isso… Porra… Caralho…”
“— Amor, a boca suja.” — você o tira de sua boca apenas para provocar. Ele força, com carinho, sua cabeça novamente para o pau dele.
“— Desculpa, desculpa, continua, continua.”
Os palavrões retornam quando você sente que ele está perto. Os arfares se tornam mais frequentes, os gemidos mais audíveis, e o movimento do quadril mais irregular. Você o conhece o suficiente.
“— Amor… Onde? Onde eu posso?” — sente o desespero na voz dele, os braços arrepiando, os olhinhos fechados.
Você não o responde, passa a apenas punhetá-lo, e abre a boca com a língua para fora encostada na cabecinha. Ele não demora milésimos para esporrar em toda sua língua, seu rosto, até em seu cabelo. Jatos espessos e quentinhos enquanto ele ainda estoca em sua mão, errante, gemendo baixo, no mundinho dele.
Quando termina, se tornado sensível, ele sobe a calça meio sem graça, e torna a se sentar na cama, desta vez com você no colo, com uma perna de cada lado.
“— Te sujei toda. Até seu cabelinho.” — diz tímido, passando o polegar por suas bochechas sujas. “— Nem sabia que ia ser tanto assim. Sei lá.”
“— Eu não ligo, eu gosto. Tudo que é seu eu gosto.” — você diz, e ele ri bobinho, te dando mais um beijo.
Desta vez você permanece no colinho dele, e é quem dita os movimentos. Rebola com força, fazendo o máximo para que sinta em seu pontinho o volume de seu namorado. Se sente pulsar, sabe o que pode acontecer, mas continua. Os beijos totalmente desastrados conseguem mostrar o quanto o tesão mexe com vocês.
Sabe que está perto, por isso acelera os movimentos, faz mais força, até que goze do jeitinho que dá, se esfregando em Jake, burrinha pelo pau dele. Ele sente a cueca molhar — já que havia abaixado a calça de moletom para poder sentir melhor, e já tão sensível pelo orgasmo anterior, acaba por esporrar novamente, desta vez mais fraco, juntinho de você.
Ele desaba na cama, você em cima dele, com a cabeça no peitoral desnudo.
“— Que isso, mô. Vou ter que esperar um pouco pra ir embora, se eu descer a árvore agora eu vou cair. Tô com a perna bamba.” — ele diz morgadinho, e você ri.
“— Queria que você pudesse dormir aqui comigo.” — sente o início de um cafuné gostoso em seu cabelo, e fecha os olhos com a carícia gostosa.
“— Eu também. Queria muito. Porra… A gente tomaria um banho quentinho agora, ia botar um pijama, e iríamos assistir um filminho, agarradinhos. Depois, eu ia te beijar até a gente dormir. Te beijar muito, muito…”
“— Só beijar?” — ri enquanto ele nega com a cabeça.
“— Não. No meu mundo hipotético aqui, a gente teria camisinha no quarto, e aí a gente transava.”
“— Jakeyyyy! Meu pai não pode ficar nessa pra sempre. Uma hora ele vai ter que aceitar que eu cresci… Que minha vida não gira em torno dele e dos estudos… E que eu amo você… E aí vamos poder dormir agarradinhos.”
“— Eu também te amo, minha vida. Tomara que isso aconteça logo. Não confio nos meus dons de escalada. Essa árvore ‘tá mandada.”
“— Eu toda romântica, e você zoando.” — bate de leve no peito dele, e ele ri.
“— Tô brincando, linda… Uma hora ele vai entender. Enquanto isso eu sempre vou dar um jeito de vir te ver. Te prometo.”
“seu namorado pode ser durão no ringue, e nas ruas. mas com você, ele é apenas o seu cheollie.”
avisos. sexo semi público, sem camisinha, praise kink, size kink.
Ele não havia te visto.
Você estava recostada em uma das pilastras do galpão amplo, o observando treinar com outro cara. A cada soco dado, os bíceps se contraiam, mostrando a força que ele fazia no movimento. O cabelo suado pingava na testa, volta e meia ele abaixava a guarda para tirar a franja dos olhos, jogando para trás.
Ele estava lindo. A blusa preta colada no tronco, já encharcada também de suor, evidenciava o peitoral largo e malhado. Os shorts pareciam mais curtos do que deveriam, quando ocasionalmente ele chutava seu oponente de ringue. Você não entendia nada daquele meio, nunca havia lutado com medo de quebrar sua unha impecável, ou ganhar um roxo em sua pele de porcelana.
Mas gostava de assisti-lo, apenas por ser ele. A feição séria, o cenho franzido, mantendo-se sempre alerta. Até o barulho que o soco dele fazia quando acertava o oponente. Tão fodidamente gostoso. Ele demora a repará-la, mas quando finalmente vê, declara o fim do treino. O olhar dele brilha de leve, esconde um sorrisinho enquanto ainda esta na presença do amigo, apenas para manter sua pose. O cumprimenta, e finalmente desce do ringue, caminhando até você. Ele está descalço, há faixas em suas mãos, e agora um sorriso no rosto que deixa suas covinhas visíveis.
“— Ei, linda.” — ele diz baixinho, amassa os lábios nos seus em um selinho forte e estalado.
“— Você tá todo suado, Cheollie.” — reclama dengosa, mas não deixa de acariciar o rosto dele, que aprecia o gesto.
Seungcheol estaria mentindo se dissesse que não amava o seu jeitinho feminino. A voz manhosa, as roupas delicadas, a vaidade. Haviam muitas garotas no CT de luta dele que dariam de tudo para ter uma chance. E essas mesmas garotas ficaram irritadíssimas quando viram que o professor Scoups havia assumido uma patricinha como namorada.
Mas o que ele podia fazer? Era de você que ele gostava. Era você que fazia ele sorrir bobo por aí, andar de mãos dadas, beijar apaixonado. Ele amava te mimar como uma boneca. Te buscava no pilates com aquela picape enorme dele, e tinha que te ajudar a subir nela de tão alta que era. Sempre descia, abria a porta pra você, e te dava a mão pra subir. Quando via você chegando para vê-lo lutar, era a mesma coisa; descia do ringue pra te dar um selinho, te pegava pela cintura e te colocava sentadinha com ara assisti-lo.
“— Vou lá no vestiário tomar um banho. Vem, cê me espera.”
O vestiário estava vazio, de tarde era costumeiro. Por isso Seungcheol trancou a porta, para te deixar à vontade ali. O reparava nos mínimos detalhes; ele contraindo os braços para poder tirar a blusa, passando-a pela cabeça, descendo o short junto com a cueca boxer… A marca na pele que a cueca apertada deixou, uma fina linha pelo quadril robusto. Descendo pela linha em V até o pau, que mesmo relaxado consegue ser majestoso. Os pelos aparados que o deixam com um ar tão masculino. Seungcheol é lindo por inteiro, nos mínimos detalhes.
De baixo da água naquele chuveiro consegue ter ainda mais certeza disso. A forma como as gotículas descem por sua barriga, e até quando ele vira de costas consegue ser bonito. Tem as costas largas, fortes, e a bunda grande e redondinha. Estava sorrindo como uma boba o reparando, até ele desligar o chuveiro e começar a se secar. Enrolou a toalha na cintura, e descalço mesmo seguiu até você, sentada no balcão.
“— Que foi, que você tá me olhando?” — ele pergunta carinhoso. Coloca as duas mãos no balcão, ao lado de suas coxas, prendendo seu corpo.
“— Você é muito lindo. Não consigo deixar de olhar.” — a covinha novamente está ali. Uma das coisas que ele mais gosta em você é o quanto você é carinhosa e doce com ele. Sempre elogiando, acariciando.
“— Você é a coisinha mais doce que existe, sabia, meu amor? Hum?” — ele diz, e você dá uma risadinha tímida. Também ama ser elogiada.
“— E gostoso também.” — sussurra sapeca, e o sorriso dele alarga. Os olhos pesados em cima da sua expressão, e com a porta trancada ele sabe muito bem onde aquilo vai levar. Ele tinha tantos, tantos pensamentos. Quase todos terminando com “ela veio me ver tomar banho pra manjar minha rola, puta merda, que princesinha gostosa e safada que eu tenho”. Mas preferiu seguir a linha romântica com você, já que nunca usava nem palavrões perto do ti. Quanto mais falar dessa maneira.
“— Gostoso, é? Não chego nem aos seus pés. De vinte e quatro horas do meu dia…” — ele vai abaixando o tom, sussurrando próximo ao seu ouvido, sabendo que vai te deixar com as bochechas vermelhas — “vinte e cinco eu tô pensando em te comer. De quatro, de lado, papai e mamãe, você em cima… Em pé…” — é sugestivo, enquanto você esconde o rosto com as mãos. Isso faz com que ele ria baixinho, adorando te ver tão envergonhada.
“— Cheollie! Não fala assim!” — você o repreende, mas mantém um sorrisinho no rosto também.
“— Por que? Minha princesa fica envergonhada? Tsc… Ou minha princesa fica molhadinha?” — pergunta mais sério desta vez, as mãos já escorrendo por suas coxas, subindo até pararem de baixo de sua saia. Você sussurra um “Cheol”, enquanto seus olhos escurecem de pura luxúria.
“— Os dois.” — você murmura, e ele sorri satisfeito. O polegar passa de leve por cima de sua calcinha já encharcada, e quanto ele morde os lábios já se imaginando ali dentro.
“— Linda… Tão linda, toda minha.” — elogia, e você tão inerte nem percebe quando a toalha dele vai parar no chão — o mesmo destino de sua calcinha. “— Minha princesa, você me deixa maluco.”
E te beija. Os lábios carnudinhos em contato com o seu, a língua deslizando por sua boca. Você se sente derretendo, mole o suficiente para cair se não estivesse sentada em cima daquele balcão, com seu namorado segurando forte em sua cintura.
“— Cheol… A gente vai fazer amor aqui?” — pergunta com os olhos brilhando, a boca salivando pelo corpo do seu namorado. O seu homem. O sorriso volta ao rosto dele, o peito chega a vibrar, percebe que ele gostou.
“— Vamos, linda. Vamos fazer amor aqui. Agora.”
Volta a te beijar, extrema volúpia enquanto você bagunça o cabelo molhado dele. Ele aponta o próprio comprimento até sua entrada livre, e põem a cabecinha, para enfim ir empurrando de pouco em pouco.
“— Cheollie…” — você resmunga, aperta os ombros dele com as unhas.
“— Eu sei, eu sei, amor… Respira, a gente sempre faz caber, certo? Vai caber.” — ele murmura contra seus lábios.
Era comum ter que ir bem devagar no começo por conta de seu tamanho, até que você conseguisse abrigá-lo. Ele tinha paciência, tanto que sua primeira vez havia sido com ele. Todas as vezes tinham esse mesmo processo: ele entrava devagar, ficava um pouco dentro te alargando, se acomodando, para poder meter.
“— Quando eu puder me mover você fala, huh? Tão quentinha, tão molhadinha. Porra… Eu te amo tanto.”
Você pisca internamente escutando a voz de Seungcheol no seu ouvido. Ele soava tão fodidamente gostoso, a voz rouca, grossa, o sopro perto de seu pescoço fazendo sua nuca arrepiar.
“— Cheol. Vai. Por favor.” — quase monossilábica impulsionando o próprio quadril ao encontro dele. Ele começa com movimentos leves, até que as estocadas fiquem ritmadas.
Ele ama te ver tão entregue, tão vermelha, bagunçada. Seu batom rosa já borrado, a roupa amassada, mas estava ali; de pernas abertas pro seu homem sem se importar com nada. Sente os sinais de que está próxima de seu ápice quando começa a apertá-lo mais vezes. Murmura o apelidinho carinhoso dele repetidamente, as unhas fincadas nas costas malhadas até que seu torpor passe por completo. É a vez dele de se derramar em seu interior. Nunca se acostumaria com o quão gostoso é tê-lo daquela maneira, tão vulnerável, calmo, jorrando o prazer dentro de ti, sentindo o líquido quentinho em suas paredes.
Até normalizarem a respiração ele permanece ali, fazendo um carinho gostoso no seu rosto, na sua cintura… Ele a limpa, coloca sua calcinha de volta, e coloca uma roupa limpa que estava em sua mochila, um conjunto de moletom e um tênis. Coloca a mochila nas costas, e com apenas um braço passa por sua cintura e te tira do balcão. Destranca a porta do vestiário, e em um ato de possessão abraça sua cintura, te direcionado para a porta.
Suas bochechas rubras revelam o que os dois estavam fazendo no vestiário. Mas ninguém ousaria mexer com o professor, com o melhor lutador dali. Você sente os olhares em vocês, agora que o CT está um pouco mas cheio. Por isso tenta se esconder no corpo de Cheol. Assim, vocês vão até o estacionamento. Onde ele abre a porta da picape. Te ajuda a subir. E te leva pra casa. Obviamente, a dele.
content you hid the relationship to keep his career clean, but he never gave a damn about playing safe. when the secret finally burned out in the open, you ended it thinking you were saving him—only to realize the only thing he ever fucking needed was you.
pairing idol!jk × choreographer!femreader
trope forbidden love, secret relationship
warnings mention of blood, fight, strong or vulgar language, jealous and protective kook, really possesive jungkook, sex scene, but not graphic, curse words, forced proximity
p.s this piece was written as a request, and honestly it’s all thanks to the imagination of the person who inspired me. your idea had me working overtime—and i loved every second of it.
“and what exactly is that supposed to mean?” your arms fold across your chest in a deliberate shield, though your eyes—wide, curious, sharpened by the glimmer of defiance—linger on him with unguarded fascination.
you’d been bent over lyrics for the better part of an hour, words bleeding onto paper under the dim light of the studio, when jungkook had abruptly slapped his palms against his knees, the sound ricocheting like a drumbeat in the quiet room. he had vanished without a word, only to return minutes later, the door swinging open with the reckless weight of his foot as though the hinges themselves had offended him.
in his grasp glimmered a bottle—expensive, heavy, its surface jeweled with droplets of condensation that slid lazily down the glass, leaving trails like sweat on skin. two large tumblers clinked together in his other hand, announcing his every step with crystalline impatience. he dropped into his chair with the careless grace of someone who knew the room bent to him, the console lights spilling in fractured reflections across his profile.
his mouth curved, not quite a smile but something sharper—an invitation wrapped in mischief. with a sharp pop the cork surrendered beneath his tattooed fingers, rings chiming against the glass as he poured. “it’s alcohol,” he murmured, voice laced with smoke and something sweeter. his lashes dipped, his eyes never leaving you. “s'good for you, honey.” as if the pet name itself could dissolve your resistance.
“cut it out, jungkook. i don’t drink.” the words were firm, but the tremor beneath them betrayed you. he unnerved you—he always did—especially when those shadowed eyes lingered beneath lashes long enough to feel like a caress.
he laughed then, unguarded, the sound rough and boyish all at once. he knew your shyness, savored it like a rare delicacy. and yet, it was his undoing too—because he burned with a hunger for you that outpaced reason, a devotion so reckless it made a mockery of caution. in another life, in a thousand more, he’d find you—of that he was sure.
“tonight the stars aligned,” he said, tongue clicking softly as he tasted his whiskey. the glass twirled between his fingers, liquid amber glinting as it swayed from corner to corner, scattering light like a slow-moving flame.
“i’m serious, jungkook,” your voice faltered against the rising tide of something dangerous. you clung to common sense like a drowning woman clutches driftwood, but sense was no match for the way he occupied every inch of air around you.
“no, baby. tonight is different.” his hand moved before you could stop it—resting heavy on the arm of your chair, then tugging with a casual strength that pulled you forward as though gravity itself favored him. you nearly toppled into his lap, caught by the ease with which he commanded proximity. “yesterday you told me you had so many things to say but no idea how.” his lip piercing gleamed as his tongue nudged it, teeth worrying the metal like a secret he refused to release.
his words hung like smoke, impossible to catch, impossible to dismiss. you wanted to protest, to demand clarity, but his mind was a labyrinth you hadn’t yet learned to escape. he was a riddle you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to solve—each day an invitation deeper into his mystery.
“jungkook, i can’t read your mind,” you managed, temper fraying at the edges, exhaustion from the day weighing down your spine. you wanted to keep your composure, to ration what strength you had left, but he made control a foreign word.
he exhaled, a slow thread of disappointment coiling from his chest, before reclaiming the moment with a flicker of determination. his dark tracksuit hung loose, almost careless, but it could not disguise the tension of muscle beneath, the coiled strength apparent in every movement. “this will help you unravel,” he murmured, pouring amber liquid into the second glass. he held it out toward you, unwavering, the crystal trembling slightly in his hand as he urged it closer. you didn’t take it—yet your eyes lingered, drawn by the glow, by the weight of his gaze on your indecision.
you take the glass from his hand, the surface chilled just enough to contrast the faint warmth of your own skin, as though it were quietly siphoning the heat away from your palm. “are we just going to drink?” you murmur, half-daring, half-teasing. he has always had a peculiar way of loosening your composure, unraveling your restraint strand by strand. that, you suppose, is the mischief of his charm—dangerous and intoxicating in equal measure.
“no and yes,” he counters, voice pitched in a boyish lilt that manages to be both ridiculous and disarming. “truth or drinking. thought we’d give it a go.” the idea spills out of him so unabashedly, so shamelessly playful, that laughter bubbles out of you before you can stop it. already, you know—you’re smitten with this night, with the reckless ease of it. a night that will cling to your memory like perfume long after it’s gone.
“we’re not teenagers anymore, jungkook,” you chide, rolling your eyes, though the gesture softens as you tilt imperceptibly closer, drifting into the magnetic orbit of his nearness.
“this is bullshit,” he retorts, sharp with conviction. “nothing should fence you in—especially not age, especially not this tired excuse of age”. he swallows a mouthful of liquor, and the rawness of it claws through him, dragging a guttural hiss, an animalistic ‘arrgh’ from his chest, as though the alcohol itself were some feral opponent clawing at his insides.
“do you keep a motivational blog, by any chance?” you taunt, lips curling around the rim of your glass, twirling it idly between your fingers as your gaze fixes on him—like he’s a locked casket of sugared secrets, each one you ache to pry free.
“i could start one for you,” he volleys back with a wink, though the levity falters almost instantly. a shade of unease ripples through him as he fiddles absently with the piercing in his lip—something you’ve come to recognize as his nervous tic, his way of anchoring his focus when words threaten to tangle.
“you did say i’m not serious…” he ventures, quieter now.
“i could say that,” you muse aloud, feigning deliberation, though you already know your verdict. the truth is that jungkook’s spirit is too wild, too capricious for someone like you. and yet—that is precisely what unravels you, what makes him irresistible. he’ll prod you to leap from impossible heights, whispering when else are you going to do this in your life? and you will leap, knees trembling, simply because his hand is near yours. because he is the storm, and you, coward that you are, cling to the thrill of being caught up in it.
he arches his brows, sculpting his expression into something stern, jaw taut as if holding back real ire, tongue pressing into his cheek like a blade hidden under velvet. but you know the game he plays. “stop sulking,” you scold, eyes seeking out his with practiced ease. and when they meet, there is a moment—a suspended breath—where you swear you glimpse yourself, small but crystalline, reflected in the obsidian of his gaze.
“alright, alright,” he concedes, leaning back with a sharp breath. “here’s the rule: say something you’ve been afraid to confess, and tell it honestly—or drink.” the suggestion strikes you harder than expected, so direct it nearly startles. you press your lips together, fighting the urge to smile, because the moment you begin unearthing the things you’ve buried—fear, shame, fragile admissions—you know you’ll be swallowed whole, pulled into a whirlpool you may not climb out of.
“will this help me open up,” you murmur, voice gauzy with suspicion, “or are you just trying to humiliate me?” it’s a weak protest—you know it, he knows it. because the greater truth is simple: cowardice is stitched into you more tightly than you’ve ever dared to admit.
“nah, babe, relax,” he murmurs, a flicker of surprise tightening his features, because he genuinely absorbs every current of emotion surging within you—even the ones you bury beneath silence. he fears missteps, fears that one wrong gesture might drive you back into your cocoon, retreating behind your fragile defenses, or worse, vanish altogether in fright. though he adores the demure quality of your hesitance, he is equally tormented by the idea of losing you to it. so even in his possession of you, even with your bond sealed, he treads lightly—patient, vigilant, prepared to outwait entire lifetimes if that is what you demand. “ain’t gonna corner you or nothing. it’s just a dumb lil’ game. figured it’s the only way i can get you talking straight with me,” he remarks with a slanted smirk, the glimmer of play sharpening his gaze.
your lips release a faint puff of air, your gaze fixed warily on him, warmth blooming across your cheeks like a secret fire. he draws forth sensations from the marrow of your being—emotions that had never existed until his presence rewrote your system. “fine, ask then,” you yield in a half-breath, watching him tip back another sip, though he needs no fabricated excuse to drink; he indulges solely because he wishes to coax you deeper into his orbit.
he smirks again, but with composure—crossing his legs, anchoring a tattoo-inked hand beneath his chin. his brow arches with languid provocation. “alright.. what was your first impression of me?”
“arrogant,” you confess, curling one finger like a reluctant tally, averting your eyes before laughter betrays you.
“hah— harsh,” he exaggerates, clutches his chest like you stabbed him, smirk only growing, “go on, finish me off.”
“self-absorbed, reckless, without boundaries,” you persist, and his face subtly hardens—jaw ticking, hands flexing, though the rest of his frame remains statue-still. yet you refuse to stop. “then i saw what you were really like. big heart. bigger soul. and i knew you were the most beautiful man i’d ever seen,” your eyes drift shut, haunted sweetly by that memory.
in an instant, his body closes the distance—breath warm and heavy with alcohol he drinks too greedily, yet still layered with the expensive musk of his cologne, and beneath it, the raw scent of his own skin, a scent that has always carried the weight of a man meticulous in his care yet untamed in essence. his palm slides along your cheek, across the contours of your face, mapping every curve as though engraving you into memory. “see, that’s what i was waiting for. i knew you’d crack sooner or later. truth is— soon as i saw you, i already decided. you’d end up mine, no matter how long it took,” his eyes hover dangerously close to yours, intoxicated not by liquor but by the inexhaustible pull of your scent, your nearness.
and yet—where you expect fervor, the hunger of pressed mouths and searing touches, he withdraws. he eases himself back into his former posture, deliberately detaching, leaving behind the sting of withheld closeness. it unsettles you, bruises your yearning, though you should know by now: he is always composed. even when liquor fogs his blood, even when fury sharpens his veins, even when the smallest vices gnaw at him—he is ever the sovereign of himself. always in control.
“okay,” his fingers rake through the dark silk of his hair, pushing it back with an almost restless grace, his gaze wandering to the other side of the soundproof glass where the world remains muted. a low chuckle hums in his throat, heavy with mischief. “what’s the most reckless thing you’ve ever done?” his head tips back as if carelessly tossing the question to the ceiling, yet his eyes remain fastened on you—unwavering, sharpened, intent, as though nothing else exists but the flicker of your answer.
“dating you,” you shrug, the words falling off your lips like casual ash, though the weight behind them presses against your chest. jungkook knows how deeply the secrecy gnaws at you, the constant concealment like chains you wear in silence. he is unbothered by public judgment, but you—your ribs tighten around the truth of it.
“are you trying to finish me off?” he leans forward onto his elbows, shadows from his lashes cutting into his cheekbones, his gaze dark, sultry, deliberate—a look that consumes, a look that knows how to strip you open without touching you.
“no, you’re the one trying to finish me,” you counter, lifting the whiskey to your lips for courage. the liquid sears down your throat, a burning trail that should sting, but instead anchors you. “you’ve been reckless, lately. and it terrifies me.”
“i’ve always been like that,” he shrugs, though the glint in his eye betrays his awareness. he knows precisely what you mean—the jealousy that boils him alive, the impulses that coil his hands into fists, the danger of choices that could undo him.
you set the glass down with deliberate calm beside the scattered keys, folding your arms over your chest. “even when john is around?” the name slices the space between you like a blade, and you see it strike him instantly.
his lip curls with disgust, nearly spitting. “that bastard needs to learn to keep his hands to himself,” he growls, the words bitten off, his voice sharp with contempt.
“he’s just doing his job,” you attempt, though the argument collapses even before it reaches him. for jungkook, no duty, no professionalism, no excuse could justify another man touching what he claims as his own. yet the bitter truth is that secrecy shackles him—no one knows of your bond, no one must know, and so he cannot rage as openly as his heart demands.
“i don’t think his job is to grope you,” he mutters into his glass before taking another swallow. but you’ve had enough. your hand snatches the drink away, slamming it hard against the desk, a sharp clink among the silence of instruments and wires.
“jungkook, enough. tomorrow is practice. i need you steady.” your words grit through clenched teeth, but then your chest exhales with a weary sigh—because you cannot imagine a day punctured by a fight with him. you refuse to.
“i am steady. i’m fine,” he lifts both hands in mock surrender, though his smirk edges with defiance, as if convincing either you—or himself.
“this will keep happening,” your voice softens, a plea now more than a rebuke. “people don’t know about us.” your palm finds his cheek, and at last, he exhales into your touch, as though his body had been starved for it all night.
“i don’t care. if they touch what’s mine, they’re finished,” he vows, his voice a low snarl of possession, eyes locked into yours with a gravity that nearly pulls you under. you smile despite yourself, intoxicated by the promise of his protection—even if it borders madness, even if he’d burn his career to ash for you. he has told you before, and every time you call him insane, but you ache with how fiercely you want to believe him.
and then his mouth is on yours. his tongue tastes faintly bitter from the liquor, but the warmth of his kiss floods through you. you moan into him, and he seizes the sound, deepening, forcing his way closer. his hand cradles the back of your head with a grip that allows no retreat, no escape. soon his lap is beneath you, his hands skimming over your body in slow, claiming strokes. his lips find every weak corner of you with precision, as if memorizing them, as if terrified you might vanish if he lets you slip away.
jungkook dreams of nothing but this—your weight pressed into him, your breath tangled with his, your body yielding to the prison of his arms where you belong only to him. words dissolve into silence, because your language is not spoken but written in skin against skin, touch against touch.
“any questions left?” you murmur against his lips, your mouth returning to his before he can breathe an answer.
“would your pussy now taste like liquor?" he whispers between kisses, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his smirk brazen, boyish, filth wrapped in charm.
you shove his chest in protest, cheeks flaring, “pervert.”
“but you love me this way,” he answers without hesitation, pulling you tighter, crushing the space between you. and you do. you love him feral, unfiltered, dangerously yours. you roll your eyes, not in annoyance but in surrender—because he is your refuge, your calm, your undoing. and what terrifies you most is not his recklessness, but the fear that someday, somehow, this sanctuary could be taken from you.
you are orchestrating the chaos of the stage, every step consumed by the colossal weight of expectation. jungkook’s schedule is suffocating, his name etched across every post and headline—millions of eyes fixed on how the los angeles concert will unfold. tens of thousands of bodies are expected to flood the arena, and the machinery of preparation churns endlessly. the stage itself is a behemoth of steel and light, vast enough that you had to reframe entire pieces of choreography to match its immensity. staff rush in frantic rhythms, equipment rolling, cables coiling like serpents across the floor—chaos, yes, but a chaos somehow bent into order.
jungkook shifts position again, restless, his body betraying a dissonance you cannot name. his focus scatters, his movements blunt, as though the air itself weighs against him. frustration coils in your spine; you yank your ponytail tighter until it strains against your scalp, adjust your sweat-damp clothes clinging to skin. “let’s run it again,” your voice rises above the cacophony, summoning the dancers behind him into a ragged circle. you dissect mistakes, gestures sharp, your attention lingering longest on him. but he does not meet your eyes—he studies his feet, sweat dripping as though his silence alone could shield him from your gaze.
the choreography demanded precision: jungkook was meant to circle behind the dancer, in this case the girl, shadowing her like gravity itself—hands brushing her waist as he emerged on the other side, fluid as silk, magnetic as the lyric he embodied. yet he faltered each time. instead of grace, there was recoil, his touch stiff, almost disdainful, as though the mere contact with her skin set his nerves alight with distaste. what should have been effortless intimacy bled instead into awkward hesitation. and always, his gaze flickered toward you—pleading, searching, as though awaiting your permission before allowing his hands to rest on her.
your patience frayed like worn silk. exhaustion laced your muscles, irritation pressed hot into your temples. “i’ll show you again what i want from this passage,” you announced, summoning the nearest body without care—only to find john striding forward, grinning with the smugness of undeserved triumph, as though fate itself had handed him a prize. you had no time to decipher his self-satisfaction. your mind was a cathedral of single focus: perfection. the performance must gleam like cinema, flawless in its first execution.
the music ignited, its rhythm folding around you. your voice counted sharp beats, echoing like a metronome through the cavernous hall. john’s hands found your waist, firm, guiding. his execution precise, exactly the fluidity you required. yet his grip was wrong—too forceful, fingers sinking into your sides with an ownership that scraped the edge of discomfort. you bore it, unflinching, professionalism soldered to your spine. but then, the hold was gone.
in its place stood jungkook. his fingers clamped around john’s wrist like steel, eyes black with something primal, his voice steady but glacial: “move. i’ll do it this time. start the music.”
you had no moment to intervene. the track began anew, and instinct ruled you—body aligned to rhythm, discipline masking the tumult inside. yet when the choreography returned to that charged sequence, everything shifted. jungkook drew you against him, so close your breath fractured. his lips grazed your ear, his words molten and venomous.
“did you enjoy his touch, baby? was it sweeter than mine?”
his hands glided possessively down your waist, claiming every contour, his breath hot against your neck, voice dark with threat. “i’ll shatter every finger that dared press into you.”
then, without warning, he withdrew—retreating into shadow, leaving you stranded in the center of the floor. silence crashed after him, the music sliced mid-beat. eyes followed, whispers quivered, but no one moved. jungkook vanished beyond the stage wings, yet you knew absence would not last.
time bends. noon bleeds into dusk, the sun sagging low, its golden edges turning copper. the music looping through the speakers grows like sandpaper against nerves, every repetition fraying the group thinner. exhaustion dulls precision; their movements drag with gravity. you know it’s done for the day, though unease gnaws at the ticking clock—less than a week remains before the stage must breathe its first life.
the girl arrives then—balancing a tray of drinks. she was meant to replenish, to soothe. there are already snacks and bottled waters scattered across folding tables, but the team had insisted on drinks from your usual place. still, jungkook does not like this girl.
his suspicion has grown like a bruise, dark and spreading. her kindness to him is excessive, smothering, tinged with a fanaticism that clings. he understands celebrity, understands adoration as a currency he cannot refuse, but her devotion is not pure—it is rancid, heavy with intent.
she moves among the circle, handing out glasses one by one. jungkook notices the flicker of her eyes—how they linger on you. you stand too close to him, though that nearness was his choice; he had pulled you into orbit without a word, as if your presence steadied the dissonance inside him. when she reaches the last drink, extending it toward you, his hand flashes first. he snatches it from her grasp, his lips closing around the straw before you can speak.
“is there strawberry in this? are you insane?” his tone cuts sharp, ringing in the air.
you stamp on his foot under the table, your hiss a blade of air meant for him alone. “jungkook, what are you doing?” but the others are already staring, dancers caught mid-breath.
“do you even know she has an allergy?” his voice is calm, frighteningly so, though curses ferment just behind his teeth. “or are you doing this on purpose?”
the girl falters, her lips trembling. “i… i didn’t know.” yet behind her thick-rimmed glasses he sees something else—not remorse, but a glint of triumph, something venomous she thought hidden.
he gestures for her to leave, curt and cold. she bows in fractured haste and stumbles out, her retreat only feeding the silence she leaves behind.
“damn, jungkook. that was brutal,” one dancer mutters, clapping him lightly on the shoulder as if to ground the heat radiating from him.
“but she deserved it, jake,” another murmurs, stepping into the circle, voice pitched low. “this isn’t the first time she’s stirred trouble. last time there was a rumor she spiked the producer’s food after he threatened to fire her. never proven, but still…” his words coil through the group like smoke, meant only for certain ears.
whispers unravel among the others, quick and eager, feeding on the taste of scandal. you feel the weight of glances flitting to you, prying and unspoken. you hold your chin high, your body clothed in the armor of certainty, though beneath it tremors crawl. it is always when the stage empties, when the noise collapses into silence, that fear returns—gnawing, whispering that you are breakable.
a hand finds your back then, sliding slow, deliberate, pausing at the hollow of your spine. warmth radiates through your skin, anchoring you in the present. you look sideways and find him—jungkook, sipping casually at coffee now, feigning nonchalance, though a sly smirk tugs at his lips.
someone clears their throat. heat floods your face. you jolt upright, breath shallow, and retreat deeper backstage, the echo of his touch burning against you like a secret branded into your skin.
the air outside was heavy, twilight already drowning the summer sky in bruised hues—rose bleeding into gray, gray into a deep wine red. the heat clung, suffocating, though the sun had long since dipped. you pressed your palms to your face and let out a muffled scream, desperate to order your storming thoughts.
terror pressed sharp into your chest—not for yourself, never for yourself, but for him. if anyone tethered you publicly to jungkook, the consequences would detonate. his career, so carefully burnished, could be undone. he is admired as solitary—untouched, unattached, the glittering idol carved from loneliness. how could you, a woman with no title, no weight of recognition, be revealed at his side? it would not merely be scandal—it would be ruin.
yet the air shifted behind you, and you felt him before you saw him. his presence arrived first as footsteps, then as warmth circling your waist, his arms folding you into an embrace unyielding as stone. he turned you gently but with command, pressing you against the broad fortress of his chest, his muscles a barricade you could neither scale nor resist.
“why did you run, baby?” his voice was silk dragged across steel.
“because it was too much, don’t you understand? why are you even here?” your words cracked, your eyes lifting to his. he searched them, relentless, like a man chasing a truth buried in stormwater. his hands roamed your back, soothing, contrite, though the tension inside his frame betrayed him—he was still aflame, regret and fury warring within his veins.
“i’m sorry,” he said, low and hoarse. “i lost myself.”
you pushed at his chest, weak defiance, but he caught your hand mid-strike and raised it to his mouth. kisses rained upon your knuckles, your palm, desperate, fervent, reverent. he was possessed. no—possessive.
“you’re mine,” he rasped against your skin, his lips tracing each word like scripture. “how could i exist anywhere else? i can already hear what’s turning inside that beautiful mind of yours.”
his breath wandered lower, brushing your neck, leaving a trail of heat—soft kisses, the tug of his mouth marking, tasting, even the languid flick of his tongue branding you as his.
“you’re still a public figure,” you reminded, your voice trembling but firm, “you know what the paparazzi are capable of.”
your hand, still imprisoned in his, was engulfed by his grip. his fist dwarfed yours entirely, yet he held it as though it was both weapon and lifeline.
“they’re not worth your time, baby—forget that noise. screw the rest of the world, it’s just you and me right now,” his palms cradle your face with devastating tenderness, guiding you toward his lips, but you resist, pulling back with a restraint that feels like tearing flesh from bone.
“we can’t play make-believe,” your voice is steady yet tremulous, reason attempting to anchor itself against the tempest of him. you exhale and search his eyes, desperate for calm in their restless depths. “i don’t give a damn about me. but if your career goes down because of me, i’ll never forgive myself.” you fold into the shelter of his chest, into the familiar cocoon of his cologne—musk tangled with bittersweet chocolate, a scent you now instinctively equate with him alone. his embrace tightens, his hand flattening against your crown, his lips pressing reverence into your hair.
“if they ever try to rip you from me, my career’s trash to me,” he confesses, his voice raw against your skin as he rests his head on your shoulder. the danger of such intimacy in the open gnaws at you, yet your heart stumbles, melts, betrays you.
“don’t say that—you know what your career means,” you whisper, needing some tether, some rational thread.
his eyes glint, dark fire flickering in them as his hands descend to your waist, fingers claiming, almost burning.“why the hell do you think you get to decide for me? i call the shots on my life,” his gaze sharpens, obsessive, threaded with a possession you feel down to marrow.
“i can’t be bigger than the life you’re paid to live,” you murmur, shaken by a truth you cannot reconcile.
jungkook smirks then, laughter spilling from him like the crack of flint sparking fire. “baby, that’s the easiest damn choice i’ve ever had to make. you think i’m some talentless rookie? i’ll always find a stage.”
“no—you’re not. you’re insanely gifted, and you know it. but we can’t keep showing us off to the world,” you argue, though the words are as much plea to your own heart as to him.
“god, i just wanna scream it, you know?,” he growls softly, forehead brushing your temple, “tell every single one of them that you’re mine, put my mark on you so no one even dares to look at you again. tell me—am i that obsessed?” his lips find the hollow of your neck, his breath hot, desperate.
your fingers slip through his silken hair, grounding him. you laugh lightly, pressing a kiss to his head. “just a little.”
his eyes meet yours then, luminous with hunger. “but you love me like this,” he insists, voice fraying with certainty.
“i only love you like this,” you breathe, and it is truth.
the world collapses to stillness. the sunset slants over you, gilding your skin in rose-gold fire. to him, you are not a woman but the missing piece of his cosmos. in that suspended breath of eternity, he swears he would sacrifice empires just to hold you in that light a moment longer.
the concert thundered into triumph, an evening of rapture—except for what followed silence. the internet erupted like a volcano. images spilled forth, clandestine shots: you and jungkook, entwined in embrace, lips brushing in stolen reverence. captured from corners, hidden lenses, the paparazzi had ensnared your secret.
you had watched him throughout, every second from backstage—his performance a blaze. he dominated the stage as if it bowed to him, every gesture a spell, every note a blade. the audience lay hypnotized, enthralled.
but the frenzy found you first. people swarmed, surrounding like a flood, voices clashing in an avalanche of questions. your path blocked, your air stolen. panic pressed in. then—a familiar hand, tattooed and unyielding, seized your wrist and pulled you through the chaos.
backstage corridors swallowed you whole, further and further until only silence remained. jungkook’s face was carved into iron restraint, each step radiating controlled fury. never had you seen him so stern, so sharpened.
the room he chose was dim, shadows pooled in corners, the air dense with aftermath. he flicked on a muted light, its glow weak, amber, intimate.
“you’re with me now. no one touches you. anyone tries, they’re done,” he muttered, voice low thunder, dragging you into his embrace.
you pressed against him, confused, trembling. “jungkook, what is happening?”
he exhaled raggedly, exhaustion etched into every line of him. his hand raked through his hair before he lifted you onto a stack of armatures—speakers, cold metal beneath you. he paced the room like a caged beast, his shadow lashing from wall to wall. you sat motionless, eyes fixed, worry carving valleys in your chest.
finally, his voice cut the silence, grave. “they got us on camera that day,” he confessed, still avoiding your gaze. “i thought we were safe. i thought no one followed us.”
jungkook’s skull feels cleaved in two, a dull roar gnawing at the edges of his mind. he has already spoken to every executive whose word matters, bowing his pride just enough to convince them this scandal is smoke, not fire, nothing to drag into spectacle. still, they barked louder, their threats sharp—if this ever repeats, he will bleed for it, pay dearly.
and yet, amid that storm, the instant he spotted you in the sea of reporters—faces like fangs, cameras like rifles—something primal detonated in him. the need to shelter you, to hide you from their teeth, to cage you in his arms where no harm could touch. now you are beside him, within reach, and only then does the pounding in his chest begin to slow. still, the urge festers like a beast: the desire to break every hand that dares graze you. you are his—his to hold, his to protect, his alone.
“how is this happening?” your voice trembles as dread gnaws through you, a prophecy coming to life before your eyes. your hands press against your temples, fighting back the rush of pain in your head. “this can’t be, jungkook.”
“i don’t see the issue,” he shrugs, lowering himself onto the cold rebar opposite you, his body coiled but feigning ease.
“that’s exactly the issue. you’re too damn careless. we can’t keep doing this,” you rasp, leaning against the edge of a metal crate, each vibration in the air striking your head like shrapnel.
“it’ll blow over. we didn’t do a damn thing wrong,” his gaze falls to his shoes, a boyish gesture at odds with the man who just commanded a stage fifteen minutes ago like a god incarnate.
“do you even hear yourself? your career’s hanging by a thread,” your eyes bore into him, pleading, but he stares past your words as if they are smoke.
suddenly, he surges to his feet. “so you’re telling me again what i’m allowed to hold sacred? what matters in my life? i don’t get to choose for myself?” his arms slash the air, tendons standing taut, veins drawn sharp, every fiber straining against restraint.
“because we’re in this together,” you fire back, rising with him, voice breaking. danger whispers in your veins, a shadowed future closing in. you want him to shield you the way he always has, but tonight he looks as defenseless as you.
anger flickers across his face—he feels it, you feel it. his hand rakes through his hair, restless. he pivots away, strides a few steps, then turns back, eyes dark and blazing. “they were always going to find out, baby. lies rot. truth claws its way out. sooner or later, it had to.” his hand cuts the air, reaching as if to anchor his words.
you step closer, clinging to him like a drowning soul to driftwood, fists curling into his shirt. “jungkook, this is too far. you know i can’t let this happen.”
“what the hell are you talking about?” his voice cracks with confusion, his skin flushed crimson with fury he can no longer contain. electricity hums from his body, every nerve screaming.
“you know it’s too risky,” you whisper, collapsing into his arms, but he grips your elbows—not crushing, never crushing, but holding you with a terrifying gentleness, as though one wrong move could shatter you.
“listen to me. i don’t give a damn that they filmed. we crossed no lines,” his words strain, desperate to convince, to steer this away from the precipice he knows is ahead.
“we were caught. we can’t gamble with your career,” your voice frays, tired of repeating, tired of spinning the same wheel of dread.
his mouth twists into a smirk, sharp and bitter. he is at the breaking point. his blood hammers through his body, veins swelling, heat clawing up his neck to his skull. he feels heavier than his own bones. “stop deciding for me,” he snaps, voice exploding, and you flinch backward, a wounded step.
you don’t answer. you only look at him with those eyes—those damn eyes he knows too well, glassy with tears, the kind that unravel him. guilt gnaws at his gut; he takes a step toward you. “fuck, baby, i’m sorry. i’m a goddamn idiot,” his voice collapses into pleading.
but you recoil, shaking your head. “no, you’re right.” your voice is paper-thin, a whisper strangled in your throat. “better you hate me than ruin yourself for me.” your arms wrap tight around your chest, a shield, as though to keep from splintering open.
his breath stutters, rage and panic clashing inside him until he feels unmoored, half-mad. you are unraveling him, tearing at the seams he’s fought to keep stitched. “what the fuck are you even saying?”
“jungkook, we have to stop this. i mean… completely.” your voice fractures as you retreat another step, the air between you suddenly cavernous. you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes; you tell yourself it’s mercy, that he will be safer without you, that only distance can spare him the ruin you fear you bring.
but jungkook is simmering, his pulse hammering against the cage of his ribs. he cannot fathom how you dare dictate what is best for him—how you can twist the truth so cruelly. in his mind, the best of him is tethered to you; the right decision, the only decision, is to claim you before the world, to brand you as his. your refusal is acid, burning his throat, clenching his fists so tight the bones groan. anger, old and dangerous, coils in his chest, breathing fire he hasn’t felt in years.
“do you even know what you’re saying? you’re giving up on us—on me?” in a heartbeat, he’s in front of you, closing the space, his eyes hunting yours. his hands clamp onto your shoulders, not crushing, but enough to make you feel unbearably small. something splinters inside you at that touch.
“it’s for the best.” your words stumble from your lips like shrapnel. your chest feels like a ticking bomb about to detonate.
“you always love to play savior, making decisions for everyone—it’s getting under my skin,” he growls, and this time his gaze locks with yours. the weight of it is unbearable, a blade twisting.
“because in my head, it’s the only way i know how to save you,” you whisper, a tear carving its way down your cheek, hot and unstoppable.
“why do you always have to rescue someone? try saving yourself first. i don’t need your shield. i’m strong enough to decide my own fate.” his voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t crack—it sinks instead, deep and resonant, and the steadiness terrifies you more than any scream could.
your body betrays you; you stumble back another step, closer to the door, farther from him. “then let me choose for myself. i’m ending this,” you murmur, fragile as thread, but you know he hears it.
his body revolts against the words. blood surges, his fists clench until his knuckles blanch, heat floods his vision until the edges blur in red. rage is a drumbeat under his skin, relentless. “oh… so you’ve decided? i don’t get a voice? i don’t get a vote in us?”
you shake your head, another tear falling, untended, tracing salt across your lips. you can’t give him the choice—because you know he would never let you go, he would always find a reason, always drag you back. and you can’t let yourself stay.
“this is insane,” his voice is rough, unraveling. “you’re throwing us away because strangers—people who don’t know a thing about us—decide we shouldn’t exist?” his hands dive into his pockets like he needs to cage them, his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin, suffocating.
“let me decide this,” you plead, voice trembling.
and jungkook feels the split: half of him soaring with the insane luck of having you, the other half bleeding pride, shredded that you take responsibility out of his hands when it should be his burden to carry. he aches to prove he can hold the weight of your lives, that he can give you everything—wealth, devotion, constancy—but the one thing he cannot yet give is freedom to love you openly. and it kills him.
“fine. go on. make your choices. you’re a big girl, aren’t you?” he smirks, but his eyes fracture, his insides crumbling like glass beneath a boot.
you feel ridiculous, standing there with your fists balled tight at your sides, as if your own body is waging war against itself. you should be composed, professional, untouchable. yet you orbit him like gravity, like some cursed attraction you cannot resist.
“i’ll decide,” you spit, voice ragged, sharp enough to wound.
jungkook trembles on the edge of detonation. but as always, he swallows it back, presenting you the mask: unreadable, ironclad, infuriatingly calm. you ache for him to break, to bleed out his fury, to match your chaos—but he gives you stone.
“great,” he mutters, throwing his hands into the air, surrender twisted into anger.
“wonderful,” you snap back, exhaling through clenched teeth, fists still rigid.
you mutter curses under your breath, fighting the weight in your chest, fighting the screaming urge to collapse into him, to bury everything in one reckless kiss. but that door is locked now; it is not your lips he belongs to anymore.
your hand slams the door shut, the sound ricocheting through your chest as you flee. jungkook doesn’t follow. he stands in the empty room for over half an hour, hollow, trying to stitch the moment into something he can comprehend. the floor feels gone beneath him, the world unmoored.
he doesn’t see you for half a month. you avoid him with surgical precision—packing your things before he steps off stage, slipping away without words, without even a glance. you transform into routine, into cold professionalism, because at least that way, he is safe.
but jungkook rots. he carries you into foreign cities, onto stages, into hotel rooms that smell of silence. his friends whisper that he has grown harder, quieter, as though something vital has been cut from him.
then the company announces a celebration—an after-party before he departs overseas. california, oceanside, luxury sealed away from fans and eyes. guards at every entrance, lanterns spilling colored light across walls, music vibrating the bones of the place.
you arrive in a black dress, the kind that feels like armor, expensive enough to mask your dread. you know you can’t outrun him tonight. fate prowls, certain as the tide.
inside, the air is sharp with alcohol and smoke. voices crash together under the music. the room blooms in color, in noise, in heat. you weave toward the far corner, where your colleagues wait. but even before you reach them, you feel it—eyes on you, steady and consuming. you know whose. you don’t dare turn.
you force smiles, listening to the girls’ thin voices drowned by the bass. dancers hover, familiar faces, and one—john—lingers too close. his stare clings until you forget your place, until you are no longer teacher and he no longer student.
his hand finds your waist. your body stiffens. “want a drink? i’ll grab you something.”
the last person who touched you like that was jungkook, and his hands were the only ones your body ever accepted. every other touch feels counterfeit.
still, you nod, searching for air. “something light,” you murmur, lips curling into a smile you don’t mean.
he vanishes, and you drift closer to the veranda, drawn by the salt air, by the sea calling beyond the glass. john returns moments later, glasses in hand, offering you the burgundy. “you’ll like it—it’s sweet,” he says, attempting flirtation.
you take it with a polite smile, though all you can taste is absence.
you lift the glass delicately to your lips, a tentative sip, then another, the liquid staining your tongue with its cloying sweetness. john leans in, his voice slithering against the shell of your ear, words you attempt to catch, though they scatter in the haze of alcohol settling warmly in your veins. you try to remain composed, professional, but his persistence coils around you, insistent, suffocating. before long, he’s steering you through the swell of music and smoke, guiding you outside into the briny night air, where the ocean lies in restless motion beyond.
the waves hurl themselves against jagged boulders, froth bursting into the night like shattered glass, the salt stinging your nostrils even from here. the horizon breathes with shadows and silver, a contrast to the unease tightening around your ribs.
then comes the question, raw and graceless, tearing you from your fragile composure—“would you give me a chance with you?”
your breath falters, your balance nearly deserts you. his nearness presses like a wall, your back finding no sanctuary, only the cornered weight of his body.
“what chance are you talking about?” your words quiver with incredulity, yet sharpen with a defensive edge.
his mouth twists into a grin that unsettles more than it charms. “i know how you feel about jungkook,” he says, voice dripping with mockery disguised as truth. his hands rise, caging your face between them, forcing your gaze to stay. “don’t pretend. everyone knows. he doesn’t even try to hide it.”
heat swells within you, not from the liquor but from the sudden disgust, from the claustrophobic closeness of him. your skin crawls, your lungs stutter, the very air thickens into something noxious.
“what do you want from me?” you whisper, turning your face aside, desperate to keep his image out of your eyes, desperate for escape.
his answer cuts with cruel precision. “what jungkook had, and i didn’t.” the words linger like venom. “i need you.” as if need could justify violation.
“is this revenge?” you ask, the question dripping disdain, though your voice trembles.
his body edges closer, erasing the already dwindling space, and suddenly you are unbearably small against the magnitude of his intent. alcohol blurs your resistance, weaving threads of weakness through your limbs, rendering you fragile, adrift.
and then—footsteps. sharp, deliberate, a storm heralded by their rhythm.
“hey man.” jungkook’s voice lands like a strike, pulling the air taut. his hand clamps on john’s shoulder, spinning him around. “missed me?” he sneers, though no smile touches his mouth. before john can blink, jungkook’s fist arcs clean through the night, colliding with his face in a symphony of bone and fury. john stumbles, lip split, clutching at the crimson spilling between his fingers.
“you’re lucky i’m in the mood,” jungkook mutters, shaking the sting from his knuckles, his tone dark with restrained violence. “otherwise you’d be counting your teeth off the pavement.”
but john staggers upright, stubborn, stepping between you and jungkook with a trembling defiance. “she’s with me,” he spits, blood wetting his words.
jungkook slips his hands into his pockets, body relaxed yet dangerous, the calm before an inevitable storm. “don’t do that.”
john scoffs, “what are you going to do to me—?” his question shatters as another punch cracks his jaw, the sound gruesome, final. his body hits the ground with a sick thud, consciousness fleeing him before the threat in jungkook’s eyes does.
and then jungkook is upon you, an onslaught of heat and urgency. his hands cradle your face, his touch cold against your fevered skin, “baby, please tell me he didn’t touch you.” his voice is frenzied, guttural, pupils blown wide as if scouring every inch of you for harm.
you can’t answer—your body already does, pressing forward, lips seeking his with reckless desperation. he growls into the kiss, animal and raw, devouring you as though months of hunger have culminated into this single moment. your lips taste of sugared cocktails, and he drinks them down like salvation, his mouth relentless, dirty, demanding. you’re dizzy, helpless beneath the ferocity of his affection, every kiss a declaration, every clash of teeth a vow.
“fuck, i’ve missed you,” he pants between bruising kisses, his mouth returning again and again as if afraid you’ll vanish. “these lips—i’ve been dreaming of them. you’re driving me insane.”
you bury yourself into him—his hair, his scent, the heat of his chest—losing yourself as though your very bones crave dissolution into his form. “jungkook, take me away,” you murmur, collapsing against him, surrendering to the inevitability of belonging.
“come on, my love,” he breathes, threading his fingers through yours with a grip that brands, unyielding.
the beach is endless, waves roaring their chorus while you trail beside him, tethered by his certainty. he halts near a colossal rock, spray misting against your dress, unbothered. his gaze eclipses the night.
“you don’t have a choice anymore,” his voice is low, resolute. “you’re mine. i won’t accept another answer.”
you open your mouth to argue, but he seizes you, words crushed beneath the weight of his resolve.
“i’ve thought about this too long,” he confesses, ocean reflected in his eyes. “without you, my career is dust, meaningless. i want you—in every way. my lover, my wife, the mother of my children. the only woman who will ever matter. lies and fear won’t steal you from me again.” he gestures to the earth beside him, finger pointed like a decree. “your place is here. with me. nowhere else.”
your tears spill unchecked, but for the first time, they are not borne of despair. the sincerity in his words splinters you, remakes you. life without him feels colorless, empty; he is the pulse that dragged you from monotony, the fire that rewrote your existence.
“i want to be yours,” he murmurs, pulling you impossibly close, forehead pressed to your temple. “don’t say a word to ruin this moment. let me have this—let me have you.”
“i love you,” you whisper, the truth dissolving into the sea breeze.
he freezes, eyes wide, disbelieving. “what did you say?”
you lift your gaze to his, steady now. “i love you, idiot.”
his lips twitch, then break into a grin, trembling with relief and pride. “no, not that last part. i’ll take ‘in love,’ or ‘possessive in love idiot.’”
your laughter spills out, caught between kisses as he lifts you off the ground, carrying you effortlessly away from the chaos. the sunset bleeds copper into the sand, gilding the waves as they chase the shore.
“where are you taking me, jungkook?” you shout against the rush of air, squirming in his grip, but he only tightens his hold.
“to my car. stop wriggling, woman. you’re mine,” his tone is half-command, half-tease.
“so i’m just like you then?” you shoot back, laughter bubbling when his hand swats your backside, a playful punishment.
“damn right,” he growls, shifting you into his arms bridal-style. the world blurs around you, but the only thing you feel is joy, fierce and blinding.
“come home with me,” he says at last, voice raw with hunger, with need. “let me show you who your man is. because it’s only me. it’ll always be me.”
and you, with your heart already surrendered, can only smile through tears and kiss him again, letting the sea, the night, and his love swallow you whole.
jungkook halts mid-step only to claim your mouth once more, lips tasting of salt and dusk as he tugs you nearer, binding you to him as though the very notion of letting go would be a betrayal. his arms cradle you with an intensity that borders on reverence, lifting you so lightly it feels unreal, as if disbelief itself has been stripped from your bones. the ocean wind unfurls across your skin, cool and briny, threading through your hair and clothes until your body hums with a delirium that borders on intoxication, as though the tide itself had steeped you in its fever.
“my last name would suit you,” he murmurs lowly, steering toward a shadowed alcove where the sand bleeds into the quiet stretch of asphalt.
“jungkook,” your eyes cut to him, sharp as moonlight, warning folded into the syllables.
“what? i’d call you my wife every second, if only to hear it aloud—just to savor the proof that you’re mine, more mine than the air in my lungs,” he insists, words drenched in boyish arrogance and raw longing.
you swat at his chest, the thud softened by laughter spilling from your throat, yet he devours the protest before it ripens, kissing you again with a devotion so fevered, so single-minded, you lose the ground beneath you—adrift, undone, and helplessly anchored in him all at once.
the villa he speaks of is no mere dwelling, but a cavernous sanctuary perched upon the very lip of the cliffside, where sea winds batter stone and glass with their untamed hymn. the drive had been brief, yet the moment your soles touched the cool marble of its threshold, his hunger descended—his lips seizing yours with the desperation of a famished man, his hands mapping the entirety of you as though cartography itself could anchor him. he swept you onto the expanse of the kitchen island, the cold surface beneath you a stark contrast to the searing press of his palms cupping, kneading, claiming every curve, his kiss a merciless conflagration that stripped thought from your mind.
“fuck, look at you,perfect shape, perfect fucking everything,” he rasped, mouth torn from yours only to lavish words against your skin, fingers worshiping your breasts as though each sigh he dragged from you was proof of divinity. you moaned, trembling, the sound unraveling in his ears like some narcotic aria.
“jungkook, i want you,” you breathed between kisses, tugging at the leather jacket that clung to his broad frame until it fell discarded upon the floor, its worth rendered meaningless beneath the weight of your need. legs tangled around his waist, you felt the rigid length of him pressing insistently against you, a silent promise of what was to come.
“damn, baby, you drive me crazy,” he muttered against your throat, then trailed down, mouth branding hickeys into your skin as though he sought to paint you in the palette of his possession. teeth grazed, lips worshiped, and every mark was an oath that you belonged to him.
soon his hands parted your thighs, tugging fabric higher until your dress bunched at your waist, leaving you clad only in black lace—an offering, a secret, a weapon meant for his undoing. your core throbbed, molten, your dampness betraying you, and his palm pressed brazenly against the soaked fabric. “look at my girl, aching, dripping for me,” he murmured, words like molten metal poured directly into your veins.
his fingers slid beneath silk, finding your swollen bud with precision, coaxing moans that broke you open, tearing breathless pleas from your lips. “please, jungkook,” you whimpered, reduced to nothing but need.
you had braced for patience, for teasing, but instead he stripped the lace away as though it had never existed, descending to claim you with his mouth. his tongue—merciless, skilled—moved as though sculpted by memory itself, tasting, sucking, circling until your body convulsed against his hold. “that’s it, baby, fall apart for me,” he coaxed, fingers thrusting inside you in tandem with his mouth, rhythm unrelenting until your orgasm burst forth in shattering waves, his name a prayer tumbling from your lips.
you were dazed when he lifted you, still trembling, carrying you through vast halls to the sanctuary of the upstairs bedroom. clothing vanished without memory, only the visceral burn of skin on skin, until he was inside you, hard and unyielding, pace punishing. “mine—every inch, every moan, every drop,” he groaned, his chest flush to yours, hands gripping your breasts and teasing your clit until you shattered again beneath him. your climax pulled him over the edge, spilling into you with a force that left you trembling, his release marking you wholly, deeply, irrevocably.
he tends to you with a towel steeped in warmth, its damp fibers gliding across your skin as he carefully erases every lingering trace of grime, every shadow of the night that clings to you. his touch is both cleansing and consecrating, as though he is not merely wiping away dirt but reaffirming possession, a ritual of care sanctified in silence.
“you’d look divine swollen belly with my child,” he murmurs, his tone straddling reverence and hunger, one heavy arm curved lazily yet protectively above your head. your fingertips wander across the expanse of his chest, tracing the intricate ink etched into him, each line and symbol rising like scripture under your nails.
“yeah? you want me to carry your children?” your words come out faint, softened by weariness, though stubbornly tethered to wakefulness—you refuse to let sleep steal this moment, this night that hums with permanence.
“fuck—now i can't shake it,” his voice frays, raw at the edges, as his vast palm nearly eclipses your midsection, stroking across your stomach with an unshakable vision already taking root. “i’ll flood you with so much of my seed that there will be no doubt—you will bear me,” he half-growls, the declaration feral, edged in certainty. he envisions legacy in your body, a constellation of children bound to your name and his, imagines himself as father, protector, unrelenting anchor—a role he knows he would inhabit with brutal devotion.
“jungkook,” you breathe in a faint reproach, shivering at the gravity of his voice, “your words are too indecent for me to get used to,” and in embarrassment you burrow into the warm hollow of his throat, hiding in his scent.
“there’s nothing dirty in what’s natural,” he retorts with quiet conviction, his body a fortress enclosing yours. when he rolls to his side, his sheer mass eclipses the room, leaving you with nothing to see, nothing to sense, but him.
“yes, yes, i remember your damn speeches,” you jest, voice faintly laced with laughter, though your attempt is thwarted when he drags you tighter, fusing you against his chest. he inhales you greedily, as if the very air in his lungs must be filtered through your existence.
“you’re mine. all of you. don’t even think you’re walking away from this,” he vows, his lips brushing the crown of your head, fingers threading languidly into your hair, weaving possession with tenderness.
“i don’t want any other way,” you confess against his mouth, sealing it with a kiss. it is the unvarnished truth—you are exactly where you are meant to be, enveloped in love, in recognition, in acceptance. your heart steadies with resolve: the life you will build together shall be shaped on your own terms, forged by both your hands.
beneath his breath, jungkook forges silent oaths—vows to claim you as his wife, vows to embody the fiercest guardian of your happiness, vows to love you not in passing but endlessly, with a fervor that stretches beyond measure, beyond time itself.
Warnings: fluff fest, you are advised to visit the dentist following consumption, sub!jungkook, sub!jimin, sub!taehyung, switch!hobi, sub!namjoon (ish), sub!jin, sub!yoongi, handjobs, cock rings, vibrators (anal), oral (male), dry humping, multiple orgasms
Length: 4.9k
Notes: WHEW i finally finished shdsskd i’m never using google docs ever again, formatting never saves and i had to manually fix the spacing and italicizing i’m scarred for life. i hope this lives up to expectations and i’m sorry it took so long but now i’m gonna disappear for a bit to do midterms lmao lmk what you think!!
College!AU - Film major!Jin (Master’s), photography major!Tae, graphic design & photography double major!JK, philosophy & history double major!Joon, performing dance major!Hobi, contemporary dance major!Jimin, music composition major!Yoongi, unspecified major!reader
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.
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Monday, 8:01 AM
“Baby.” A small moan escaped your throat as you snuggled in closer, chasing the warmth that tugged at you.
“Baby, you need to wake up.” Gentle fingers brushed at your cheeks and you nuzzled into the touch as palms cupped your face. “Baby.” Amusement laced his tone, and you knew he was smiling down at you.
Peeking through one eye, lips pouting as you lifted one finger to poke into those infuriatingly gorgeous dimples, Namjoon grinned. “Time for class, baby girl.”
Groaning, you let yourself drop back onto the mattress, watching as he stood. He was already fully dressed for the day, with dark washed jeans, a fitted black turtleneck, silver wristwatch and thin framed lenses that perched on his nose. You melted a bit when he leaned in to press a kiss against your temple. The man looked like he’d stepped out of a fall edition magazine. “Coffee’s on the table, see you at 2.” Namjoon grabbed his keys from the nightstand, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder as he made his forever timely morning exit.
“Namjoonie-hyung gone?” You hummed in response as you slipped from the bed, dropping a quick kiss to Jimin’s cheek as you made your way to the bathroom. “Where’s Kook?”
“Still sleeping,” he replied, trailing after you. You relaxed into his hold as you brushed your teeth, him resting his chin on the grove of your shoulder, arms wrapped snugly around your stomach. Moving through the remainder of your skin care routine, Mondays were always a little more bearable with Jimin playfully swiping cream onto your nose, running a brush gently through your hair as you washed your face.
dad!skz series | when he's leaving for tour (hyung line)
ot8 reactions | dad!skz x f!reader au
genre: crack | fluff | (edit : light angst)
summary: when leaving for tour for the first time since you're parents is harder than he expected
a/n : coming back with a little dad!skz / hubby!skz flavor... might turn it into a series, we’ll see how you feel about it 👀
✧ hyung line | maknae line (coming soon)
bang chan (9 month old girl)
“okay, so bath every night at 7:30. But if she seems tired earlier you can bump it to 7:10. just don’t go past 7:45 because that messes with her sleep window.”
you stare at him. you’re literally rocking your baby in one arm while drinking your coffee “…you good?”
“ALSO” he continues, ignoring your question entirely as he holds up a labeled baggie “this is the emergency pacifier bag. labeled ‘emergency.’ not to be used unless necessary”
you nod. he narrows his eyes “repeat it back to me.”
“...are you serious.”
“yes.”
“you are the father of this baby. i am the mother of this baby. i know what pacifier emergency looks like.”
chan looks like he’s on the verge of tears.
“i just...I don’t wanna miss anything. what if she says a new word. what if she gets another tooth. what if she hugs the dog and i’m not here to cry about it.”
“what if you go finish packing before you miss your flight”
“she’s gonna forget me.”
“you just cuddled her for an hour and said ‘i’ll never leave you in spirit’.”
“AND I MEANT THAT”
he finally sets the emergency bag down. double checks the travel crib is still folded, even though it’s staying here. checks the baby monitor batteries. reopens his backpack to make sure he packed her hospital hat from birth for emotional support.
when it’s finally time to leave, he kisses your daughter like five times. then three more. then one last one. you put the baby down for a nap.
and then he turns to you. “okay. now you.”
you pause mid sip of your coffee “…hm?”
he walks over dramatically, cupping your cheeks and he grins “don’t act like you’re not gonna cry the second i leave.”
“i’m not”
“you’ll miss daddy sooooo much huh?”
you slap his chest “don’t say it like that!”
he lowers his voice, teasing “gonna miss your big strong man around the house? gonna be all cold and empty in the bed without me—”
you literally grab his suitcase and start dragging it to the door “OKAY GOODBYE”
he laughs as you push him out. leans back in one more time, kisses your cheek, then your lips, then your neck.
you roll your eyes “you’re so annoying.”
he winks “you love it”
and you do. but still, you slam the door (with love) in his face before you start smiling too much.
from outside, he shouts:
“CALL ME IF SHE BLINKS IN A NEW WAY!!!”
lee know (2 year old boy)
you watch from the doorway, arms crossed, as minho calmly packs the last of his things. your 2 year old is stuck to his shin like a sock you can’t shake off. just waddling with him as he moves.
whimpering occasionally.
“he’s being dramatic” minho mutters, zipping his suitcase.
he walks to the kitchen for his travel mug. your son follows. he walks to the bedroom to grab socks. your son? still there. he sneezes? your son gasps in sympathy. and the whole time minho’s like,
“he’s fine. this is normal. he’s just clingy.”
okay, dr. delulu.
he’s totally chill. totally composed. totally... dying inside. he zips his suitcase with one hand while holding his son on his hip like it’s nothing “i’ll be back in a week. it’s no big deal.”
“you’re leaving for 3 weeks”
“...don’t correct me.”
you finally step forward as it’s time to leave, arms out.
“okay baby, come to mama” but when you reach for your son, minho just... doesn’t let go. you pause.
“minho.”
“…what”
“you’re not letting go”
“yes i am.”
“you are physically holding onto him”
“...that's crazy”
you squint “you said you were fine”
“i am fine.”
“then let him go.”
“...no.” you and your son both just stare at him. minho clears his throat. “he needs one more hug.”
“you’re not even hugging him. you’re just holding him like a football.”
“it’s our thing”
you sigh. “okay. one more hug. then you go.”
minho nods. they hug. your son sniffles. minho sniffles. you try to take him one more time. minho doesn’t budge “…he has abandonment issues.”
“HE LITERALLY DOESN’T. BUT HE WILL IF YOU DON’T LET HIM GO.”
you finally peel your kid off him and give minho a hard stare. he stares back, blank. but his ears are so red.
“…you okay?”
he nods once. he leans in to kiss your cheek, quick and soft. murmurs “you’ll be okay?”
you smirk “what, no dramatic holding for me?”
he deadpans “you don’t cry when i leave”
“i might.”
“you won’t.”
you raise an eyebrow “…you’ll miss me too, huh?”
he scoffs “I’ll be too busy sleeping without someone stealing the blanket”
you nudge him “and without someone asking you to rub their back every night?”
he pauses “…shut up.”
you grin. he leans in and kisses you properly this time, lingering for a second. his fingers brushing over your jaw, soft.
“…yeah” he mumbles, low so only you hear “i’ll miss you too.”
changbin ( 10 month old girl)
“okay! i’m heading out! it’s fine! we’re all fine!”
changbin is literally yelling as he ties his shoes in the hallway. your 10 month old daughter is watching him from your hip. wide-eyed. quiet.
you raise a brow “…you good?”
“YEP”
he sniffs. loudly.
“just allergies.”
“…babe it’s 11 at night.”
“pollen doesn’t sleep, babe.”
he stands up and clears his throat then holds out his arms
“gimme”
you hand her over and immediately regret it. because now she’s got both arms around his neck and her tiny face is smooshed into his shoulder. and now changbin is... just standing there. swaying. kissing her soft little head every 5 seconds. mumbling:
“appa loves you. appa’s gonna facetime you every day. appa’s gonna...uh gonna come back with presents, okay?”
she yawns into his hoodie. he gasps “did you see that? she yawned. SHE’S SAD.”
you snort “she’s tired.”
“AND SAD.”
he finally peels her off, very slowly, whispering “i’ll be back, i’ll be back, i swear” then hands her back to you and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand
you smirk “you’ll miss me too, right?”
he exhales so dramatically “…yes. i’ll miss everything. i’ll miss you. i’ll miss her. i’ll miss her weird laugh and the way you steal my fries and the way she throws up on your shoulder and you pretend she didn’t”
you laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek “just don’t cry in the group photo again.”
“NO PROMISES.”
he gets one foot out the door... then stops. turns back around “WAIT. WAIT WAIT WAIT.”
you freeze “what??”
he sprints back in, kisses your baby’s hand. then kisses your hand. then your mouth “okay. NOW i’m ready.”
you whisper “you forgot your suitcase”
he gasps “GODDAMNIT.”
hyunjin (10 month old girl)
he's pacing the hallway. suitcase packed. heart shattered. but hair perfect.
"i can't do it" he whispers dramatically.
you blink. “do what. leave?”
"yes."
"...hyunjin you're flying to japan. not mars."
“same energy.”
you’re carrying your 10 month old daughter on your hip, trying to grab her pacifier off the table. he immediately swoops in and snatches her back like you’ve been stealing her this whole time.
“let me hold her. she wants me.”
“she just spit up on your neck.”
“that’s her saying she loves me in baby.” she starts chewing on his hoodie strings. he melts on the spot.
the clock ticks. he sighs. kisses your daughter on the cheek. then forehead. then both hands. then dramatically holds her close like she’s fading into dust.
"appa has to go, baby. be strong. eat well. sleep well. don’t forget me. don’t replace me. if your omma tries to make you like her more than me—"
“HYUNJIN”
"—i’m not saying she’s evil, i’m just saying watch your back"
"you're so unwell."
he turns to you. “take care of her.”
“...i birthed her.”
“that doesn’t mean you’re qualified.”
“WHAT”
“i’m sorry! i’m just anxious! you’re so pretty and cool, she might forget i exist!”
you fold your arms “do you think our baby is gonna come to me one morning like ‘actually… i’ve decided appa is mid now’?”
he gasps “DO YOU THINK SHE WILL??”
you roll your eyes then you try to guide him out the door. he refuses to walk. like. physically stops moving.
“wait just one more hug. i have to feel her tiny squishy cheek on my face one more time. just one more. JUST...okay one more. ONE MORE”
he finally pulls back from his 294th goodbye hug she’s basically asleep in his arms and you’re just standing there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like :
“…do i get a kiss too? or did you forget you’re in love with me as well.”
“OH! of course, baby!!”
he turns, leans in... and gives you the fastest forehead kiss in recorded history. like boop. and he’s already turning back to nuzzle your daughter's cheek again.
you blink “SIR???”
he bursts out laughing, holding his chest “okay okay i was just playing! COME HERE”
he grabs your face and smothers you in kisses saying “m’wife m’wife m’wife” between every one while you’re trying not to laugh and push him off.
then he grins all proud “i would miss you too, if you weren’t so annoying.”
you smack his arm. he kisses you again. and then one last dramatic whisper into your baby’s ear before he leaves:
“don’t forget who's your favorite.”
⤷ main m.list ❟
DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.
➙ “pictures I posted on my instagram story for my crush to see” ft. sunghoon
pairing: non idol!park sunghoon x afab!reader
genre: pure fluff
warnings: not proofread, lowercase intended
a/n: hi everyone, i am so profusely sorry for the lack of updates. im back at school and so my attention is caught up there but please do enjoy this small filler post while i muster up the energy and brain capacity to start working towards my other drafts too. huff~
cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (1)
picture this: you're taking home an attractive guy you met on your night out. you're both a little drunk but still very much willing to go at it— that is, until you try to handcuff him and you realize you've lost the key to said cuffs. and if the guy happens to be a mafia boss? well, that's just the cherry on top. masterlist.
📰 Excerpt from "The Ethics of Mafias: A Complex Web of Power, Community, and Morality," a think piece by Xu Minghao
... A particularly intriguing ethical question arises when examining the leadership within mafias. Allegations about a mafia boss allegedly named S.Coups, for example, highlight the dualities often associated with such figures.
On one hand, leaders are seen as ruthless individuals who consolidate power through coercion and fear. On the other, they are often viewed as protectors of their communities, imposing order in chaotic environments. This dual role complicates ethical judgments, as it forces us to ask whether the ends— stability, loyalty, and survival— justify the means of violence and corruption.
There are rumors that S.Coups' persona is carefully curated, blurring the line between myth and reality. He may leverage this mystique to maintain power, creating an image of both invulnerability and approachability. Some speculate that this duality is part of a larger strategy to keep adversaries guessing and to foster a sense of obligation among those who depend on him.
Darker allegations persist— stories of betrayal, silencing dissent, and the ruthless elimination of threats. These rumors reinforce his shadowy status, making it difficult to distinguish the man from the legend. Whether S.Coups is a protector, a manipulator, or a bit of both, his name continues to spark intrigue and speculation, embodying the complexities of power and morality in the underworld...
📰 Excerpt from "Gangnam cops nab suspect planning grave threat, assault", an article by Lee Jihoon
Seoul, South Korea — Authorities in Gangnam announced the voluntary surrender of a suspect allegedly involved in planning a grave threat and assault, averting what officials described as a potentially dangerous situation.
The suspect, whose identity remains undisclosed pending further investigation, turned themselves in at the Gangnam Police Station early Thursday morning. PCol. Wen Junhui, Chief of the Gangnam Police Public Information Office, addressed the media in a press briefing, expressing both relief and caution.
"The suspect's decision to surrender voluntarily demonstrates an important opportunity for dialogue and resolution," he stated. "However, we remain vigilant as we investigate the full extent of their intentions and any potential connections to larger networks."
While officials declined to comment on the specifics of the planned assault, they assured the public that there was no immediate danger at the time of the surrender. "We are grateful for the cooperation of all involved in ensuring this matter concluded without harm," PCol. Wen added. "This case serves as a reminder of the importance of community vigilance and proactive policing."
🧾 iPhone note of mafia soldier, Lee Chan
S.Coups order - Tealive Wintermelon, 75% sweetness, CHERRY POPPING BOBA PEARLS (DO NOT FORGET ‼️‼️‼️)
NTS: Explain what a meme is to S.Coups
Purchase 100 of Skeleteen Metal Handcuffs With Keys
NTS: Search up what 'I ate' means
NTS: Teach S.Coups how to take a 'proper' selfie (???????????????????) wtf
Tip off P.Col Wen
Warn HOSHI to stop gossiping ab S.Coups 'getting bitches'
› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao
miscommunication too much communication 🗣️ soonyoung x reader.
an expansion from svt x reverse tropes. dedicated to @totomoshi, my love! ♡
FROM THE ORIGINAL POST
it's a little too hard to keep up with the string of confessions bursting out of soonyoung. the whiplash is dizzying, how he's going from talking about the way he felt when he first saw you, the crush that's been festering for weeks, the dream he had of you last night— and, oh, now he's on his knees. "soonyoung, please get up," you urge, horrified, but he stays on the ground. "isn't honesty the best policy?" he asks, eyes blown wide with overwhelming sincerity as he looks up at you. "c'mon, give me a shot! please, please, please!"
soonyoung who spams you with texts throughout the day. doesn't matter if you're on 'do not disturb'. he will hit that 'notify anyway' option, regardless of whether the text is load-bearing or not. you're lucky to get less than 20 texts in a day. his personal best is somewhere around 159 in a single day, which he's rather proud about.
soonyoung who will keep you on facetime for a minimum of three hours. he'll have you on call the entire night if he can manage, up until he gets that notification that his percentage is below 20 percent. waking up to the snoozing blonde on the other end of your long-forgotten video call is no longer a new sight.
soonyoung who will talk, and talk, and talk to you, no matter where you are. in a cafe? his hands are flying around animatedly as he gives you a play-by-play of his day. on the couch of your apartment? even better— he'll be playing all cute, trying to cuddle up in your personal space as he literally chats your ear off.
soonyoung listens as much as he speaks. you might think he doesn't, but he has a mental catalogue of every little thing you throw his way. a passing comment about your favorite candy as a child. that long-winded rant about an acquaintance you can't stand. he knows your coffee order, which shade of nail polish is your favorite, the songs that always make you cry. he is a wikipedia page of all things you.
soonyoung who is honest, because that's part of 'too much communication', isn't it? it's not quite bluntness; it's transparency. he's always gentle when admitting that you've hurt his feelings, or that he's been feeling a little lonely, missing you a lot more lately. one look at his face and you can already tell what he's about to say before he says it.
but you never have to guess. there are no mind games with soonyoung. he will dull the edges if he has to. he will agonize about how to break it, but he will break it to you, because he values the truth just as much as he cares for you.
soonyoung who is struck dumb when you confess to him, when you give him that piece of your heart that he's been patiently waiting on. he had imagined this moment; practiced his reaction in the bathroom mirror, even. he thought he'd be cool. maybe a bit suave. thank you. tell you that he reciprocated. instead, he finds himself robbed of every single thought clanging in his brain.
soonyoung is a man of many words, and yet you make him speechless.
› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao