Note: English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!
Chapter1/Chapter2
***
The arena was pretty quiet. There was a pandemic, after all. This damn thing had taken too many lives. Y/N was one of the few people in the arena. In fact, probably the only person outside of the players' coaches, journalists, and commentators. Only Jerry managed to get Y/N into the arena. How? He lied about Y/N being very important to Gun-Woo, that he helped with his training and stuff. Surprisingly, everyone fell for that subtle lie.
After the first bell rang, Gun-Woo and his first opponent slowly approached each other. Y/N watched the exchanges clearly and with a critical thought, decided that these boys were too afraid of each other… Well, everyone else except Gun-Woo and another fighter with curly hair. The boy seemed very confident as he waited for his match. Y/N snapped out of his reverie and focused back on Gun-Woo's fight. He blocked punches perfectly, dodging his opponent. Somewhere in the background, the commentators' voices blended with the chatter of staff and coaches shouting orders and instructions to their fighters. At one point, Y/N was so engrossed in the fight that he didn't even notice his Gun-Woo striking his opponent's liver with his left hand. The boy fell to the mat like a log, unable to get up. Poor guy.
The referee counted down and it was over. Gun-Woo walked out of the ring. He had won his first fight. As the young boxer walked out of the ring, the first thing he did was look at Y/N. The former kickboxer, feeling a sort of pride (even if he wasn't the one who trained Gun-Woo), gave him a thumbs up. It was a simple gesture, but it screamed, "You did it!"
Gun-Woo smiled and waved. He felt unimaginable joy. He'd only won the first fight, but he was closer to the finals, which meant he could take all his winnings and give them to his mother. Oh, his mother. She was the most beloved woman he'd ever had in his life. She cared for him, raised him the best she could, and devoted her entire life to him. And he wanted to do the same. Even if it meant working as hard as he could, he'd do it for her… For her better… For their better.
Y/N glanced at the ring. More boys were already jumping in. This curly-haired young boxer and the other, quite tall boxer. There was the traditional greeting, listening to the rules from the referee, and then they went to their corners. A moment later, Y/N was surprised, confused… He didn't know what he felt when he saw this curly-haired scoundrel evade his opponent, jump and treacherously dare him to land the first punch. As soon as the two locked horns, he quickly sent the taller boy sprawling with one straight punch. He danced around the ring, spun around, and his group cheered along with him. Y/N already knew that if both Gun-Woo and this boy made it to the finals of the eliminations, the fight would definitely be interesting.
---
The fights, surprisingly, went by quite quickly, with the competitors entering alternately. It all happened so quickly that Y/N didn't even notice it was the final round of eliminations. He thought there were at least three more competitors left before Gun-Woo could defeat.
Gun-Woo and, as Y/N later learned from the commentary, Hong Woo-Jin were already standing in the ring. Y/N watched them stare at each other for a moment, listening to the referee speak. Y/N caught Gun-Woo stealing a glance in his direction, as if checking if he was still there, if he was still sitting on that uncomfortable, stiff chair… Or maybe it just seemed that way to Y/N, and Gun-Woo was looking for his trainer. Yes, he was probably imagining it. Finally, the bell rang, and the fight began. The boys exchanged punches smoothly and dodged just as smoothly, until the time came.
Gun-Woo used his signature move and hit Woo-Jin in the liver with his left hand. The latter, on the other hand, crumpled to the ground like a beach chair. Y/N was sure the fight would end there, but he was quite surprised when Woo-Jin got up after a few seconds. Damn, the rest of Gun-Woo's opponents didn't. He's tough. Y/N straightened up in his chair in surprise and scanned Woo-Jin intently. You could see from his facial expression that it hurt like hell, but he was clearly desperate to get up after such a blow.
The fight continued immediately afterward, though… It started off quite interestingly. After a moment of standing opposite each other and glaring at each other like rabid cats, the boys moved. Or rather, moved. Woo-Jin. He stood almost in the center of the ring proudly, puffed out his chest, and raised his arms high in the air. Nimal shouted at Gun-Woo to hit him.
"Come on! Hit me!" Did he have some evil plan? When he saw that Gun-Woo hadn't reacted to his provocation, he repeated his action, this time even more impatient. Unfortunately, it was his mistake. Sensing his opponent's lack of focus, Gun-Woo quickly closed in and landed another left punch. This time, Hong Woo-Jin didn't get up.
Y/N rose from his chair and quickly rushed to Jerry's side.
-You trained him well, old man! He attacked like a wasp. - Y/N's laughter, muffled by the mask, echoed.
-Of course I did! What were you thinking? Did you doubt him?
-Never.
Gun-Woo jumped out of the ring full of energy. He'd won the elimination round, which was something to be happy about.
-You did well in the ring, Gun-Woo. - Y/N patted the boy on the shoulder. The boxer gave him a beaming smile in return, adorning his mouthguard.
---
-What made you invite him to dinner? - Y/N asked, surprised, standing next to the seated Gun-Woo. But what was he surprised about? He was surprised that the boy had decided to invite Woo-Jin to dinner after the fight… Actually, he wanted to invite others too, but they had either left or turned him down.
-I had a good fight with him, I want to make up for that punch. - With that, Gun-Woo threw a punch into the air, imitating how he had treated Woo-Jin.
"Oh… Oh." Y/N replied, nodding. He'd never invited his opponent to a meal before.
The sound of a door opening and closing echoed. Gun-Woo and Y/N simultaneously looked in the direction of the sound. There he was, Hong Woo-Jin. Y/N didn't miss the fact that Gun-Woo's expression brightened slightly at the sight of the curly-haired boy. What was there to be happy about?
-What…? Why are you both standing here? - Woo-Jin asked, clearly confused. Gun-Woo stood up and walked over to him.
-Want something to eat? At least have beef with me. - The question hung in the air. Woo-Jin glanced at Y/N, who only shrugged.
-Why don't you invite the others? - Woo-Jin's tone was reminiscent of nagging. Damn, if someone offered Y/N food, she'd go without a second thought. It's not like Y/N is poor, oh no… He just loves food and thanks to exercise, he maintains his ideal weight. That's what I call perfect balance.
-The others have already left.
After a brief exchange, Woo-Jin agreed. Gun-Woo automatically beamed at the thought of his new friend spending time with him.
Gun-Woo turned to Y/N, studying the man's face for a moment, as if searching for something important.
-Y/N, will you come with us? - Gun-Woo asked, his voice and expression, half-hidden by his mask, brimming with hope. Y/N, unfortunately, had to dash that wonderful hope. He had a few more things to do.
-Unfortunately, Gun-Woo. Not today. - Y/N could have sworn the younger man's face was stained with disappointment.
After a brief conversation with the boys, Y/N left the building.
---
-Good evening, Mrs. Yoon! - Y/N entered the small café. The smell of coffee immediately hit his nose. He didn't know why, but he really liked that scent, just like the smell of gasoline.
The short woman behind the counter looked up and immediately brightened up upon seeing Y/N. He knew she was the reason Gun-Woo was so innocent and sweet.
-Y/N! You haven't been here in so long! Where have you been? - The older woman folded her arms on the counter and smiled gently, studying his face.
-And you know, I've been here and there, work has consumed me, I'm still training unruly teenagers. What about you? How are you holding up? - Y/N asked, smiling gently. He didn't know why, but her smile was infectious.
A grimace immediately appeared on Mrs. Yoon's face. A grimace that conveyed both mental and physical exhaustion, fear, and stress. Y/N could have sworn he felt his heart sink when he saw her expression. No one should suffer like this… Who had she blamed? Some higher being? God? Was her fate already written in the cards of destiny? He didn't know, and that was what consumed him the most.
But he knew there was little he could do. Alone, alone? What could he do? He wasn't a billionaire enough to lend her a loan. All he could do was smile and say everything would be alright, even though they both knew it was just a pretty lie. Any smart person would know that. Things wouldn't be alright until someone forcibly changed their fate. Until someone noticed or appreciated them.
-One coffee… - Y/N awkwardly changed the subject, wanting to spare the woman embarrassment. He saw Mrs. Yoon, with a forced smile, turn her back to him and start making coffee for him. - Did you watch Gun-Woo? He crushed them, right?
The woman immediately beamed upon hearing her son's name. It was clear how much she loved her child. Their relationship was the true definition of… parental love. The woman nodded quickly and looked at Y/N over her shoulder.
-Oh yes, of course I've been watching him! But I'm always afraid something will happen to him.- A hint of worry entered his voice for a moment. Y/N didn't blame her. One wrong strike from an opponent and Gun-Woo would either be crippled or killed.
-Don't worry, he's a strong boy. Sometimes I think he's not human.
Y/N stopped talking when Mrs. Yoon turned to him, a thoughtful and confused expression on her face.
-Are you okay? - Y/N asked uncertainly, shifting from foot to foot.
-I took out a loan… - Mrs. Yoon looked at Y/N, not sure why she was looking at him like that. What had she expected?
Y/N didn't know what to say, so he remained silent. With this silent "gesture," he encouraged her to continue.
-But I'm afraid that… I made a mistake… I feel inside… In my heart… That this is a very big mistake. - Her voice broke as if she were on the verge of tears. One hand clutched her chest, where her heart was.
-Is that what you think? Maybe you're wrong after all? What kind of bank was that?
Mrs. Yoon was about to answer him when the door to the cafe opened. Y/N looked over his shoulder. It's just some customer.
-We'll talk about this some other time. - Mrs. Yoon squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him. Y/N returned the gesture. Finally, he paid, took the coffee in the cup that felt pleasantly warm in his hands, and left.
---
The sounds of punches filled his ears. He was at the gym himself. Y/N was dressed in kickboxing gear… If his mother had seen him, she would have dragged him away by his ear. But his mother wasn't there. Y/N had been training for a while now. He circled the punching bag like a snake trying to strangle its prey. One punch, two, a punch to the back, a kick to the head, a few jabs… He felt the sweat soak into his shorts… Like it was sticking to his gloves. But he refused to give up. His mind was back in that other world… The one where he was a champion, where he still competed…
Another kick to his potential opponent's head, and… Y/N staggered. For a moment, he felt something shift in his knee, the cartilage rubbing against each other, and for a moment, he was all too aware of the structure and anatomy of his knee. The feeling sent shivers down his spine. He carefully stood and first looked at his knees… They looked fine. He sat down… There was no indication that anything was wrong. The ringing of his phone broke him out of his reverie. Someone was calling. He stood up and took the first step when he felt it… Something was popping in his knee, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling, but downright disgusting.
-Fuck…
For a moment, he had to suppress his emotion and adopt a neutral tone. Gun-Woo was calling. Y/N picked up the phone and answered.
-Yeah? - The sound of sobbing immediately reached his ears… But it wasn't Gun-Woo's voice.
-Gun-Woo… He… - It was Mrs. Yoon. -They beat him… Those people… They beat him…
Y/N felt his face go cold. Who could have beaten Gun-Woo? What people?
in which ∘ ∘ ∘ all you ever wanted was a peaceful high school life — no drama, no conflict, just getting through without being noticed. but when sieun, the quiet boy in your class, catches your eye, everything changes. what was first curiosity turns into something much more dangerous, as you’re drawn into a world of tension, secrets, and feelings you can’t control. your life, once simple and predictable, becomes a whirlwind of chaos, where love and pain are intertwined, and you begin to wonder if you’re willing to let it consume you.
✱ pairing yeon si-eun x male reader
✱ warnings explicit sexual content, bullying, homophobia, stabbing, blood, deaths, psychological and physical abuse, innapropriates jokes, manipulation, betrayal, a lot of swearing, mental health issues, incurable disease + more.
✱ statut ongoing
✱ wordcount 98,084
✱ taglist OPEN ( let me know if you wanna be added! )
Not in the dramatic, ocean-walking way from before, and not in the quiet, exhausted surrender that had led you to let the waves pull you under. This was completely different; this was the kind of death wish that came from sheer, overwhelming embarrassment — the kind that made you want to crawl under your blankets and never emerge in your whole life, the kind that had you groaning into your pillow at the mere memory of your own actions.
You had just woken up, the morning light was filtering through your thin curtains, pale and a little golden, painting stripes across your ceiling. Your body felt rested for once — truly rested, the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that came after emotional exhaustion — and for a few blissful seconds, your mind was blank and peaceful.
Then the memories came crashing back.
All of them, everything at once, like a violent wave you hadn't seen coming, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under.
Can I kiss you?
Your eyes flew open.
Please, Sieun. Can I kiss you?
"Oh my fucking God," you groaned, slamming your hands over your sleepy face.
Your palms were warm against your cheeks, which were already heating up, already turning that embarrassing shade of red that seemed to be your default color these days.
The memories just kept coming, relentless and vivid; your long fingers against Sieun's pretty lips, the way Sieun's eyes had fluttered closed, the soft hitch of his breath, the warmth of him, so close, so there, like he belonged in your space, in your room, in your life.
I did that, you thought, mortified and giddy all at once. I actually did that. I asked to kiss Sieun. I touched Sieun’s lips. I—
The teenage boy made a sound — something between a whimper and a laugh, muffled by your palms — and curled your legs up toward your chest, trying to make yourself smaller, trying to disappear into the mattress.
What the hell was I thinking? The question echoed in your mind, but even as you asked it, you knew the answer.
You hadn't been thinking at all, and that was the whole problem. Or maybe that was the point. For once in your life, you hadn't overanalyzed or second-guessed or talked yourself out of something because you were scared. You'd just… felt. And then you'd acted.
I don't regret it, you realized, and the thought was startling in its clarity. I don't regret any of it.
Not the way you'd handled the little shit outside the convenience store — the punch, the grip on his jaw, the cold satisfaction of watching fear flicker across that arrogant face. That guy had deserved every second of it. You weren't proud of the anger that had bubbled up inside you, the darkness that had whispered in your ear, but you weren't sorry either. Some people only understood one language, and you had spoken it fluently.
And not the moment with Sieun. God, especially not that. The memory of Sieun's face — the flush spreading across his cheeks, the way his lips had parted, the softness in his dark eyes — was already etched into your mind, preserved somewhere precious, somewhere you could revisit whenever you needed to remember why life was worth living.
I almost kissed him, you thought, and your heart did something complicated in your chest — a flip, a stutter, a surge of something that felt like flying. I almost kissed Sieun. In my bed. In my room. Under the moonlight.
But you hadn't. Well, not really. You'd pressed your fingers to Sieun's lips and kissed your own hand instead, and at the time, it had felt like the right thing to do — the careful thing, the respectful thing, the thing that wouldn't push Sieun further than he was ready to go.
Now, in the harsh light of morning, you weren't so sure.
What if he didn't want me to stop? What if he was waiting for me to actually kiss him? What if—
You groaned again, louder this time, and pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes until you saw stars.
Stop. Stop thinking about it. You can't change what happened. You can only deal with the consequences.
The consequences. Right. That was the problem, wasn't it? How were you supposed to face Sieun now? How were you supposed to walk into that classroom, sit across from him, act like everything was normal when your entire chest was full of feelings you didn't know what to do with?
It's going to be so awkward, you thought, and the dread settled in your stomach like a stone. He's going to look at me, and I'm going to remember last night, and my face is going to turn red, and he's going to know, and—
But Sieun hadn't seemed to dislike it.
The thought surfaced despite your best efforts to suppress it, and your heart immediately latched onto it, cradling it like something very precious.
He didn't pull away. He didn't say no. He closed his eyes. He leaned in. He—
You made another sound — a lovesick, pathetic noise that you completely would deny to your dying day — and pulled your blanket over your head, curling into a tight ball beneath the fabric. The darkness was warm and familiar, and for a moment, you let yourself just feel.
But the memory played behind your closed eyelids like a film reel; Sieun's ears turning pink, the way his breath had hitched when your knee slightly brushed his thigh, the small, secret smile that had curved his lips afterward, when he thought you weren't looking.
He smiled, you thought, and the warmth that spread through your chest was almost painful. After I touched his lips. After everything. He smiled.
And your pinkies, linked together afterward, small and innocent and somehow more intimate than anything you had ever experienced. You'd fallen asleep like that — your pinky curled around Sieun's, the warmth of the other boy seeping into your skin, the scent of peaches filling your lungs.
Wait a damn minute… I fell asleep on him?! you realized, and the horror of it was almost enough to override the warmth. Oh my God. I fell asleep on Sieun. I used him as a pillow. What kind of—
You didn't get to finish the thought, because another one crashed into you, even more embarrassing;
Did I drool? Please tell me I didn't drool on him. I will literally move to another country if I drooled on him.
"Ugh," you muttered, pressing your lips together and pulling your face out from under the blanket just enough to glare at the ceiling. "I'm so fucking pathetic."
The ceiling didn't argue. It just sat there, completely white and unassuming, while your heart pounded and your cheeks burned and your mind replayed the greatest hits of last night's emotional disaster.
I love him, you thought, and the words were softer now, less terrifying than they'd been before. I really, genuinely, hopelessly love him.
You'd had crushes before. In middle school, there'd been a boy with bright eyes and a loud laugh who'd sat in front of you in class. In your first year of high school, there'd been a senior who'd helped you with a difficult move at the gym, all easy smiles and casual touches. But those feelings had been shallow compared to this — surface-level infatuations that had faded as quickly as they'd appeared.
This was different. This was consuming. This was the kind of love that entirely changed you, that rewired your brain, that made you want to be a better person just so you could be worthy of the person you loved.
I'm in love with Yeon Sieun, you thought, and the words felt like both a confession and a prayer.
You lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the feeling wash over you. Then your brown eyes wandered around the room — the familiar mess of your desk, the plant on the windowsill, the empty space on the bed where Sieun had been sitting just hours ago.
And then you noticed.
The medication was on your desk.
Out in the open, not hidden in the drawer where you usually kept it, not tucked away behind your books where no one would see. It was just… there, casually sitting on the corner of your desk like it belonged there, like it wasn't a reminder of everything you were trying to ignore.
Did Sieun see it? The question sent a jolt of panic through your chest. Did he see the box? Did he read the label? Does he know—
You forced yourself to breathe, to think rationally.
Sieun had been sitting on the bed the whole time, hadn't he? His back had been against the wall, his focus on his textbooks. The desk was across the room, near the window, and Sieun would have had to get up, to walk over, to actively look at the box to know what it was.
He didn't see it, you told yourself. He couldn't have. I would have noticed if he'd gotten up. I would have—
But… you had fallen asleep.
Somewhere between the linked pinkies and the comfortable silence, your eyes had gotten heavy, and your head had drooped, and you'd drifted off without meaning to. You didn't know what had happened after that, you didn't know if Sieun had stayed, if he'd looked around, if he'd seen the medication and put the pieces together.
Stop, you commanded yourself. Stop spiraling. You don't know anything for sure. And even if he did see it… even if he knows… that's not the end of the world.
Right…?
But it felt like it might be. Because Sieun knowing meant Sieun asking questions, and Sieun asking questions meant you having to answer them, and you answering them meant telling the whole truth — about the tumor, about the timer ticking down inside your head, about the fact that you were living on borrowed time.
Not yet, you thought, and the words were desperate, pleading. Not yet. I'm not ready. I just found him. I just—
And what if he tells Suho?
You sat up abruptly, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, forcing yourself to move, to act, to do something other than lie there and spiral.
Get dressed, you told yourself. Take a shower. Go to class. Face him. You can do this. You've faced worse.
The thought was almost funny; you had faced a gang of thugs, you'd faced your mother's hatred, you'd faced the ocean and walked away, but the very idea of facing Sieun — of looking into those beautiful dark eyes after everything that had happened — was somehow more terrifying than it all.
You stood up, and your body felt heavy, weighted down by the emotions swirling inside you. You were still wearing your clothes from last night — the gray sweatpants, the simple white t-shirt. Your gray hoodie was draped over the back of your chair, exactly where you'd thrown it when you got home.
I should shower, you thought, turning toward your closet. I should—
Your hand paused on the closet door handle.
Wait. Did I… did I really fall asleep on him?
The memory was really fuzzy, fragmented, like a dream you couldn't quite grasp. You remembered the warmth of Sieun's shoulder beneath your cheek, the soft rhythm of Sieun's breathing, the way the world had faded into something soft and safe and—
Oh my God, you thought, your face heating up all over again. I definitely fell asleep on Sieun. I used Sieun as my personal pillow. While we were holding pinkies. Like some kind of—
You didn't finish the thought, because you couldn't. The embarrassment was too much.
( What you didn't know, what you couldn't know, was that Sieun had stayed.
Long after your breathing had evened out, long after the weight of your head had grown heavy against Sieun's shoulder, Sieun had remained exactly where he was. His textbook was open on his lap, but he hadn't turned a page in over an hour. His eyes kept drifting from the words to the boy sleeping beside him — to the soft curve of your lips, the fan of your dark lashes against your cheeks, the way your hair fell across your forehead like something from a painting.
He's beautiful, Sieun had thought, and the admission had come without resistance, without the usual internal debate. He's so beautiful, and he's asleep on my shoulder, and I don't want to move.
He'd stayed like that for three hours. Three hours of your breath against his neck, of the weight of you warm and solid and there. Three hours of Sieun's hand occasionally rising to brush through your hair — tentative at first, then more certain, his fingers carding through the soft strands with a tenderness that surprised him.
I shouldn't, he'd thought, even as he did it again. This is—I don't know what this is. But I can't stop.
When it had finally become too late — when the clock on your nightstand had blinked past midnight and Sieun knew he couldn't stay any longer — he'd extracted himself with infinite care; sliding out from under your head, slowly lowering it to the pillow, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders. Every movement had been slow, deliberate, designed not to wake you.
Sieun had packed his things in silence, zipping his bag closed with quiet hands. And then, before leaving, he'd stood at the bedside and looked at you one last time — at the peaceful slope of your features, at the way your lips were slightly parted, at the soft rise and fall of your chest.
I don't know what this is, Sieun had thought again. But I don't want it to stop.
He'd written the note on his way out, borrowing a piece of paper and a pen from your desk;
I had to go home last night. Thank you for the invitation, I had a good time.
He'd paused then, his pen hovering over the paper. There had been more he'd wanted to say — I liked being here. I liked being with you. I liked the way you looked at me — but the words had felt way too big, way too heavy, way too much like something he wasn't ready to name.
So Sieun had simply signed his name and left the note on the table, and he'd walked home under the moonlight with his heart still beating too fast and his lips still tingling where your fingers had been. )
You grabbed a pair of clean sweatpants from your closet, then a simple white t-shirt, then the short-sleeved shirt of your school uniform. And then, buried at the bottom of your drawer, your fingers brushed against something soft and pink.
Hello Kitty.
You pulled out the boxers — it was a pale pink fabric covered in tiny white and pink hearts, Hello Kitty's face repeated in a pattern across the soft cotton.
Perfect, you thought, tucking them under your arm with the rest of your clothes.
You were halfway to the bathroom when something on the dining table caught your eye; a small piece of paper, folded neatly, sitting exactly where you'd left your keys last night.
You hadn't put it there.
Your heart stuttered. You approached the table slowly, your clothes still clutched against your chest, your eyes fixed on the paper like it might disappear if you looked away.
When you were close enough to read it, you leaned over.
I had to go home last night. Thank you for the invitation, I had a good time.
— Sieun.
The words blurred. You blinked, and they came back into focus, and you read them again, and again, and again.
He wrote me a note, you thought, your chest so full it felt like it might burst. He wrote me a note and left it on my table like some kind of—like we're—
There was more. Before Sieun's name, a few faint pencil marks — the beginning of a letter, maybe, or a word that had been started and then abandoned. You squinted at it, trying to make out the shapes, but the lines were too faint, too tentative, like Sieun had changed his mind at the last moment and pressed the eraser to the page.
What were you going to say? you wondered. What did you want to add?
You didn't know. You couldn't know. But the fact that Sieun had tried — that he'd started to write something and then stopped, that he'd left evidence of his hesitation on the page — made your heart ache in the best possible way.
"He's really going to end up killing me," you murmured, biting your lower lip.
But you were smiling; a stupid, helpless, lovesick smile that you couldn't have suppressed even if you'd wanted to.
You looked at the note for another long moment, then carefully folded it and tucked it into the pocket of your sweatpants — the ones you were about to take off, the ones that would go in the hamper, which meant you needed to transfer it later, which meant you were being ridiculous, which meant you didn't care.
I'm keeping this, you decided. Forever. I'm framing it. I'm putting it on my wall.
You were being dramatic. You knew you were being dramatic. But the note was proof — proof that last night had happened, that Sieun had been here, that the almost-kiss hadn't been a dream. You needed to hold onto that, you needed to remind yourself, on the days when everything felt heavy and hopeless, that there had been a night when Sieun had sat on your bed and let you touch his lips.
I'm so pathetic, you thought, but the word didn't sting the way it usually did.
It felt almost… warm, like something you could laugh about, like something that might even be endearing.
You headed to the bathroom, your steps lighter than they'd been in days, your heart full of butterflies and your cheeks still flushed with color. The shower was hot and steady, the water pressure weak but familiar, and you stood under the spray for longer than necessary, letting the heat ease the tension from your shoulders.
I'm going to see him today, you thought, and the anticipation was a living thing, curling in your stomach, making your pulse skip. I'm going to walk into that classroom, and he's going to be there, and I'm going to have to act normal, and—
And maybe you didn't have to act normal.
Maybe normal wasn't the goal anymore, maybe the goal was just to be there, to show up, to let Sieun see you — the real you, the messy you, the you who was falling in love and didn't know how to stop.
He already saw you last night, a small voice reminded you. He saw you ask to kiss him. He saw you touch his lips. And he stayed. He wrote you a note. He didn't run away.
The thought was so powerful that you had to brace your hands against the shower wall, letting the water run down your back, letting yourself feel the weight of it.
He didn't run away.
When you finally stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and dripping water across the bathroom floor, your reflection stared back at you from the small mirror above the sink. Your hair was dark and wet, plastered to your forehead. Your cheeks were still pink. Your eyes were bright, brighter than they'd been in weeks.
I look happy, you observed, and the observation felt foreign, unfamiliar. I actually look happy.
You dried off quickly, pulled on the Hello Kitty boxers, and dressed in your clean clothes; the white t-shirt was really soft against your skin, the gray sweatpants hung a little low on your hips, and the school uniform shirt you left unbuttoned for now, draping it over your arm.
You were reaching for your shoes when your eyes landed on the note again, still visible through the thin fabric of your discarded sweatpants on the bathroom floor. You fished it out, unfolded it, read it one more time.
Thanks for the invitation, I had a good time.
"Me too," you whispered to the empty room, to the memory of Sieun, to the morning light streaming through your window. "I had a really good time too."
You tucked the note carefully into the pocket of your new sweatpants — the ones you were wearing now, the ones you would keep on all day — and smiled.
The walk to school had never felt so full of possibility.
You had your arms crossed over your chest, your weight shifted onto one hip, and your expression fixed in something that hovered somewhere between skepticism and mild concern. Your dark brown eyes were completely locked on Beomseok, who stood in front of you in the empty science classroom, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a man preparing to deliver bad news.
The boy with glasses had asked you to follow him, his voice low and urgent, his eyes darting around the hallway like he was afraid of being overheard. He'd said he had something important to tell you — something he needed to show you — and the gravity in his tone had been enough to make your stomach tighten with unease.
Now the four of you were here, standing in the same cold, sterile room where Yeongbin had pathetically groveled on the floor just three days ago; the same bright lights buzzed overhead, the same human skeleton grinned from the corner, and the same four boys faced each other, the tension between you thick enough to cut.
Suho was leaning against a lab table, his arms also crossed, his posture deceptively casual. Sieun stood beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him — a warmth that had nothing to do with the room's temperature, but everything to do with the fact that Sieun was there, that he hadn't pulled away after last night, that he'd shown up to class like nothing had changed.
Well… except everything has changed, you thought, and your stupid heart gave a small, familiar lurch. At least for me. At least in here.
Beomseok took a breath; his hands were clasped in front of him, his fingers twisting nervously, and behind his glasses, his eyes were wide and earnest, the kind of earnest that made you instinctively wary.
"I'll take care of it today," Beomseok said finally, his voice steadier than his posture suggested.
Your eyebrow arched upward. You turned your head toward your best friend, a silent question passing between you; What the hell is he talking about? Suho's expression mirrored your own — his brows furrowed, lips pressed together, the same look of utter confusion.
Together, you turned toward Sieun, who was standing on your other side.
Sieun's face was unreadable, but his eyes were slightly narrowed, and his head was tilted in that way it did when he was processing information, filing it away for later.
No one had any idea what Beomseok meant.
"It's already been three days," Beomseok continued, and this time his voice was a little more confident, as if the words themselves were giving him courage. "We can't just wait around forever."
Three days. The phrase echoed in your mind, and suddenly the pieces clicked into place; the man in the ugly shirt, the fifteen million won, the ultimatum that had been hanging over your heads like a guillotine blade.
Oh, he's talking about the money, you realized. He's talking about paying that bastard.
Beomseok turned to the lab table beside him, where his black backpack sat open and waiting. He reached inside, his hand disappearing into the depths of the bag, and when he pulled it back out, Beomseok was holding something that made your breath catch.
Three thick stacks of 50,000 won bills, neatly banded, sitting on the table like a small, yellow mountain.
You stared, you couldn't help it.
The stacks were thick — thicker than anything you'd ever held in your own hands, thicker than anything you'd ever earned in a month of working night shifts at the convenience store. They were the kind of stacks you saw in movies, in crime dramas, in the hands of people who moved through worlds you had only ever glimpsed from the outside.
"Fifteen million won," Beomseok confirmed, as if any of you needed the clarification.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Your brain was racing, trying to process what the hell you were seeing right now.
Fifteen million won. He just… has fifteen million won in his backpack. Like it's nothing. Like it's spare change.
"Let's pay him and end this," Beomseok said, and his voice was almost pleading now, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.
Your initial shock was already curdling into something else — something way sharper, something way hotter; Pay him? Pay that bastard who pulled a knife on my best friend? Pay that bastard who's been following us for days, trying to intimidate us into handing over money we don't owe?
You opened your mouth to speak, but Suho beat you to it.
"What is this?" Suho's voice was flat, completely unimpressed, the kind of tone he used when he was about to call someone out on their bullshit.
Beomseok glanced at Suho, then back at the money waiting, then at the floor.
"My parents gave it to me," he said, and his voice was too fast, too high, the words tumbling out like they were trying to escape before he could stop them.
Your eyes narrowed.
Suho pushed off from the lab table, taking a slow, deliberate step toward Beomseok. His arms were still crossed, but there was something different in his posture now — something less casual and more interrogative.
"Your parents gave you fifteen million won?" he repeated, drawing out the words. "Just like that? For no reason?"
Beomseok's nervous smile flickered at the edges.
"Does it really matter where the money came from? The point is we have it. We can end this. No more following, no more threats, no more—"
"If it doesn't matter," you cut in, and your voice was a little colder than you initially intended. "Then why aren't you answering the question?"
Beomseok's mouth opened, closed, and opened again.
"Yeah," Suho agreed, stepping closer still. "Where is it from? Really?"
The silence stretched, thin and fragile.
You watched Beomseok's face, you watched the micro-expressions flit across it — guilt, fear, and something that almost looked almost like shame. You'd known Beomseok for a short time, but you'd seen enough to know that the boy wasn't a liar. Or at least, he wasn't a good liar. And right now, he was lying through his teeth.
He's hiding something, you thought. Something big.
Beomseok's gaze darted between the three of you — from Suho's hard eyes to your skeptical stare to Sieun's quiet, unreadable face. Beomseok's hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually tell the truth.
"What is this?" Sieun's voice was soft, almost gentle, but it carried an undercurrent of steel.
He wasn't asking about the money anymore; he was asking about Beomseok, and finally, Beomseok broke.
"I sold my dad's watch," he confessed, the words rushing out of him like water through a broken dam. His face was pale now, his eyes wide and desperate. "He was going to pass it down to me anyway. It's not like—I mean, it was just sitting there in a box. He never even wore it. So I just—I sold it. And now we have the money. And we can—"
"Wait, what?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, cutting through Beomseok's rambling. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straighter, your full height suddenly very apparent in the cramped classroom.
"Are you serious right now? You sold your dad's watch? The one he was going to give you?"
Beomseok flinched. "I—"
"This dude is nuts," Suho huffed, running a hand through his hair. "Absolutely nuts. You don't just sell something like that. Especially not for—"
"For us," Beomseok interrupted, and there was something almost fierce in his voice now, something that made you pause. "I did it for you. For all of you. That guy isn't going to stop. You know he isn't. He's just going to keep following us, keep threatening us, keep making our lives hell until we pay him or something worse happens. And I couldn't just—I couldn't just sit there and do nothing while—"
"While what?" Your voice was a tiny bit quieter now, but no less intense. "While we handled it ourselves? While we figured out a solution that didn't involve you sacrificing something important?"
Beomseok's mouth snapped shut.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your head was starting to ache — not the sharp, tumor-related pain that came and went, but a dull, throbbing frustration that pulsed behind your eyes. You could feel your blood pressure rising, you could feel the familiar heat of anger building in your chest.
Calm down, you told yourself. He's not the enemy. He's trying to help. He just doesn't understand.
"Listen, Beomseok."
You dropped your hand from your face and fixed the boy with a steady look.
"I get it. I understand you thought you were doing the right thing. You saw a problem, and you found a solution, and you didn't stop to think about whether it was the right solution. That's… that's not nothing. That's actually kind of brave, in a stupid, reckless kind of way."
Beomseok blinked, clearly unsure whether he was being praised or scolded.
"But this isn't the thing to do," you continued, your voice firm. "We're not giving that bastard a single won. Do you understand? Not one. Because the moment we pay him, we're admitting that we did something wrong. And we didn't. We haven't done anything that justifies paying that guy. He's a con artist. A thug. A fucking parasite who preys on people who are scared and desperate. And I'm not—"
You stopped, took a breath, forced your voice to stay even.
"I'm not going to let him win. Not like this."
Beomseok's face crumpled slightly.
"But—"
"Why the hell should we give money to that jerk?" Your voice rose again, despite your best efforts to keep it down. "We didn't break anyone's arm. We didn't start that damn fight. They came after us, remember? Sieun was just defending himself. And now they want us to pay for the privilege of not being terrorized?"
The words were pouring out now, hot and fast, and you could feel the anger coiling in your chest, tightening around your ribs. You thought of Suho's forearm, the way the blood had welled up from the cut. You thought of the fear in your best friend's eyes, hidden behind a mask of bravado. You thought of the way that fucking bastard had laughed, like hurting a teenager was funny, like threatening kids with a knife was something to be proud of.
"And that fucking guy—" Your voice cracked, and you felt your hands curl into fists at your sides. "He hurt Suho. He pulled a knife on my best friend and cut him. And now we're supposed to just… hand over money? Like that makes it okay? Like that's justice?"
You were shaking now, you realized abruptly. Your whole body was trembling with the force of your anger, and your vision had narrowed to a tunnel, focused entirely on Beomseok's pale, guilty face.
Stop, you told yourself. Stop. You're going to scare him. You're going to say something you regret. Just—
A hand closed around your left wrist.
The touch was light, almost tentative, but it cut through the red haze like a blade through fog. Your breath caught. You looked down at the fingers wrapped around your wrist — slender fingers, pale skin, the small mole you'd noticed before, the one you'd imagined pressing your lips to.
It was Sieun's hand.
Your gaze traveled upward, following the line of Sieun's arm, the curve of his shoulder, the sharp line of his jaw. And then you were looking into Sieun's eyes — those dark, endless eyes that held galaxies, that held secrets, that held something that looked almost like understanding.
Oh, you thought, and the anger in your chest loosened its grip, just a little. Oh. I went too far, didn't I?
Sieun didn't say anything, the teenager simply looked into your eyes, his expression soft but steady, and squeezed your wrist gently; once, then twice. It was a small, wordless message; Breathe. It's okay. I'm here.
You closed your eyes.
You took a breath, then another. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it wasn't consuming you anymore. It had settled into something manageable, something you could push aside and deal with later.
I shouldn't get so angry, you thought, and the familiar guilt crept in. I know I shouldn't. But I can't help it. Every time I think about what they did to him, to Suho, to Sieun, I just…
You opened your eyes, and you let out a long, slow exhale, and nodded at Sieun, a silent thank you. Sieun's hand lingered on your wrist for a moment longer, then withdrew, but the warmth of it stayed.
Across the room, Suho was watching you both, his expression unreadable. But whatever he was thinking, he didn't comment. Instead, he turned back to Beomseok, his voice calmer than yours had been.
"Take the money," Suho said, gesturing at the stacks on the table. "And get the watch back. That thing is worth more than cash. It's your dad's. You're going to regret selling it."
Beomseok shook his head, his jaw set.
"He said the police can't help us. He said—"
"He said a lot of shit," you cut in, your voice quieter now, less sharp. "Most of them were lies. He's trying to scare us, Beomseok. That's what people like him do. They make you feel small and helpless, and then they offer you a way out that costs you everything. But we're not helpless. We don't need to pay him. We just need to be smarter than him."
Beomseok's eyes glistened behind his glasses. He looked young, you realized. Younger than he usually seemed; like a kid who'd been trying so hard to be useful that he'd forgotten to ask whether his help was actually wanted.
"I just wanted to help," Beomseok whispered.
Your expression softened. Not completely — the anger was still there, buried but present — but enough to reach out and clap a hand on Beomseok's shoulder.
"I know. And that's not nothing. But next time, ask first, okay? Before you sell any family heirlooms."
Beomseok nodded, swallowing hard.
The room fell silent for a moment, the tension slowly draining out of it. You let your hand fall from Beomseok's shoulder and turned to look at the money on the table — those three thick stacks that represented so much more than cash; they represented fear, they represented desperation, they represented a kid who'd been willing to give up something precious because he thought it was the only way.
We're going to fix this, you thought. We're going to find a way. And we're not going to let that bastard win.
"Beomseok," Sieun's voice cut through the silence, soft and clear. "Thank you."
Beomseok looked up, surprised.
"Really, thank you for trying to help," Sieun continued, his gaze steady. "I know what to do now. So don't worry about it. We'll handle it."
You turned toward Sieun, tilting your head.
"What do you mean?" The question came out softer than before, way more gentle.
"Yeah," Suho added, crossing his arms again. "What do you mean, you know what to do? Just report it to the police, right? That's the obvious answer."
Sieun took a small breath, then reached into the back pocket of his school uniform pants. His phone emerged, sleek and black, and he unlocked it with a few quick taps of his thumb. When Sieun looked up again, his expression was calm and composed — the expression he wore when he was about to say something important.
"I will," Sieun said. "Report it, I mean. But not just the fight. Not just the threats."
Sieun turned his phone around, showing the screen to the three of you.
You leaned forward, squinting at the images. They were photos — grainy, like they'd been taken in low light, but clear enough to make out the details. There were documents of some kind, pages covered in numbers and names. There were contracts, handwritten and signed. And there were small plastic bags, the kind you had seen in dramas about drug busts, filled with pills and powders.
"What is this?" Suho asked, stepping closer.
"That bastard gets runaway kids to work for him," Sieun said, his voice low and even.
He swiped to another photo — a screenshot of a text conversation, the words small but legible.
"He uses their bank accounts for illegal loan transactions. He makes them deal drugs. That's how he gets them involved in crime—so they can't escape. They're trapped, and they know it, and he uses that to control them."
How does he know all this? The question surfaced, unbidden. I mean, Sieun told me he was meeting this girl for information, but this is… this is a lot of information. This is evidence. This is—
Your stomach turned.
You thought of the girl in the restaurant, the one you'd been so jealous of for no reason. She'd been one of them, hadn't she? One of the runaway kids who'd gotten caught in that bastard's web. And Sieun had been talking to her, not because he was interested, but because he was helping.
"I heard he keeps everything at their place," Sieun continued, swiping to another photo — this one of a nondescript building, the address visible on a sign in the background. "The ledger. The contracts. The drugs. If we can get the police there and show them what's inside…"
"You could take him down," you finished, and the words tasted like hope.
Sieun nodded.
"How do you know all of this?" Suho asked, his brow furrowed. "Did you… Google it or something?"
Sieun's gaze flickered to you, just for a second, just long enough for your heart to skip a beat.
"No," Sieun said quietly. "Not really."
The silence that followed was different from the one before; this wasn't heavy with tension or uncertainty, it was the silence of understanding — of four boys standing in an empty classroom, realizing that they might actually have a chance.
You didn't look away from Sieun. You truly couldn't. There was something in the other boy's eyes — something that had been there since last night, maybe, or maybe longer — that made you want to stay exactly where you were, frozen in this moment, holding onto it like a lifeline.
After all this shit is over, you thought, and a small, soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. After we finally deal with that bastard and his thugs and the fifteen million won and everything else… I want to spend as much time as possible with them.
Your gaze swept across the room — to Suho, your best friend, standing with his arms crossed and his jaw set, already planning his next move. To Beomseok, still pale but standing a little straighter, a little more sure. To Sieun, whose dark eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that made your chest ache.
With Suho, you thought. And with Sieun.
The teenager wanted lazy afternoons and late-night conversations. He wanted stupid arguments about pizza colors and the structural integrity of transparent food. He wanted strawberry milk and math lessons and the sound of Sieun's quiet laughter. He wanted to hold Sieun's hand without the excuse of tutoring, without the cover of darkness, without having to pretend it meant nothing.
You wanted time.
Please, you thought, and you weren't really sure who you were asking — the universe, fate, or whatever God might be listening. Please, give me time. Give me enough time to love them the way they deserve. Give me enough time to be the person they think I am.
You didn't know with precision how much you had left; the tumor didn't come with a schedule, it didn't offer guarantees. But standing here, in this cold, empty classroom, surrounded by people who had somehow become your entire world, you felt something you hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
Small and fragile, like a candle flame in a storm, but still burning, and definitely there.
"We should get back to class," Sieun said, breaking the silence. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, his expression returning to its usual calm composure. "We've missed enough of the period already."
"Now that Sieun has a good plan," Suho announced, his arms stretching out to drape dramatically over Sieun and Beomseok's shoulders, pulling them both into a loose, affectionate headlock. "Should we eat before we make our move? I'm thinking something greasy and with cheese. Something that will make my arteries clog in protest."
The day's classes had finally ended, the final bell still echoing through the hallways as students poured out of the building in chattering clusters. The sun was high in the sky, bright and warm, the kind of afternoon that made you want to lie in the grass and do absolutely nothing all day.
You walked with your hands buried deep in the pockets of your gray sweatpants, your backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, your steps slow and unhurried.
Beside you, Sieun walked with his usual quiet grace, his posture straight, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead. On Sieun's other side, Suho had his arms around both Sieun and Beomseok, his grin wide and easy. Beomseok looked mildly uncomfortable but not entirely opposed to the physical affection, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.
"I'm so hungry I could die," Suho continued, his voice climbing into theatrical heights. "Seriously. Like—actually die by starvation. Right here on the sidewalk. You'll all be standing over my body, weeping, and you'll say to yourselves, 'If only we'd fed Suho when he asked'."
"Oh my God, you're so dramatic," you said loudly, but you were smiling.
"Dramatic? I'm simply expressive."
You were about to suggest a place anyway — the noodle shop around the corner, maybe, or the fried chicken place where the ajumma always gave them extra portions because she thought they were 'growing boys who needed meat' — when your gaze drifted toward the school gates.
And stopped.
The words died in your throat, caught somewhere between your chest and your mouth, frozen mid-thought. Your footsteps slowed, your hands tightened into fists inside your pockets.
There was a black car parked just beyond the gates. It was the same car from the underground parking lot; it was the one that had carried the man in the ugly shirt, the one that had pulled away with Yeongbin's fucking arrogant smile still fresh in your memory.
And around it, scattered like fallen leaves, were the guys. The thugs. The teenagers and young men who had spent the past few days following you, watching you, trying to intimidate you into submission. There were maybe ten of them, maybe twelve, loitering against the car's hood, leaning on nearby scooters, pretending to check their phones while their eyes tracked every student who walked past.
They're not even trying to hide, you thought, and the anger that had been simmering beneath your skin all day flared once again, hot and sharp. They literally want us to see them. They want us to be scared.
Suho's arms slid from Sieun and Beomseok's shoulders.
His hands disappeared into the pockets of his red and black jacket, and you saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek — a nervous habit he'd had since they were little kids, something he did when he was thinking too hard or feeling too much.
The four of you slowed, then stopped, forming a loose cluster on the sidewalk.
"Hey, wait," Suho said quietly.
Suho turned around, moving with a casualness that you knew damn well was performative, and spread his arms out as if to herd you all backward, away from the gates, away from the car, away from the watching eyes. You moved together, retreating until you were far enough away to speak without being overheard.
"What is it?" Beomseok asked, his voice tight.
His gaze was fixed on Suho's face, and you could see the worry there, the fear he was trying to hide.
You didn't answer, because you were watching Suho too — you were watching the way your best friend's expression shifted, the way his eyes narrowed, the way his lips pressed together in that familiar, determined line.
Oh no, you thought. I know that look. I know that look a little too well.
"Let me go there before you guys," Suho said.
The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples through the group. Beomseok's eyes widened, Sieun's brow furrowed, and you felt your heart drop into your stomach, because you'd known. From the moment you'd seen Suho's expression, you'd known exactly what was coming.
"What?" Sieun's voice cut through the afternoon air.
His frown deepened, and you could see the disagreement written all over his pretty face; the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had curled into loose fists at his sides.
You turned to look at him, and for a moment, your eyes met. There was something in Sieun's gaze — a flicker of fear, maybe, or concern — that made your chest ache.
He doesn't want Suho to go alone either, you realized. He's worried too.
"If he really has the ledger and drugs in his office or whatever," Suho continued, his voice calm, measured, like he was explaining something obvious. "We should get the cops there. That's the only way this ends. We catch him red-handed, with all his shit spread out on the table, and he can't talk his way out of it."
"Yeah, I'll call them now," Sieun replied, already reaching for his phone.
"Not yet." Suho's hand came up, stopping him. "The cops need to catch him there. The photos won't help. We need them to see it. To touch it. To log it as evidence. If we call them too early, he'll just hide everything and play dumb. We only get one shot at this."
The logic was sound, you knew it was sound, but that didn't make the weight in your chest any lighter. You looked past Suho, toward the cluster of guys still loitering by the black car, and your jaw tightened.
There are so many of them, you thought. And Suho wants to go alone.
"He uses the runaway kids' bank accounts for illegal loan transactions," Sieun pressed, his voice rising slightly. "He makes them deal drugs. That's how he gets them involved in crime, so they can't escape."
"I know, Sieun," Suho said, and there was something almost gentle in his voice now, something that softened the edges of his usual bravado. "That's exactly why I need to do this. The sooner we get the cops there, the sooner those kids get out, and the sooner we stop looking over our shoulders every five seconds."
You redirected your gaze to the group of guys again, weighing the pros and cons in your head.
Letting Suho go alone was a risk — a big one. Those guys were dangerous. The boss had already pulled a knife on you once, he had already cut Suho's arm without hesitation, he had laughed about it like it was funny. There was no telling what he might do if he felt cornered, or if he decided that Suho was more trouble than he was worth.
But Suho was right about one thing; if you all went together, the boss would be suspicious. Two teenagers showing up might raise an eyebrow, but four? Four would look like a confrontation. And if they went with the police, there was no element of surprise at all.
Still, you thought, your teeth pressing into your lower lip. I don't like this. I don't like any of this.
Suho's hand landed on your shoulder, warm and solid, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts.
"I'll go first and send you the address," Suho said, his voice steady. "Drag the cops there. I'll buy us some time. All you have to do is show up with backup. Easy."
"You can't go there by yourself," Beomseok said, and there was something almost frantic in his voice now, something that made your chest tighten even more.
Suho looked at him, and his expression softened into something almost fond.
"Don't you realize I'm the boss at this school?" He reached out and ruffled Beomseok's hair, messing up the carefully styled strands. "Don't you trust me? It's fine! I've got this."
You rolled your eyes — it was a reflex, an automatic response to Suho's endless confidence — but the unpleasant feeling in your chest didn't go away. If anything, it grew stronger, wrapping around your ribs like a vice.
"You shouldn't go alone," you said, voicing Beomseok's words with your own weight behind them. "Let me go with you. Two is always better than one." You paused, your jaw tightening. "Whatever you're planning, I can help. I can watch your back. I can—"
"Nah."
Suho's gaze met yours, and there was something in his eyes — something warm and grateful and a little bit sad — that made your throat close up.
"If we go together, they'll be more suspicious. One teenager showing up to talk? That's nothing. Two teenagers showing up together? That looks like a setup."
"There are at least ten of them," you retorted immediately, your voice rising slightly. "Why would they be suspicious of two simple teenagers when they've already got a whole army standing around? They're not exactly subtle, Suho. They're not going to look at two guys and think, 'Ah, yes, this is clearly a police sting'."
Suho's lips twitched.
"You make a fair point."
"Of course I make a fair point. I always make fair points."
"Your humility is stunning."
"Shut up."
Suho simply laughed; it was a small, quiet little sound, and you felt something in your chest loosen, just a little. But the fear was still present, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to pull you under.
"Let me go with you," you said again, and your voice was softer now, almost pleading. "Please. Who knows what could happen? Who knows what that bastard might do if he feels like you're threatening him? He already hurt you once, Suho. And I'm not—"
Your voice cracked, and you looked away, your jaw working.
"I'm not going to just stand here and watch you walk into that shit alone."
Suho's expression shifted; the teasing completely faded, replaced by something more serious, more tender. He stepped closer, raised his hand, and pressed his index finger against your cheek, poking gently.
"Awh," Suho said, his voice light but his eyes warm. "You're worried about me."
"Of course I'm worried about you, you absolute idiot. You're my best friend."
Suho's smile widened.
"Come on, Y/N. You know better than anyone that I can defend myself if something happens. I've been training since I was just a kid. I've been in more fights than I can count. I can take care of myself."
You gritted your teeth, because Suho was right — he did know how to fight. You'd trained together for long years, you had sparred more times than either of you could remember. Suho was fast and strong and clever, and he'd never backed down from a fight in his life.
But knowing that didn't stop you from being afraid.
"Besides," Suho continued, and his voice dropped, becoming more serious. "Something could happen to you guys too. If that bastard decides to send some of his guys after you while I'm gone, you'll need to be together. You'll need to watch each other's backs."
Suho's gaze shifted to Sieun, then to Beomseok.
"Stay with them. Keep them safe. That's your job."
Your jaw tightened. You wanted to argue. You wanted to grab Suho by the shoulders and shake him and tell him that this was the stupidest idea he'd ever had, that you should just call the police now and let them handle it, that no amount of money or pride was worth Suho's safety.
But you couldn't. Because Suho was looking at you with that expression — the one he always wore when he'd made up his mind and nothing was going to change it — and you knew that arguing would simply be useless.
"Ah, fuck," you muttered, running a hand through your brown hair, the strands slipping through your fingers. "If something happens to you, I'll kill you, got it? I'll bring you back from the dead just so I can kill you again."
Suho's laugh was bright and genuine.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going."
And just like that, Suho turned away.
You watched him go — you watched your best friend walk toward the cluster of thugs, his hands in his pockets, his posture casual, his expression unreadable. The boss noticed him immediately, his ugly shirt a beacon of arrogance in the afternoon light. They spoke, their words too distant to hear, their body language tense but not yet hostile.
Then Suho got into the car.
And the door closed, the engine started, and the black car pulled away from the curb, merging into traffic, disappearing around the corner.
You stood there, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands shaking slightly inside your pockets. The sun was still shining. The sky was still blue. But everything felt darker somehow, heavier, like the world had shifted slightly off its axis and was struggling to right itself.
He's going to be fine, you told yourself. He's going to be fine. He's smart. He's capable. He's—
A breath, then another.
The words echoed in your head, but they didn't feel true yet. Maybe not until Suho was standing in front of you again, whole and unharmed, making stupid jokes about orange chicken and his so-called 'structural integrity'.
"We should go," Sieun said quietly, and his voice was steady, grounding, pulling you back to the present.
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
You started walking again, the three of you now, falling into an uneasy rhythm. The sidewalk stretched out before you, leading away from the school, away from the gates, toward whatever came next.
A girl appeared from the direction of the black car, jogging toward you with quick, purposeful steps.
You hadn't noticed her among the thugs earlier — she must have been standing behind someone, completely hidden from view. Her hair was short, her face young, her eyes sharp and watchful. She stopped in front of you, slightly out of breath, and her gaze fixed on Sieun.
It's the girl from the restaurant, you realized. The one I was jealous of. The one who gave him the information.
"Are they going to the office?" Sieun asked, his voice calm, no hostility in it.
"Yeah," the girl replied, her words tumbling out quickly, urgently. "Is he going alone? What about the cops?"
"We'll catch him there," Sieun said. "What's the address?"
Your gaze shifted between the two of them, watching the way the girl's shoulders relaxed slightly at Sieun's confidence, the way her eyes flickered with something that might have been hope.
"17-1 Sanggye-ro, Nowon-gu, Seoul," she said. "A house with a blue door. You can't miss it."
Sieun's fingers moved across his phone screen, typing the address into what you assumed was a message to Suho. His expression was focused, almost calm, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set.
Sieun is worried too, you thought. Well, of course he is. He's just better at hiding it.
Beomseok had moved away from you without you noticing, stepping toward the curb, his arm raised.
"Over there! Taxi!"
Your head snapped toward him, your eyes widening.
"Ah, fuck," you muttered, already moving.
A taxi pulled over, its engine idling, and its door unlocked. Beomseok rapidly reached for the handle, and you lunged forward, your hand slamming hardly against the door, holding it shut.
"What the hell are you doing?" you hissed, your voice low and sharp.
Sieun appeared beside you, his expression matching yours; confused, and more than a little frustrated.
"If I'd given him that money, it'd be over now," Beomseok said, and his voice was different now — it was harder, angrier, edged with something that sounded like guilt. "Why did you let Suho go by himself? You saw those guys. You saw what they did to him. What if something bad happens to him, Y/N? What if—"
Beomseok's voice cracked. He looked away, his jaw working, his hands trembling.
You stared at him, at the fear and anger warring on his face, at the way his glasses had slipped down his nose, at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
He's scared, you realized. He's scared, and he's blaming himself, and he thinks this is his fault.
Beomseok used your momentary silence to yank the door open and climb into the taxi. The door slammed shut. The driver looked back, a little confused, but Beomseok simply pointed forward and said something you couldn't hear through the glass.
Then the taxi pulled away, merging into traffic, following the same route the black car had taken.
You stood there, your hand still raised, your heart pounding, Beomseok's words echoing in your head.
What if something bad happens to him?
The question was a knife, twisting in your chest. Because Beomseok was right. Something could happen to Suho. Something had happened to Suho. The cut on his arm was still healing, the scab still fresh, a reminder of how quickly things could go wrong.
Maybe he was right, you thought, and the guilt settled cruelly into your stomach like a stone. Maybe we should have just used the money. Maybe we should have just paid them and been done with it.
But even as you thought it, you knew it wasn't true. Paying them wouldn't solve anything; it would just delay the inevitable, buy you a few weeks of peace before the demands started again, before the threats escalated, before the violence became something worse.
But if something happens to Suho—
A hand wrapped around yours, warm and solid, fingers intertwining with your own.
You looked down. Sieun's hand was smaller than yours, paler, the fingers slender and delicate, but the grip was firm, grounding, like an anchor in a storm.
Sieun wasn't looking at you.
His gaze was fixed on the road ahead, on the direction the taxi had gone, on the path you needed to follow, but his hand was in yours, and he wasn't letting go.
"Let's go," Sieun said.
You looked at him for a long moment — at the set of his jaw, the steadiness in his eyes, the quiet determination that radiated from him like heat from a fire. And something in your chest loosened, just a little.
He's scared too, you realized. He's just as scared as I am. But he's not letting it stop him.
You nodded, not trusting your voice, and tightened your grip on Sieun's hand.
Then Sieun started running.
You had never seen him run like this before, not with purpose, not with desperation. Sieun hated physical exertion. He complained about walking up the stairs to the second floor. He took the elevator whenever possible. He moved through the world at his own pace, unhurried.
But now Sieun was running. Sprinting, really, his legs pumping, his breath coming in quick bursts, his hand pulling you along beside him.
You ran past the school gates, past the cluster of students still lingering on the sidewalk, past the shops and restaurants that lined the street. The police station was somewhere ahead — you weren't really sure how far, you weren't sure how long it would take — but Sieun seemed to know where he was going, his gaze fixed forward, his grip unrelenting.
You ran with him, your footsteps falling into sync, your breath fogging the air.
The sun was still shining, the sky still blue, but the world had narrowed to this; the warmth of Sieun's hand in yours, the thunder of your own heart in your ears, the desperate, burning need to get to Suho before it was too late.
We're coming, you thought, your lungs burning, your legs aching, your mind fixed on a single point. Suho, we're coming. Just hold on. Just stay safe. Just—
You ran faster, pulling Sieun along, and together you disappeared into the afternoon light.
previous masterlist next
note ∘ ∘ ∘ words can't even describe how much i hate this chapter ... like i struggled with it the entire time but somehow it still ended up being 10k words in the end so?? i guess it got a little out of hand
Your boyfriend is so humble it makes you sick. He wins tournaments, makes bank, and still acts like showing up in anything nicer than a hoodie is a national crisis. Oh, and you just discovered he can also be jealous. Crazy, right?
WARNINGS ◦ we all know my cutie pie right here is autistic right so keep that in mind pls ◦ rich!reader ◦ jealousy ◦ anxiety themes.
1,191 ━━━━━ drabble kim geunwoo x hong!reader
۶ৎ 𝓜 , i love my established couple so i'll keep writing them forever idc. i hope you can enjoy this, i still didn't finished the second season because time has clearly not been my ally but i couldn't sit still anymore so i decided to drop this fluffy drabble to calm my nerves. enjoy :D
summary: Your life was never perfect. You hate your job and spend all your free time inserting yourself into your best friend's (Gunwoo) life. But your hopeless crush is hardly your biggest worry once loan sharks come to Gunwoo's mom cafe.
pairing: eventual gunwoo x reader x woojin (slow slow slow burn tho)
genre: typical canon angst, fluff
word count: 3.6k
warnings: 18+, explicit language, lots of violence, fighting, vague description of injuries, blood
author's note: i'm rewatching bloodhounds season 1 and am using it as a way to get back into writing. probs bad characterization and writing. i haven't seen season 2 yet. made the reader work at a marketing company?? without knowing anything about marketing. this is just for fun be nice. i'm writing a chapter per episode but idk if i'll upload. this is probs closer to oc than reader insert but like we can all be badass together trust. NOT EDITED -oops (but I promise it's more readable than this author's note trust)
The day started out how you would imagine your favorite day begins. First, Gunwoo calls you repeatedly until you wake up. This takes about three times for you to gain consciousness and then one more time for you to actually pick up the phone on time.
“What,” you say half into your pillow, not yet ready to face the day.
“Good morning,” Gunwoo responds, full of energy. “Woojin and I were about to get lunch together. Wanna come with?”
You allow yourself a minute to process his sentence, Woojin - aka the man he just beat in his boxing match yesterday? That surely can’t be right.
“Woojin?” You question, finally stretching your limbs out and waking up fully.
“Ya,” Gunwoo replies. “He’s another boxer and friend. We’ll come pick you up for lunch.”
You manage to stand up and shuffle towards your bathroom. The work week really did a number on you, and despite sleeping for so long today, the stress and sleep deprivation are very apparent when you see your reflection. You may need a shower and multiple layers of makeup if you don’t want Gunwoo to fuss over you at lunch.
“What time will you be here?” You ask once Gunwoo is done mumbling to Woojin on the other side of the phone. “I’m just getting up now, so I need to get ready.”
“Just now?” Gunwoo questions. “Take your time, but let us in. We are already outside.”
You can hear the smile in his voice and not long after hear a knock at the door. Rolling your eyes, you hang up the phone. Attempting to fix your hair and posture doesn’t work, so you give up and go to meet the men at your front door.
“Hey,” You say, inviting the two guys inside.
Woojin very respectfully introduces himself and quickly gets comfortable in your tiny apartment. It’s a small place, one bedroom and a common area that serves as both your kitchen and living room. But it works for you, and it’s not often that you have two boxers taking up all the space. Despite their similar size, Woojin seems to take up more space than Gunwoo. He’s not a bad looking guy, tall with curly hair, and he comes off as very charming. It’s no surprise that Gunwoo latched onto him.
Excusing yourself to finish getting ready, you let the guys make themselves comfortable in your living area. You hear them chat nonstop through the whole process, and it makes you smile to hear Gunwoo connecting with someone who shares a lot of his passions and beliefs. Part of you wishes that you could be in that part of Gunwoo’s life a little more, but it’s never anything you think too much about. Because time and time again, Gunwoo seems to be always centering you in his life.
The walk to lunch is calm, the guys walk side by side and are debating their favorite boxers. Any passerby would assume they’ve known each other for a lot longer than 24 hours. Once we get to a BBQ place for lunch, you break up the duo by sitting next to Gunwoo, who is already bickering with Woojin about the correct grilling technique.
“So how long have you two known each other?” Woojin asks bored with the grill debate. “And what’s the story? Lovers? Exs? Something complicated?”
Woojin directs this question to you. Either wanting to include you in the conversation finally or trying to figure out if you can handle his louder and more obnoxious sides of his personality. The question causes Gunwoo to start choking on his spit. He immediately starts blushing.
“Friends since high school,” You respond unfazed. It’s not like you’ve never been asked this before. “And no past or present relationship.”
You state it as fact. Part of you wants to say it’s complicated because, well, isn’t it? Gunwoo is the only person who is a constant in your life outside of work, his mother loves you, and you spend most of your waking hours talking to him or thinking about talking to him. But you’ve never crossed that line. Well, mostly. It’s never been crossed in a way that counts.
“Ah,” Woojin responds, choosing to ignore Gunwoo’s dramatic reaction. “I only assumed because of how attractive you are, Sunshine.”
This makes Gunwoo start coughing again and whip his head towards Woojin. You don’t think he’s trying to make advances on you right now, but Gunwoo is obviously not convinced. You don’t mind the nickname, it could be a lot worse, so you gloss over this comment.
“What’s the story with you two?” You ask Woojin. “Did him kicking your ass just really do it for you or?”
This makes Woojin laugh so hard he throws his head back. Gunwoo is blushing again and dramatically throws his arms out between both of you.
“YA,” Gunwoo says far too loudly and then shrinks himself down slightly. “That’s enough, you’ve both proven yourselves, weapons set to stun please.”
You and Woojin laugh, but give in to Gunwoo. And the rest of the lunch goes by without any more insults or pissing contests. After the lunch was done, you can honestly say that you like Woojin now. And despite not exchanging contact information or much more than a respectful head nod, you feel like you two are friends now. Okay, maybe not fully friends yet, but something close. Like friends-in-law.
Outside of the restaurant, Gunwoo pulls you into a big hug. His hugs are the best. All you feel is a soft hoodie over hard muscle. It feels like being hugged by a weighted blanket.
“Let us walk you home,” Gunwoo says, still smothering you. “The streets feel extra dangerous lately.”
“Don’t bother,” You say, pushing yourself free from the hug. “I’m headed to the cafe anyway.”
Gunwoo pouts very dramatically. Meanwhile, Woojin is awkwardly standing a couple of feet away. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and unsuccessfully trying to look like he’s not listening.
“Go home and rest if you are tired,” Gunwoo says.
“I’m not tired,” You reply. “Plus Eomma will make me a coffee.”
Gunwoo tries to open his mouth to argue, but you wave him off. Giving Woojin a small wave, you spin around and start walking towards the cafe. The truth is that you are heading to the cafe to help out. Or at least do as much as Ms. Yoon allows. And you won’t get paid, even when she tries to offer, you refuse. She’s already done so much for you over the years. It’s still miles better than your real job at a marketing company. It seems impressive on paper, but mostly you just file paperwork, write emails, and do coffee runs. This is what is to be expected as an intern right out of college. It’s a job, that pays enough to get by and fits into what is expected of you. So you keep your head down and suffer through it Monday-Friday and then find some relief when you can help out at the cafe over the weekend. The soul crushing feeling is normal, it’s called working and if you stick it out for long enough, you can start to help Gunwoo and his mom financially. And they are worth every sacrifice.
You make it to the cafe in one piece, despite the apparent danger that Gunwoo warned you about, and put on a bright smile as you walk in.
“Eomma,” You say walking up to the counter. “I’m here.”
Ms. Yoon rounds the counter to pull you into a hug. There aren’t any customers right now so she gives you a big, meaningful hug. And when she pulls away she’s wearing a pout not all that different from the one Gunwoo just gave you.
“You are getting thinner, and you look tired,” She always fusses over you. “Is your job overworking you? Head home and get some rest.”
You dismiss her concerns with the wave of your hand before settling down at one of the tables.
“You and your son worry too much,” You say. “What can I help with today.”
Ms. Yoon shakes her head and ignores your question entirely. She heads back behind the counter and starts making you a coffee. It takes multiple minutes of back and forth until she allows you to sweep the floors for her. You spend the better part of the rest of the day moving between doing whatever little tasks Ms. Yoon allows and sitting with your laptop doing some work. You are attempting to write a pitch, a new company is partnering with your marketing team soon, and your boss is accepting pitch ideas for the new product line. The pitch you are developing would move the current project in a whole different direction, but you truly believe it has potential. Everyone else who will be presenting pitches this week is a real employee, mostly managers, but you believe in your ideas and want a chance to prove yourself. Hence, writing a detailed pitch during your usual precious weekend free time.
A couple of hours pass, and you don’t even notice the sunset. It’s now completely dark outside. Ms. Yoon sits across from you and passes you a glass of water and a muffin.
“You are working too hard,” She pesters. “Gunwoo should be here soon. Let him walk you home.”
“I’m working on a pitch,” You try to give her your best sad puppy look, “Let me stay while you close up. We can all leave together.”
“You know, I applied for a loan,” She said proudly. “One that is supposed to help small businesses, so you won’t have to worry about me as much, okay?”
“A loan?” You close your laptop to give her your full attention. “What kind of loan? Does Gunwoo know?”
This immediately upsets her, and she stands up to continue working on closing up. You pack your things, straighten my table, and then stand next to her.
“Eomma,” You say softly, you try not to panic, but there have just been so many scams lately. Really dangerous ones.
“I can take care of myself,” Ms. Yoon says. “I won’t stand by and watch you and Gunwoo work yourselves to death for me. I’m gonna fix this place up and start making real money.”
You reach out and rub her arm. She’s always been motivated to try and make your and Gunwoo’s lives better. You are about to tell her that we will all figure this out together when the bell rings, signaling someone entering the cafe.
“I’m sorry we are closed,” Ms. Yoon says, but when she looks up, you can tell that she recognizes the stranger. “Oh, hello.”
The strange man walks closer. He’s some businessman in a suit and glasses. Looking over his shoulder, you see 8-10 more men outside, all dressed in black. You put yourself between Ms. Yoon and the suit man.
“Why didn’t you keep your promise?” He says angrily, “You agreed to an extension fee in exchange for a lower interest rate.”
Your fight or flight kicks in. This is bad, very, very bad. He gets closer, demanding more money. You don’t understand everything he’s saying to Ms. Yoon, but it’s bad. 40 million in interest. Late fees. He’s angry. And a major asshole.
“We are closed,” You say firmly. “Leave now.”
“Do you have that kind of money?” He yells. “We did this out of the goodness of our hearts.”
“I’ll call the police,” You somehow manage not to flinch, but Ms. Yoon is shaking behind you. “Get out now.”
He laughs, privately to himself. And then very calmly walks back out of the cafe. You turn to Ms. Yoon and attempt to calm her down.
“Call Gunwoo,” You say softly. “It’s gonna be okay, just call him.”
You turn to look outside and make eye contact with the suit guy as someone else throws the first brick through the window. The first one was the scariest. Ms. Yoon screams and is frantically trying to talk to Gunwoo. Separating yourself from your fear, you turn on your cold and calculating mindset. Without thinking much about it, you use your own body to cover Ms. Yoon from the glass and chairs that are being thrown around. But eventually, the destruction of the cafe isn’t enough, and the men turn their attention to you two huddled in the back corner. The fight instinct kicks in, and you grab anything to defend yourself with. It ends up being a chair leg, which is efficient enough. But it’s been years since you were last in a fight, and there are just too many men. They grab hold of Ms. Yoon and threaten her for your corporation. Only then does the suit man come back into the cafe. His goons force Ms. Yoon and you to sit at a table across from him.
“Quite the little fighter,” Suit Man says, eyeing you up and down.
“She’s not involved in this,” Ms. Yoon says. “Let her go.”
You attempt to fight this, but as soon as you open your mouth, someone grabs you by the hair and pulls your head back. Apparently, talking is not allowed for you.
“If you aren’t involved,” Suit Man says, “I don’t want to hear your voice.”
Suit Man then starts going on and on about how much money Ms. Yoon owes and all of the terrible things that will happen if she doesn’t pay. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Gunwoo, already fighting all of the guys on the street. Ten of them at least, all at once. In the split moment your attention is elsewhere, Suit Man grabs Ms. Yoon and presses her face into the table. Suddenly free of the goons standing behind you, they all went to fight Gunwoo. You lung forward and knock Suit Man onto the floor. Fighting with Suit Man proves to be quite the task. He plays dirty, throwing glass pieces and aiming kicks at your face. But with your survival instincts working overtime, you fight a little dirty too. Rolling around on the floor together, you bite his arm when he tries to choke you and elbow his face, aiming for the glasses. You struggle until Gunwoo pulls Suit Man off of you and pins him to the wall. He attempts to get some answers from him as you make sure Ms. Yoon is okay. Other than being really shaken up, she seems to be uninjured.
Then the boss walks in. He’s older, reeks of blood money, and is followed closely by the biggest man you’ve ever seen. Gunwoo immediately moves to stand protectively in front of you and Ms. Yoon. The boss guy is attempting to talk to Gunwoo, but you can’t keep up. Ms. Yoon is crying in your ear, and you’ve been thrown around a little too much. The ringing in your ears isn’t a great sign. When the boss sends the big man after Gunwoo, you have half a mind to grab Ms. Yoon and run as far as possible. The flight instincts are kicking in, but Gunwoo doesn’t even look scared as he prepares to fight the big man.
And then the big guy lands his first punch, and Gunwoo is sent flying into the cafe’s counter. The fight is back, and you make it two whole steps towards the big guy before Suit Man grabs you by the collar, yanking you back. He gets your arms pinned and kneels you on the floor so you are helpless to watch as the big guy beats the shit out of Gunwoo.
He is going to die. One more punch and he’s going to die. The newfound panic gives you strength. Throwing your head back, you make contact with Suit Man’s face and hear a loud crack. But it’s not enough, he slips up for a second, making you believe you are free, but recovers quickly and throws you into the corner of the cafe. Behind the counter, away from Gunwoo and Ms. Yoon. Every time you try to stand, he kicks you. So you stop trying to get up. Even when it sounds like the fight on the other side of the counter is over. Even when Ms. Yoon starts screaming louder. Even when you hear Gunwoo cry out in pain.
Eventually, the footsteps start retreating. You hear the men pile back into the van and drive off. Ms. Yoon rushes over to Gunwoo and starts sobbing. The fear that he might be dead on the other side of this counter keeps you down. Why would you ever try to pick yourself up in a world Gunwoo isn’t in?
“Mama, I’m okay,” Gunwoo says in a very pained voice. “Where’s Y/N?”
You pull yourself up. Through the pain in your ribs and the glass on the floor, start walking over to Gunwoo. He’s slowly sitting up from the floor. Ms. Yoon is crying over him, and he has a huge cut on the side of his face. There’s so much blood.
“You need to go to the hospital,” Gunwoo says as soon as you make eye contact. “No cops.”
“No cops,” You respond, you don’t need the reason. He’s done more than enough to earn your blind trust. “I’ll call a taxi?”
Ms. Yoon starts to help Gunwoo up from the floor very slowly. You find a dishcloth that isn’t covered in glass and press it to his wound. He flinches but holds your hand there. Ms. Yoon busies herself calling a taxi, or maybe a friend with a car, and Gunwoo just stares at you.
“I’m sorry,” He says quietly. “You should run while you still can.”
“I’m not running,” You respond firmly. “I’m glad I was here.”
He doesn’t respond, and you end up just staring into each other’s eyes for a couple of seconds. Until Ms. Yoon is off the phone and starts panicking all over again.
The rest of the night is a blur. All three of you make it to the hospital relatively quickly. You spend a couple of hours in the waiting room, and then Gunwoo is in and out of the ER relatively quickly. It takes twice as long for you. Bruised ribs and a concussion are your official diagnosis. It hurts like hell, but you’ve had worse, and none of the smaller cuts or bruises did any significant damage. Although nurses spent a good hour picking all of the glass out of you.
Gunwoo and his mom are still waiting for you when the doctors finally let you leave. He pulls you into a very gentle hug. Ms. Yoon starts sobbing immediately.
“I’m so so sorry, honey,” she says through sobs, “This should have never happened to you. To either of you.”
“Eomma,” You say, pulling out of Gunwoo’s arms. “I’ll always protect you, okay?”
She very gently hugs you and starts crying all over again. You make eye contact with Gunwoo over her head. He has a huge bandage on his face and looks physically and emotionally beaten.
“Stay with us tonight,” Gunwoo says softly. “You can have my bed, just be close tonight.”
“I wish, but” You check the time on your phone, which miraculously survived the fights. “I have work in like 5 hours, so I’d better go make myself presentable.”
Gunwoo and Ms. Yoon take turns trying to convince you to call in sick to work for the entire time it takes to leave the hospital. And then again, once you all pile into a taxi together. You try to let them convince you, but mainly just ignore it. The truth is that you could work from home tomorrow, but that requires your laptop. And you are pretty sure you saw your bag being thrown around in the chaos of tonight. Now you’ll have to work up a sob story about how the laptop broke and walk into the office with your head down to ask for forgiveness (and a new laptop). This also means that most of your pitch is now lost too. You didn’t save it before closing your laptop, so now it’s gone forever. On a normal day, you could probably rewrite it, but the doctor said 1 week of brain fog is common for people with concussions. So you’ll have to power through. Work is more important now than ever. You all will have to come up with one million won somehow.
You get to your apartment, and Gunwoo insists on walking you up to your door. Normally, you’d fight this more, but it’s comforting to have him around.
“Are you going to be okay?” He asks once you get your door open. It takes three tries to find the right key, and then two more tries to put it in correctly. “Text me every hour, so I know you haven’t fallen into a coma.”
“I’ve lived through worse,” You say, slipping your shoes off as Gunwoo watches from the doorway. “I’ll be working, so you might not hear from me.”
“I’m going back for a check-up at 11 am,” Gunwoo says. “Will you have a lunch break? I can bring you something.”
“Let me know how the appointment goes.” You walk back towards him and pull him into a comforting hug. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll rest after work, and text you every other hour.”
This seems to calm him a bit, and he gently pats your hair before he walks off quietly. You close your door and sit in the silence of your apartment for a bit. This used to be your life, more or less. You left it behind, though. Well, it’s more accurate that you were pulled and dragged out of it, kicking and screaming. It feels worse this time, though. It’s starting. That’s what the gut feeling is saying. It’s starting.
You shake it off and head into your apartment to get ready for your long day ahead.
warnings: humiliation kink, edging, oral (m & f), sex toys mentions, choking, sex positions
18+mdni
a/n: i might make alan and/or baekjeong ones next
pairing: Hong Woojin x female reader
my masterlist
sfw:
Woojin is the type of person to try to make you laugh with his stupid jokes. Especially if you’re mad at him he does this to lighten the mood.
He kinda has a hard time to talk about his feelings so it might take him some time to tell you how he feels.
He loves taking you out on dates. Sometimes it’s an expensive steak house other times it’s the arcade but he always wants you to have fun.
Woojin loves when you wear his clothes and he loves it even more when they smell like you afterwards.
Something that he would never admit is that he loves doing cringy couple trends with you. Like when you tell him you want to do one he would complain while doing it but when he misses you he always rewatches them.
nsfw:
he would lowkey have a humiliation kink. Maybe not public humiliation but like he loves seeing you embarrassed.
Woojin would have the biggest edging kink. Like he’d tie you to the bed post and just edge you for hours and hours and he would also vary from a vibrator to a dildo to his fingers.
He’s huge. It still takes like at least 5 minutes for you to get used to him.
He loves oral. Honestly he prefers receiving than giving but he won’t mind either.
If you’re into it he would love choking you like just imagine, him taking you from behind and then pulling you up with his biceps while whispering what he’s gonna do to you.
Woojin also loves filling you up. Maybe not with intention of pregnancy but he just loves seeing it drip out of you.
His favorite sex positions would be missionary, doggy, cowgirl, spooning.
Naturally, he’s not expressive; so affection shows up in actions more than words. If he cares about you, he’ll quietly make sure you’re safe, fed and out of trouble.
He’s very protective, sometimes to a fault. He might step in even when it’s not necessary, especially if he senses danger.
Could come off as controlling at times, but it’s rooted in fear of losing people rather than ego.
He’s not big on long talks or emotionally discussions—more likely to say something simple like “did you eat?” Instead of “I care about you”.
Physical affection with him would be subtle—small gestures like standing close, guiding someone through a crowd, or checking in silently.
He experiences difficulty balancing his dangerous life style with a relationship; he might try to keep distance to protect you.
With the right person, he’d slowly learn that relying on someone isn’t weakness—overtime, he’d become more open, not dramatically but in quiet, meaningful ways.
I hope this was okay! baek-jeong is a difficult character to write for. As always, my requests are open. Credits to @suupersonic for the last divider.
Unfortunately, I didn't manage to finish chapter 2 of "You Will See the Stars." Studying at university took up too much of my time. The chapter should be up soon, though. Sorry T^T
warnings: fluff! smut! mdni! i am not responsible for the media you consume! enjoy!💗
𑣲⋆ doesn’t really know how to gift gifts. he doesn’t really understand the meaning of gifting flowers when he can pre-order you the newest update for your laptop
𑣲⋆ this guy genuinely has anger issues. frequent outbursts that lead to yelling for no reason.
𑣲⋆ he’s definitely an argument starter :P he’s soooooo toxic, like, he’d take all of his anger out on you. victimizes himself. cries after arguing and when he sees you cry, he’s all like “oh so i’m the problem now??”
𑣲⋆ canon but if you take a while to respond, he WILL track your location. picture this— you’re out with your friends, you don’t see allen’s texts and when you finally open the chat you see 1000 messages from him. half of them are screenshots that he took from the city cameras that he hacked, seeing yourself in them
𑣲⋆ he’s a cat dad prove me otherwise :cc he treats the kitty like she’s his actual daughter
𑣲⋆ hot take but yall met on discord and you were his e-girl at first. he’s just that guy. cannot do irl interactions
𑣲⋆ he is generally a very messy person. his room his a mess. don’t get me started on that desk boi😹 dirty socks in the kitchen, leaves trash wherever he goes… and he’d expect you to clean after him. gets mad if you don’t
𑣲⋆ i feel like he’s a very anxious person
𑣲⋆ besides the anger issues and the arguments stuff, i feel like he’s a very soft boyfriend. he’s gentle with you. his ideal date nights are playing on his switch while eating the unhealthiest foods ever
𑣲⋆ sends you memes😭 they’re so unfunny but you don’t have the heart to tell him so you just reply to every one
𑣲⋆ he lowkey smokes a lot of weed. you two have your own sessions late at night, smoking while kissing or watching a movie or sum
𑣲⋆ he LOVES head scratches. if he could die right there, he would.
𑣲⋆ always asks you to paint his nails! black mostly, but won’t interfere if you wanna do glitter pink this time
nsfw!
𑣲⋆ he would ask for nudes 24/7. if you say that you’re busy, he’d spam your phone with :(( emojis
𑣲⋆ loves when you give him a blowjob under the desk while he does his computer work or simply games. it’s like the peak point of maximum pleasure for him
𑣲⋆ cums quickly. doesn’t last that long :cc
𑣲⋆ OH HE’S A WHINEEEER. you CANNOT prove me otherwise. he whines in your ear all. the. time. moans too but the WHINESSSS.
𑣲⋆ he lowkey submissive👀 like yesssss queen take care of him while he’s under you whining like a pillow princess. he once gathered the courage to slap your ass while backshots. he got so embarrassed he never did it again😭
𑣲⋆ blabbers A LOT of nasty, slurred shit when he’s about to cum. his thoughts aren’t clear and he just says whatever comes to his mind from immense pleasure
𑣲⋆ hear me out— he’s a head pusher😍
𑣲⋆ fav positions are cowgirl, riding… any position that requires for you to be on top
𑣲⋆ has a HUGEEEE praise kink. degradation too?👀
𑣲⋆ okay listen… would send you videos of him jerking himself with sound on at like 12pm🧍🏻♀️sends them at the mostttt random times ever.
𑣲⋆ a lil cute scenario, i think that he’d adore when you sit on his lap with a cutie lingerie set on while he’s gaming. grinds against you like a bunny in heat too. would edge like that until he loses his temper and fucks you there lol (the lace set stays on…)
𑣲⋆ he’s 100% a ‘wrap it before you tap it’ guy. he stands by the statement that sex without a condom feels better, but cannot think of a baby right now with all the pressure he has. so he prefers to be safe
৻ꪆ bonus— after y’all started dating, he admitted to hacking your phone camera while you guys were in a situationship. he watched you and jerked off to you. you should have been creeped out, but… were you?
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 a/n— hey guys!🪷 this is a little something to keep you guys entertained while i work on the bigger allen project😚 i have like three allen requests rn so i’ll be working one by one while keeping up with the cortis updates as well hehe :PP
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 i’m also sick right now guys so please understand that i may be working a little slower😣 excuse my grammar! i hope this doesn’t flop lol😭
✿ taglist!! @coupsdomiwife 💗 @d1seongjeglazer 💗 ⤶ currently working on their request hehe :p
genre: a bit of angst but mostly fluff and smut, established relationship, canon adjacent.
wc: 2.9k
warnings: explicit sex content, light spoilers from season 2, switch!woo-jin, handjob, stomatophilia (playing with other's mouth), edging, a bit bossy reader, woo-jin is the softest boyfriend ever.
synopsis: After having his dominant hand slashed, Woo-jin no longer feels confident enough to contribute to the operation. Worried about him, you decide that you need to help him relax.
a/n: my first smut aaa i'm not sure how this turned out but i like the most of it!! I needed to post this so I can give love to my other drafts, also do I have an audience for switch guys? i love reading about that, but I hardly see it-
Woo-jin's gaze was fixed on his phone, scrolling through messages, rereading the same words from hours past over and over. There was nothing new, but he kept checking anyway. His grip on the device was weak—he still wasn't comfortable using his dominant hand.
"Woo-jin." You finally murmured, after what felt like an eternity of sharing the hotel room in silence. Normally, he was the one who started conversations, the one who called your name with that wide, easy smile. But for the past two nights, your boyfriend had remained almost completely withdrawn.
Your call wasn't ignored. Even if emotionally he had already checked out, he was never truly unreachable when it came to you. Like a loyal little dog that never strays far from its owner. Lifting his eyes from the screen, the trainer now had his focus entirely on you.
"Why don't you rest a bit? I'll let you know if anything comes up."
"I can't. You know I can't, jagi." Woo-jin's voice was clearly tired, but stubborn in its conviction.
The failure that had nearly cost him his hand haunted him—not just because it had set back the operation to uncover details about what was really going on, but because it had left him weak, helpless. And like that loyal little dog, he was also the kind who protected his own.
After being stabbed in his left hand, he had temporarily lost his greatest strength: his left hook. The feeling of helplessness consumed him. He wanted to help. He wanted to fight back somehow, even if he couldn't do it the way he used to.
"And I also know your recovery will go faster if you listen to me and get some sleep." You insisted. This was nothing new. He always put himself in these situations because of his protective nature—that jeong-driven loyalty—unable to rest until he felt everything was okay.
Woo-jin sighed, tilting his head back against the luxurious headboard of the king-size bed you shared. "I can't sleep. Not with everything going on." He turned his head to look at you. Those gentle eyes were screaming exhaustion. "It feels wrong to relax while Gun-woo is going through all that. If he's not resting, why should I?"
Your heart tightened with a mix of emotions. His pain was yours too. All that guilt had piled up in your chest. The helplessness was familiar. But at the same time, a warmth spread through you. It felt wrong to fall for someone all over again as they were falling apart—but there you were. That man's fragility and loyalty always undid you, no matter how many times you witnessed those very virtues.
You couldn't stop your hand as it rose to his cheek. Bruised as he looked, he still seemed like the most precious person in the world.
"Because we're all counting on you to come back stronger." You murmured, pouring every bit of love you could into the words, your thumb moving delicately over his worn skin.
In response, his eyes softened further, as if there was no limit to the tenderness in the way he looked at you. Woo-jin brought his bandaged hand up to press yours against his face.
"You always know what to say, don't you, jagi?" His tone had shifted now. More hopeful.
"I learned from a certain marine." You whispered back, touching on the thing he was proudest of—the title he had permanently inked into his skin, a mark of honor that even a knife couldn't erase.
Woo-jin's face lit up. There it was: the smile that stole your breath every single time.
"He sounds like a great guy."
You should have stopped. It was already late, and the situation wasn't exactly private. Even though you were sharing a room, the series of events hadn't given you a space for a relaxing moment as a couple. Woo-jin had requested, as an extra security measure, to share the hotel room with you. In theory, each of you would have had an individual room, just another person under the watch of the security teams.
Well, it wasn't exactly your fault this time.
"He is the greatest guy in the world." You murmured with a tone of near-adoration, finally realizing that you had managed to bring a little calm into the storm that was Woo-jin's heart in that very moment. Your hand risked leaving his cheek, but the trainer kept it pressed in place, holding it with his own.
His eyes studied your face, trying to understand. This wasn't the ideal moment for a more physical display of affection. And ever since everything had started, you had held back from making such moves, all for what you thought was best for the boxer. But maybe thinking you knew wasn't the same as truly understanding what Woo-jin needed.
"Jagi." The way he called you so tenderly danced off his lips. You could feel the weight behind it. "If I ask you to help me forget everything for the next few minutes, does that kick me out of the running for the greatest guy in the world?" He made a small joke at his own expense, but deep down, the moral judgment was real.
"No." You answered almost automatically. Not out of personal desperation, but out of the need to assure him that he would never be wrong to seek comfort in your arms.
That was when Woo-jin's hand, the one holding yours, began to slide down your arm toward your shoulder, pausing for a few seconds. He gave you a lazy, almost sleepy smile before wrapping his arm around your back, his fingers tracing a slow, tender path down your spine. Finally, Woo-jin gave a gentle tug, pulling your body closer to his and letting his face rest against your neck.
It was just a hug, but you could tell just from the way he lightly nuzzled his nose down to the curve of your shoulder that it was loaded with escapism. Woo-jin let his face rest against your skin for a while, then left a soft, smacking kiss. Then another. And another.
"I want one thing tonight. Just one."
You took a deep breath, focusing on listening to his request with every ounce of attention you could muster. If it could be done, you would do it. He let go of your skin for a moment and guided his lips to your ear. You could almost feel him smiling against it.
"Help me jerk off." All the mischief Woo-jin had been bottling up for the past few weeks had concentrated into that one sentence. All at once.
You didn't even have time to respond before he finally took your lips for himself, confident that you wouldn't mind the request. And honestly, hearing your boyfriend ask to play with his dick was the least strange thing you'd heard in days.
The kiss was slow, with teasing in all the right places. His tongue invaded yours with purpose, not at all polite about it. He was desperate, and neither of you knew how long it had been since he'd last felt this way. That much was clear from the way his teeth had also joined the equation, pulling at your lower lip again and again. With each small roughness, his hand would gently caress your back, his large palm sliding down slowly.
"Jagi, open your mouth for me." Woo-jin murmured as soon as you both ran out of air, as if he'd spent the entire kiss thinking about what he wanted to do next. You hesitated for a second, and he repeated himself, coaxing and needy. "Jagi…"
The command was swift. He didn't even let you process it. Your mouth opened, and he quickly pushed two fingers inside, pressing them against your soft tongue. That drew a gasp from you, and he just smiled, satisfied, watching your face twist in response as he added more pressure to his wrist.
"Come on, close your lips around them. I want to feel how warm your mouth is." Woo-jin's depravity climbed small flights of stairs, and he seemed in no rush to push you up them.
You didn't delay following the command, closing your lips around his long, calloused fingers. Your soft tongue soon noticed the small, scraped bruises scattered across his knuckles, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You were used to that battered texture of his hands—whether from training or from life—and as long as Woo-jin didn't pull away, neither would you.
He began a slow back-and-forth motion with his fingers, amused by your obedience. He didn't hold back from exploring the inside of your mouth with a sadistic calm, even playing with the insides of your cheeks, forcing a small bulge now and then, letting out a tiny, almost childish laugh.
"You're lucky I'm wrecked. Otherwise, I wouldn't stop at just this." Woo-jin whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, a small smacking sound echoing as your lips released his skin.
In a lazy motion, the boxer brought his saliva-coated fingers to his own mouth. Woo-jin savored your expression, feeling how you shuddered watching him clean his fingers with his own tongue.
"Jagi, you're staring too much. Do you like watching me do this? Or are you already imagining things?" Woo-jin poked at your self-control, daring you not to grab him. He loved teasing you, laughing with you, never at you.
"It's more like you're the one imagining things. Though, to be fair, you can't keep those things inside that little head of yours, can you?" You answered like a bratty kitten. He, the clingy dog; you, the sulky cat.
"Ouch." He raised his hands in mock pain, but he couldn't have been more entertained. How could he consider even five minutes of sex with his girlfriend without getting to tease her a little? "So much aggression, jagiya? I was just playing."
You pretended to turn your face away, faking a pout that didn't live in your heart. A push-and-pull game the two of you played from time to time, one you never seemed to tire of. Woo-jin loved the feeling of chasing you with crooked flirting, and you loved watching him try.
Woo-jin opened that small smile—the kind you only give when you're truly, deeply in love—and looked toward the nearby lamp. It was the only light in the middle of the darkness. And although he liked the feeling of looking at you, right now he just wanted you both to feel. No light, no eyes, no guide, nothing.
The boxer turned off the lamp without even letting you breathe, then leaned back against your neck. The darkness seemed to heighten every sense, and you shivered even more as his nose traced over every small sensitive spot he knew affected you.
At some point, you felt his hand grip your wrist, his thumb sliding back and forth for a while like a slow request for consent, before finally taking control. The trainer's hand guided you exactly where you imagined it would: over the sweatpants he was wearing. You could already feel his eager erection, and he just sighed when he felt you rest your palm over the bulge.
"Look how I get with just this little bit, jagi. How could I hide any intention from you?" Oh, you knew how honest his body was. "I'd have to be dead to pretend I don't imagine you in a thousand and one ways I shouldn't. And even if I died, I'd still find a way to come back, just because I miss you that much."
Woo-jin could be quite the charmer when he wanted to, but there was something here beyond his usual flirting. He couldn't help but express just how much he craved you.
Your heart felt equally warm, tight from the confession you knew he meant with complete seriousness even as he delivered it in a teasing tone. In response, your hand expressed desire. You didn't hesitate to slip past his waistband and then past the inside of his underwear. Your eagerness always accelerated whenever he entered that intense, sincere mode. Woo-jin let out a small gasp at your intrusion, but didn't dare stop you.
Your hand slowly traveled down to the trainer's cock, your thumb pressing from the tip down to the base, where your fingers tightened around it. For a while, you stayed there. It was only a few brief seconds, but you knew that in Woo-jin's mind, it felt like torture—of the most delicious kind.
"Jagi, come on, start moving..." Woo-jin asked, coaxing and needy, but he didn't dare guide you actively, leaving you to play with him however you wanted.
You smiled. That guy never tired of entertaining you. Some moments, he attacked you without much scruple, wanting maximum pleasure, and at other times—like now—he left everything in your hands, teasing his own desire. But no matter which version of him he gave you, it was never exhausting.
Your hand grew tired of being so cruel and began the repeated path of rising to the tip and descending to the base. You could feel him grow even harder in your grip, pulsing eagerly. If he hadn't asked you for just a handjob, you would already be dropping your mouth onto him without a second thought.
Woo-jin's hips began to move in response. You thought about calling him out, telling him he should stay still, but you were equally tired of not touching your boyfriend. Even though you hadn't been apart through recent events, there had been a distance that was only now being bridged. A small minute of peace before waking up to the reality of the IKFC again.
Hearing his broken calls of your name and the way he moved without restraint against your hand was enough to satisfy you for now. That alone would give you material to last a good while. So you set your cruelty aside and focused on delivering the pleasure he so desperately wanted.
You didn't hold back the way you pumped his cock—firm and faster each time. Despite the darkness, you could almost see the way Woo-jin's face twisted, the way his eyes squeezed shut, the way he bit his own lip.
That was when you stopped your touch altogether. Oh, you couldn't help but smile when you heard your boyfriend's completely unrestrained complaint. Woo-jin tried to move his hips against your hand, but you didn't give in, leaving him even more frustrated.
"Jagiya, not tonight, please!" He begged you, desperate, his lips pressed right against your ear—loud enough for you to understand how affected he was, quiet enough not to draw the attention of the security guards patrolling the hallway.
That feeling of power was addictive, but you knew better than to push further. This wasn't the time to tease the trainer, no matter how much he was enjoying it. This was supposed to last only a few brief minutes—just enough for him to relax and finally agree to rest after so many sleepless nights.
"Crybaby." You whispered back, but you weren't cruel anymore. It was time to give him what he wanted so badly.
Keeping your grip, your hand finally rose to rest around the pink, slick tip, already soaked with pre-cum. More and more, the desire to take that cock into your mouth haunted you, but you kept your composure.
Your finger pressed against the slit, back and forth, then in small circles. That pulled more desperate moans from the man in front of you, who was fighting with all his strength to keep his volume down. But fights with you weren't as simple as fights in the ring. You fought dirty.
His hips now thrust hard against your hand. If you fought dirty, he responded just as low, grinding against your control, showing just how wildly yours he was. Woo-jin then pulled you by the wrist—the one you were using to touch him—just enough for you to crash against his body. His breathing was ragged, and his body moved without filter.
"I'm going to come on your hand, jagi. I'm going to come all over this pretty hand."
"Then come." Your tone was bossy—exactly the way he most wanted to hear it.
Woojin sped up the movement of his hips in response to your answer. Even though he didn't need it anymore—now that he had your permission—nothing was holding him back from chasing his peak. The trainer was now moaning your name nonstop, every now and then trying to stifle it between his lips, but failing entirely.
It didn't take long for you to feel hot cum between your fingers, dripping thick and sticky. That sensation alone made your cunt grow wet, but tonight wasn't about you. And you knew perfectly well how to take care of yourself.
Woojin was breathing in ragged gasps, trying to recover from having come so much in your hand, but without a trace of regret. Sneakily, he nuzzled up to your neck, rubbing against you like a clingy little dog.
"Okay, jagiya. You've convinced me. I'll rest."
"Good. Otherwise, I would have kept going until you passed out." You gave a sideways smile, partly truthful in your words.
"Hm... another day." Woojin murmured, just as convinced of your truth. "After all this is over, I'll let you do whatever you want with me."
And you knew the trainer would. Not just when it came to sex. He would give you the world in every way possible.
The "You Will See the Stars" chapter should be up by Sunday. Keep your fingers crossed that I can stay strong mentally and that my inspiration doesn't die.
Author's Note: The Bloodhound boys are still relentlessly on my mind, so I wanted to write a little smutty something about how they would take care of you after you do them the honour of working out with them. Enjoy and please send me all your unhinged thoughts for these beautiful babies 💕
Gun Woo
- It would mean so much to Gun Woo for you to offer to work out with him one morning, his favourite person joining him for his favourite activity. He'd feel like he had an extra boost for every exercise, a wide beaming smile plastered on his face through every exhilarating movement. Unfortunately for you, Gun Woo has sort of forgotten how much exercise the average person can do before they are exhausted, and by the time he's satisfied that he's achieved his goals, you are absolutely wrecked.
- You're not sure how long it's been since you could feel you arms, your legs practically screaming at you every time you took a step, until you had to surrender to just lying on the yoga mat stretched out underneath you and waiting for the end to come. Gun Woo is so ridiculously full of enthusiasm as he comes over to you, wondering what you two should do with the rest of this perfect day, until he watches you try and fail to sit yourself up, and suddenly he realises he might have pushed you a little too far.
"Please can I help?" He asks softly, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt that he pushed you too far, worried you're upset with him for each of your many aches. But when you give him a loving smile and raise your arms for him to help you, he's immediately back to grinning, scooping you into his arms bridal-style and carrying you upstairs with you clutched tightly to his chest.
- "Do you want to shower first?" He asks bashfully as he set you down on your bed, watching you fight for your life to pull off your shirt with your arms completely incapable of any strength.
"Maybe you can help me some more?" You roll your eyes at Gun Woo like this was clearly his plan all along, who now looks at you with wide eyes as he realises what you're offering. The moment he thinks through all the opportunities ahead of him, he's violently nodding his head and crouching on the floor in front you, wasting no time easing your shorts down the soft skin of your legs, averting his lustful gaze as he unhooked your bra for you, like he hasn't seen you undressed a dozen times before.
"Thank you Woo," you sighed softly into his ear as he took your weight in his arms again, his face unable to hide his enthusiasm for your body and the intimacy between the two of you.
- He started the shower running as he stripped off his own clothes, the cold tiles against your back keeping you up right until he found you again, firm muscles pressing as tightly against you as he could. A strong grip found your waist and suddenly any showering was half-forgotten, an overwhelming need for your lips the only thing driving Gun Woo forward. The first kiss was slow, long, like he was refilling some unseen need that only your lips could provide. Each that followed was deeper, hungrier, his weight pressing into you and his hands tracing the shape of you, wanting nothing more than to embrace this closeness for as long as he could. You ran your fingers through his hair, spurring him on as he lifted you until your thighs could squeeze his waist, feeling the familiar weight of cock nudging against your folds as his body betrayed just how much this meant to him. Waking up early to spend time with him, letting him train you and keeping him company while he trained, trusting him to undress you and wash with you, feeling every inch of your skin pressed up against him;
- It was more love than Gun Woo knew what to do with when you let eyes meet his, wide and adoring, the simple word "please" slipping from your lips and letting him know you wanted this just as much as he did. In one swift movement his hips bucked up into you, stretching your walls and making your stomach flip. One strong arm wrapped under your hips, supporting you completely, letting Gun Woo thrust into you at his own desperate pace, as his free hand moved to find your clit, needing to feel you squeeze around him before he could enjoy filling you up. His pace was everything you needed, never rushed but more than enough to have the pressure mounting inside you, his lips capturing yours again and again to muffle the needy whines of his name that left you of their own volition. A man of few words, Gun Woo prefered to let out gentle moans and heavy breaths, his eyes so intensely fixed to yours, trying to express the depth of emotion he couldn't quite find the words for. You could feel the ache of your muscles melting away under the warm water and the building pressure in your core, euphoria washing over you as you came undone around him, thigh clenching tightly against his waist as you felt his hips stutter. One long, deep moan left Gun Woo as he bucked his hips frantically into you, burying himself deep inside you as his release came.
Woo Jin
- Afterglow washed over both of you as soft smiles and caressing hands continued into rubbing soap over each other, with Gun Woo convinced that this was the most perfect start to a day he had ever had.
- Unlike Gun Woo, Woo Jin is less focused on the actual chance to work out with you, and far more excited to have a chance to show off his skills to the person he always wants to impress the most.
- He'll make sure to warm you up properly, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around you to show you proper form more times than you can count, before finally he insists you let him show you a few boxing moves on the mat. He's pretty impressed with the way you move with him, taking his coaching very well and giving him the opportunity to show off some of his fancier moves and steps. He can feel his skin start to tingle as your little play fights continue, the way you look with the light sheen of sweat forming over your skin starting to make it difficult for him to focus. You find yourself having the exact same problem, the warmth in your body more due to your proximity to this skilled, muscular fighter, than anything to do with the exercise.
- Sweet, adoring Woo Jin finds himself so increasingly distracted by the tension building between his thighs that he manages to catch his foot as he attempts to dodge your moves, tipping over backwards onto the thick boxing mat beneath him and dragging you down with him. You manage to land with your hips straddling his, the usually confident, flirty fighter suddenly looking almost shy as he stares up at you with wide eyes, hands resting helplessly either side of you. You take the opportunity to lean forward until your lips almost meet his, the sound of your voice almost sending him to an early grave,
"So does that mean I win this round, coach?" Your smile is so mischievous as you let your lips drift down to land a soft kiss against his neck, and suddenly the limits of his self-control have been reached, his hips bucking up to meet yours in need of desperate relief.
"I'm pretty sure I'm the winner here." His voice is a deep haze of lust, hands greedily clutching at your ass so he can grind his aching manhood against you, the feel of your glistening kisses decorating his jaw sending electricity through his skin.
- You never have to tell Woo Jin what you need, he knows your body with the attention to detail of the finest coach in the world, reading into your every touch and expression. His face contorted into an excited smile as he withdrew his fingers from you and tugged your shorts down your legs until he could line himself up with your entrance, waiting for one last needy kiss before giving you exactly what you both needed. It didn't matter that you were on an exercise mat on the floor, the way he celebrated every inch of your body made every time you were with Woo Jin feel like the most romantic moment of your life, his love for you so clear in his every touch. You could feel the familiar tremble of his thighs as you reached the peak of your pleasure, crying out his name in ecstasy and pushing him over the edge, his hips slamming against yours a final few times before finally he collapsed on top of you, still smiling brightly and spilling sweet compliments from his lips.
"You feel like quite the prize to me, Woo Jin." You teased, finding his lips with yours and feeling him smile brightly into the kiss, taking the chance to roll you backwards until he was on top of you, the full weight of his muscles encircling you warmly. Each delighted kiss led to another as his hand skimmed down between your bodies, fingertips slipping underneath the waistband of your shorts, running over your entrance and finding you soaked already.
"I can't believe you're all mine." His words were almost reverent as his fingers dipped inside you, watching your reaction closely and drinking in every soft moan he drew from your lips. The pressure inside you began to build, the need to have Woo Jin closer overwhelming as you tugged at his shorts, pulling his hard length free and pumping him in your hand slowly, his body jerking with sensitivity at the sensation.
Woo Jin offered to exercise with you a lot more often after that!
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