Turtle

[missbalu]

Could you maybe add kang wooyoung in your … as your boyfriend series?

Kang Woo-young as your boyfriend

Summary: Whc boys as your boyfriends

Pairing: Kang Woo-young x Gn!reader Genre: Headcanons Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, Overprotective Behavior, Mild Jealousy, Mild Possessiveness/Jealousy, Physical Affection, Emotional Avoidance, Injury Care, Impulsivity/Reckless Decisions, Heated Arguments, Loyalty Issues , Touchy Boyfriend Woo-young. Masterlist yeon sieun | ahn suho | oh beomseok | kang woo-young | park humin | go hyuntak | seo juntae | geum seongje | na baekjin

Woo-young is the type to flirt constantly, even when you’re already dating. Teasing comments, smug grins, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders just to see you react—he lives for getting a response out of you.

He acts like nothing embarrasses him, but the second you sincerely compliment him? He freezes for half a second before acting cocky again to cover it up.

He absolutely loves physical affection. Not even in an overly romantic way at first—he just naturally gravitates toward touching you. Flicking your forehead, pulling you closer by your sleeve, leaning against you, messing with your hands when he’s bored.

Protective instinct goes crazy once he’s attached. He already has a confrontational personality, but dating you makes it worse because now he has someone he actually cares about losing.

If someone insults you, he’s immediately like: “What’d you say?” No hesitation. No calming down. He takes disrespect personally.

He tries to act cool about jealousy, but he’s terrible at hiding it. The moment somebody gets too friendly with you, he suddenly appears beside you out of nowhere with an arm around your waist like: “You done talking to them yet?”

Dates with him are rarely calm. He’s spontaneous and impulsive, so your relationship is full of random late-night outings, convenience store runs, wandering around the city with no plan, and him dragging you into dumb ideas.

He likes making you laugh more than anything. Even if he’s in a bad mood, he’ll still try to get a reaction out of you because your smile becomes weirdly important to him.

Underneath all the attitude, he gets attached hard. Once you become his safe person, he starts seeking you out automatically whenever something goes wrong.

He’s not naturally emotionally open, though. Vulnerability makes him uncomfortable, so instead of directly saying he’s struggling, he’ll just linger around you more quietly than usual.

When he’s upset, he gets restless. Pacing, picking fights easier, acting more irritable—but you notice he softens the second you touch him or speak gently to him.

He loves showing off in front of you. Fighting, sports, stupid dangerous stunts—part of him genuinely enjoys seeing you impressed, even if he pretends he “wasn’t trying.”

He’s the type to send random messages at ungodly hours: “You awake?” “Look outside.” And then he’s standing there with snacks because he was bored and wanted to see you.

If you patch up his injuries after fights, he gets unusually quiet. He watches you the entire time with this unreadable expression because he’s not used to being taken care of gently.

Arguments can get heated because he’s stubborn and reactive, but he cools down fast. He hates prolonged distance between you two more than he hates admitting he messed up.

Once he fully trusts you, his loyalty becomes intense. Even if he acts unserious most of the time, he’s the kind of boyfriend who would genuinely throw himself into danger for you without thinking twice.

Around other people, he acts cocky about the relationship. Around you privately? He’s softer than he’d ever admit.

[archivekoo]

REPS, SETS, AND YOU - JJK

in which jungkook fucks you in his home gym whilst taehyung is in the shower.

| PAIRING | : dom!jk x fem!reader

| GENRE | : pure, filthy smut inspired by tae’s insta post

| WARNINGS | : 18+, explicit smut, explicit language, sex against a mirror, fingering, multiple orgasms, cum play, protected sex, light choking, some degrading, jk has his hand over reader’s mouth most of the time, bending over, dirty talk, rough sex, kissing, mentions of masturbation

| WC | : 2.3k

| FROM ME | : i love tatted, big chested, muscly, THIIIICCCC shirtless jk.

19:52 - jungkook: come over?

of course, you were already on your way. jungkook loved to text you that randomly throughout the day whenever he felt like seeing you, no matter the hour or whether he knew you were busy. and every time, you’d show up. because jungkook was irresistible, intoxicating - and he had no doubt about it.

you didn’t really know what pin to put on your relationship with jungkook, you weren’t exactly dating. he called, you came. you called, he came. it was easier like that, less complicated.

trying to be serious with jungkook was practically impossible anyways. he was spoiled, incredibly wealthy (thanks to his parents), impatient, and overly bratty.

he lived in a massive penthouse, spent his days gaming or working out in his home gym with his equally wealthy friends, and went out to clubs or parties at night.

here you were, walking into his penthouse wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie - your post work outfit. you suspected he’d be in his gym, but you soon realised he wasn’t alone. nope, you heard laughing and talking - taehyung.

kim taehyung was one of jungkook’s other rich friends, he was around often enough for you to know he was three things: idiotic, childish, but also ridiculously good looking.

you rolled your eyes, what was he doing here? you always hated encountering his friends, it just made everything more awkward.

walking into the gym, you spot jungkook mid workout - shirtless, his shorts hanging low, sweat dripping down his abs, black calvin klein boxers peaking out. his arms are pumped, the veins bulging out. you then see taehyung, sprawled on a bench nearby, scrolling his phone.

jungkook instantly spots you in the mirror, his eyes darkening. "you came." the sweat sheening over his skin makes the ink of his tattoos pop - you drag your eyes down his sleeve, across his shoulder blades, over his ribs. every muscle is flexed, defined, hard. he catches you staring at him in the mirror, a knowing smirk touches his lips. he curls the dumbbell one last time, veins exploding in his forearm, before dropping it.

taehyung gets up from the bench and walks past you. "hey, sunshine." he smiles, tapping your shoulder on his way out. "i'm gonna hit the shower, see you."

as soon as the door clicks shut, the entire vibe shifts. the gym falls silent, echoing with the sound of your breathing. jungkook drops the weight, spinning around to face you. "c'mere."

you go over to him, he immediately pulls you onto his lap - already hard. “hey. i thought it was only you? taehyung is here.”

jungkook grinds up against you as soon as you’re sat, his hardness presses insistently between your thighs. his arms lock around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty chest. his lips begin to trail your neck. "he's in the shower." he murmurs. “won't hear a thing." he nips at your ear. “you said you were coming over."

you sigh, leaning into it. “yeah, but i thought you were alone.”

he pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours, jaw clenching. "i was alone. tae showed up unannounced thirty minutes ago to work out." his hands squeeze your hips. "i told him to leave, he wouldn't." he rocks you forward again - it’s subtle, desperate. his cock twitches against you through your thin leggings. "i can't wait anymore, i need you." his forehead drops to yours. “please.”

uncertainty fills your tone. “he’s still here, though.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, pulling you closer until your nose presses against his. his chest is hot, the muscles trembling slightly - the afterburn of his workout mixing with arousal. “he's in the bathroom, the shower’s running." his thumb gently rubs your hip bone. “we have time, y/n. quick." his lips brush yours, barely a kiss.

you pull away slightly. you don’t really want to have sex whilst taehyung is here, able to come in at any moment. it’d be so embarrassing, you might die on the spot. “but what if he comes back?”

“then he'll see." jungkook counters, his hand sliding up your thigh, under your hoodie. his touch is possessive. "he already knows i like you, thinks we're fucking anyway." the admission hangs heavy. you frown at that, but jungkook doesn’t care, his fingers find the waistband of your leggings. he doesn't wait, he slips two inside to find you wet. "see?"

“oh.” you moan softly, trying to focus on his touch instead of the thought of taehyung. it echoes slightly in the empty, mirror-lined room, the weights clink in the silence. jungkook's eyes lock onto yours in the reflection. he watches your face - lips parted, eyes fluttering as he starts to rub slow circles against your clit.

"look at us." he commands, his voice low and rough. “in every mirror. you’re so fucking pretty like this."

you look up, meeting the reflection of yourself - flushed, mouth open, breathing heavily - you can’t help but feel a little shy projected on the mirror like this. jungkook obviously notices. "don't hide." he murmurs, feeling you bury your face in his neck. he hooks his chin on your shoulder, forcing you to look at the reflection.

"watch." his fingers press deeper, faster. you see your legs spread over his massive thighs, his tattoos flexing as he works you. "see how pretty you look?" he whispers, biting your earlobe.

jungkook doubles his pace, circles becoming rapid, flicking across your clit with punishing precision. your body arches, your reflection shows your head falling back, eyes rolling. “that's it." he watches you crumble in the mirror. your thighs gripping his waist, your orgasm hitting hard. “look at yourself."

your thighs already start to shake, you whimper. “oh, fuck—“ jungkook covers your mouth with his free hand, still working you through the aftershocks, his lips curl against your ear.

"shhh." he breathes, amusement thick in his voice. "moaning like that...tae's gonna walk in and see you falling apart on my lap." his fingers slow, now lazily stroking, overstimulating. "what would he think?"

you’re too consumed with pleasure to reply, jungkook smiles. "you're supposed to be the quiet one, aren't you?" he teases lowly, feeling your pussy flutter around his fingers. "he'd never guess you make noises like that, like a little sex addict." he chuckles. "should i tell him?"

you roll your eyes. “fuck off.” but it’s muffled by his hand over your mouth.

jungkook laughs, his chest vibrating. "fuck off?" he removes his hand from your mouth. "you just came on my fingers and that's what you say? i think someone’s a little ungrateful." he pulls his hand out of your leggings and brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you, then hums “sweet.”

you keep looking around at the mirrors, they almost intrigue you a little. jungkook watches you in the reflection. your swollen lips, the flush creeping down your neck. your eyes - half lidded, dazed, yet locked on the sight of you. him now behind you, fingers slick with you. “it's hot, isn't it?" he murmurs. "seeing yourself like this. knowing anyone could walk in and see what i do to you. anyone able to see how good you are for me."

you bite your lip and nod, it is. jungkook suddenly pulls your leggings and panties down to your knees in one swift motion, the air hits your wet core. you gasp, thighs trying to close, but he spreads them wider. "you're so exposed." he breathes, admiring you from behind. "legs shaking, cunt glistening. all that pretty pink swollen from my fingers."

you whimper as he pushes you against the cold mirror. your hands slam flat, fingers splaying. he lifts your top half up, pushing your hoodie and bra up to expose your back. jungkook’s large hands grip your hips roughly, positioning you exactly how he wants you.

the sound of tearing foil blesses your ears next. your reflection watches him pull out a black wrapper - always black and expensive, never boring. he rolls it on with one hand, not breaking eye contact with you in the mirror as his veiny cock slicks into the latex. thick, heavy, already leaking pre-cum. "stay still." he commands, positioning himself behind you.

jungkook grips your hips, fingers digging deep into your soft skin, and lines himself up. “look in the mirror, pretty." he demands roughly. "watch me take you the way you fucking deserve." without warning, he pushes inside. one deep, thrust that buries him to the hilt. you gasp loud, palms slipping against the glass.

"quiet." he grits out. jungkook knows you like it rough, he doesn’t hesitate to give you that. when another loud moan escapes you, his hand clamps over your mouth again, silencing you. he starts to fuck you slow and deep - dragging out, then slamming back in until your thighs shake. he watches your reflection, your eyes rolling back, your mouth forming silent O's against his palm. he leans close, lips brushing your ear. “feel how deep I am?"

you nod, still moaning against his mouth. your eyes are half lidded, not watching the mirror anymore, too blinded by pleasure. you look so fucking pornographic, jungkook thinks he might cum in 2 seconds. his pace quickens slightly, hips snapping against your ass. the sound echoes through the gym - skin on skin - obscene.

"you know how many times i've jerked off in here?" he grunts between thrusts. “staring at this mirror. imagining you bent over just like this." he grips your hair, forcing you to look at your reflection again. "pictured you every time." you look down, jungkook’s body is a fucking masterpiece in motion. ripped back muscles flexing with every thrust, tattoo of a snake coiling around his bicep, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shoulder, the way his abs contract when he leans forward to bite your neck.

“look at us." he commands again, watching the reflection. "see how good you take my cock?" he muffles his own grunts against your shoulder, trying to stay quiet. but you can feel his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He's failing - soft, choked groans escape his lips every time he buries himself inside you. he moves his hand from your mouth to your throat. he’s not squeezing, it’s just there, possessive. "keep looking."

the reflection before you makes you want to collapse. jungkook behind you, one tattooed hand on your throat whilst the other presses against the mirror to keep you still as he pounds into you. your eyes flick up to his face - he’s breathing heavily, mouth wide open as he tries to be quiet, his messy hair sticks to his forehead slightly from sweat.

he spins you around suddenly, bending you over the weight bench nearby. your ass is pushed back, your thighs parted. the angle in the mirror is devastating - your arched back, your breasts pressing down, his cock sliding back in. jungkook looks huge behind you. the contrast between your softness and his hard, tattooed body is obscene. "fuck." he exhales, watching the reflection.

your bodies are slick with sweat, the bench creaks under your weight. his hips snap into yours with relentless force - deep, grinding thrusts that hit your sweet spot over and over. your breath hitches as you try to stay quiet, but little whimpers keep escaping. jungkook grits his teeth, jaw clenching.

he leans over your back, chest pressed against you. his lips brush your ear while he keeps thrusting - slow, deliberate, devastating. "you think tae can hear us?" he whispers, his breath hot. "think he's standing outside that door right now? cock hard, listening to you getting fucked like a little slut?" jungkook’s thrusts deepen, making your knees buckle. "maybe he wishes it was him."

“oh, fuck.” your swear makes him grin against your neck. he loves how his dirty talk makes you unravel.

"he probably has his hand on his dick right now." he groans, picturing it. “it’s tiny, not like mine.” he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your neck. "i bet he’s listening to you moan, knowing I'm balls deep in this tight, dripping pussy." jungkook starts to thrust even harder, using the bench for leverage, your tits bouncing on the leather. the mirror shows everything - the way his cock stretches you, the wet sounds, the way your legs tremble.

"gonna make you cum again." he pants. "right on my cock, so fucking loud, so fucking good."

he hits that spot, the one that makes your vision white, your eyes roll back instantly. that sweet spot gets abused - hard, rhythmic strokes that wreck your spine, make your knees buckle. “fuck!” it’s impossible to continue keeping quiet, you clamp your hands around the bench.

"shhh..." jungkook covers your mouth immediately. "fucking keep it down, you slut." you see yourself in the mirror - a wrecked mess. mouth covered, eyes rolling, ass bouncing. "that's it." he knows exactly how to wreck you. angles changing, hitting that spot deeper. faster, more relentless. his hand slides around to rub your clit in tight circles while he pounds into you. it’s overstimulating, cruel.

your orgasm hits harder than the first, your whole body convulses. your muffled scream dies against his palm. the feeling of your orgasm triggers his own. no warning, just a guttural groan vibrating through your spine as he blows hot and hard, your name dying on his lips. jungkook buries deep, holding there, pumping load after load inside the condom. his chest heaves against your back, sweat drips onto the bench. your thighs are shaking violently now, you’re completely wrecked.

jungkook collapses over you, pressing his forehead into your sweaty shoulder, both of you panting heavily. your legs are trembling violently, the bench beneath you starts to creak. "holy fuck." he breathes out. a rough, ragged sound. he pulls out slowly, making you whimper at the loss, then ties off the condom. he kisses the back of your neck, your shoulder - lazy, satisfied.

both of you then hear the bathroom door open.

oh shit.

──────────────────────

thank you for reading, baby mwah

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[geumnana]

PLEASE make more I have been waiting for more PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

ʚ KANG WOOYOUNG - Training You. ɞ

꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 9,8k cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff build-up / established relationship / attitude reader / semi public intimacy / kissing / boyfriend wooyoung / rough / with plot kinda / slight spit play / d*grading / attitude taken care of / making it fit / you will take it / p in v / finish inside / you scratch / slightest mention of bl*od / aftercare pairing: boyfriend! kang wooyoung x female reader

⤷ sypnosis: wooyoung takes you to the mma gym with him as he trains. seeing your boredom, he takes it upon himself to teach you a few fighting moves. till that leads to something else. leaving you a complete mess.

۶ৎ author message ﹕hi my loves, i've been kind of off tt for the time being as i fix some things but u ask and mommy vanta shall deliver. i hope you enjoy this oneshot. worked hard on it and did my best to portray wooyoung how i see him. let me know if you have any requests or characters you'd like to see. also your comments are much appreciated, i read them all on both tumblr and tt :) enjoy <3

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻

੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡

masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ M a k e I t T o T h e M o r n i n g - PARTYNEXTDOOR ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Don't Make Me Wait - Sabrina Claudio

The gym felt completely different at night. Without the usual crowd filling the space, every sound seemed louder than it should have been. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the only thing cutting through the silence was the steady impact of gloves against a heavy bag.

The owner had trusted Wooyoung with spare keys months ago. Something about being responsible enough to lock up after and dedicated enough to actually train and use the place even when everyone else was asleep.

And as expected, Wooyoung put that spare key to good use. Even after spending his afternoons at the gym with everyone else during scheduled training, he'd still find himself back here late at night, unable to stay away for long before convincing himself he needed a few more hours.

And since the two of you had been dating for a couple of months now, Wooyoung had made a habit of dragging you along whenever he came. It was his way of spending time with you even when his schedule was packed and most of his free hours somehow ended up revolving around training.

You complained every single time. Told him it was boring. Reminded him that watching someone punch things for hours wasn't exactly quality entertainment.

Yet somehow, every now and then, you'd still end up here anyway. Like today.

You were sprawled out on your stomach on the mats off to the side, completely removed from whatever he had planned for himself. Pajama shorts exposed your legs to the cool air of the gym, and an oversized hoodie, one of Wooyoung's that had mysteriously found its way into your closet months ago, nearly swallowed the rest of you whole. Even after countless washes, traces of his cologne still clung stubbornly to the fabric.

Which you secretly loved, even if you’d never say it out loud.

Your phone rested in your hand as you scrolled aimlessly through social media, barely paying attention to anything on the screen. The repetitive sound of gloves hitting a heavy bag echoed through the otherwise empty gym.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You glanced up briefly.

Wooyoung was still at it. Still moving like he had all the energy in the world despite the fact that it was pushing midnight.

You looked back down at your phone with a sigh.

A few moments later, the steady sounds of impact suddenly stopped. Curious, you glanced up again.

Wooyoung had finally stepped away from the heavy bag. Sweat darkened the neckline of the shirt he had on underneath his zip up hoodie and dampened the hair sticking to his forehead. Climbing through the ropes and into the ring, as he pulled off his gloves and hoodie, tossing them aside, he headed straight for the corner where he'd left his water bottle.

He bent down, unscrewed the cap, and took several long chugs. Downing the bottle in one go. Some water trickling down his chin and neck. Your eyes followed the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the bottle down. Then his attention shifted to you. A grin immediately spread across his face.

He leaned over the ring ropes, his forearms settling across the top one as it dipped slightly beneath his weight. Still warm from training, the lines of muscle were more defined under his skin, with faint veins tracing along them in a way that showed exactly how long he’d been working out. The look he gave you was pure amusement. He’d heard every dramatic sigh you’d let out over the last hour.

“You look miserable,” he said simply from above.

“I am,” you murmur, turning onto your back as you look up at him from the mats. He looks so good in the ring, like he belongs there more than anywhere else, all controlled strength and ease in the way he holds himself.

Letting out a soft “pfff,” he rolls his eyes, clearly teasing you. He looks more amused than anything, like your dramatics are something he’s quietly fond of even when he pretends not to be. It was cute to him.

“Come here,” he says, softer this time.

You get up slowly, taking your time as you walk over, still a little lazy with it.

“Put some pep in your step.”

You walk slower on purpose.

“What,” you say, more attitude than question when you reach the ring.

He huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

“Get in, dummy,” he says, tilting his head toward the ring in an invitation, already reaching out a hand like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Looking at him with a look that could only be described as a mix of confusion and quiet disbelief, you give in and take his hand as he pulls you up effortlessly. He lifts the ropes for you so you can climb in.

You stumble slightly as you get in, your foot catching on one of the ropes, and he catches you before you fully crash into him. You land against his chest anyway. He lets out a breathless laugh, trying and failing to hold it in. You immediately hit him over the arm.

“I was going to teach you some moves,” he says, still laughing under his breath, “but after that? I think you’d be safer bubble wrapped in a box.”

You roll your eyes, arms folding across your chest.

“Great, because I’m not doing that with you,” you say, already turning to climb out of the ring.

Before you make it a step, he catches your wrist and pulls you back into him with an ease that steals the momentum right out of you. You end up pressed against his chest again, his breath still slightly uneven from training.

He looks down at you with a soft grin, whisker dimples deepening as he holds your gaze for a second too long. Sweat still clings to his skin, hair slightly messy, cheeks faintly flushed from the strain of punching a bag for an hour. There’s something almost unfair in how good he looks even like this, worn down but still effortlessly put together in his own way, in that familiar Wooyoung way you’ve come to recognize and adore without even thinking about it.

It makes your annoyance slip for half a second before you catch it again.

“Too late,” he says.

He finally lets you go, just enough to reach down and pick up extra gloves resting by the corner. Red gloves.

He gently takes your hand and starts sliding the gloves onto it. They’re a little big, clearly made for the men who usually train here, but he works them on carefully anyway, adjusting your fingers so they sit right before tightening the velcro strap.

He gives it an extra tug, like he wants it to feel secure, then steps back to look at you properly.

A quiet laugh slips out of him, soft and unguarded, as he takes in how the gloves swallow your hands.

You hold up a bitter middle finger and he brings your hand up to his lips before placing kisses against your manicured fingers.

“You look ridiculous,” he says playfully, but his smile gives him away, lingering a second longer as if he’s trying to memorize the sight of his girl looking annoyed and out of place.

“Are you serious?” you mutter, holding your hands up to study the gloves.

He takes a moment to crack his knuckles before he leans down and grabs his black pair. His usual gloves.

In the leather of his, your name is embroidered cleanly. He got them custom made a few weeks ago, not saying much about it at the time, just bringing them in like it was nothing. He wanted a piece of you wherever he was, even in his matches.

And you try to hide the smile creeping onto your face as you notice it again, that softness he never really puts into words. The part of him that shows through in small things like this, even when he’s all sharp edges and tough around everyone else.

“Baby,” he starts, voice a little lower now, softer, “you should let me teach you a few self defense moves.”

“Why would I need that? I have you,” you say, like it’s obvious, like it solves everything. What was the point of having a boyfriend with biceps the size of your face if he didn’t use them to be your personal bodyguard after all.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a soft smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach how he’s looking at you. His eyes stay on yours a moment longer.

“I know,” he replies gently, stepping closer without even thinking about it, “but I’m not always gonna be right there.”

There’s no distance in his tone, just something steady. He’s already decided it matters even if you’re trying to brush it off.

“And I’d rather you be able to defend yourself,” he continues, voice calm but firmer now, “even though I’ll still go find the person myself.”

He says it like it’s already decided, like your safety isn’t something he’s willing to negotiate on.

You let your shoulders slump slightly and roll your eyes, already acting like you’ve lost before you’ve even started. Already deciding this is going to end with you regretting it.

He raises his hands into a proper fighting stance, gloves framing his face, eyes focused but still calm in that way of his that never really feels intimidating when it’s just you.

“Fists up, baby,” he says.

And you do. A little awkward at first, then steadier as you mirror him properly, your stance matching his as best as you can manage. He smiles across you, clearly enjoying how adorable you looked trying to match his moves.

“First thing,” he says, a little more focused now but still soft around the edges, “when someone swings, you don’t freeze. You don’t just stand there and take it.”

His voice stays calm, almost gentle in the way it always is with you, like it’s instinct for him to soften the moment he’s talking to you. There’s truly no version of him that fully switches that off when it’s you he’s looking at, no matter how serious he’s trying to be.

“When someone swings from either side, you either move your head out of line, or step out of it. Simple,” he puts a glove up mimicking the movement to illustrate what he meant.

“If it’s a hook coming in like this,” he continues, demonstrating a slow left hook, “you keep your guard up, tuck your chin, and either slip under it or step back just enough so it misses clean.”

His eyes flick back to you, checking if you’re following.

“Try it. Hands up. Imagine I’m throwing it at you.”

You put your hands back up in the position he taught you, trying to match his stance as closely as you can.

He shifts his weight and brings his glove into that same slow left hook, deliberately controlled, careful, holding back every bit of force on purpose so it doesn’t even come close to hurting you.

Something his teammates could only wish for, the kind of restraint he never really shows in training or matches, where he’s usually all brutal focus and impact. But with you, it’s different without him even thinking about it.

As the hook closes in, you lean your upper body back just like he taught you, the glove barely missing you, but still cutting through the space right in front of you without ever making contact.

“Good job,” he says immediately, his voice bright with praise as a smile spreads across his face, clearly pleased in a way he doesn’t bother hiding when it’s you. “Good girl.”

“See, I can defend myself,” you say, almost cocky as you straighten up.

He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t decide if he’s proud or amused.

“Alright, simmer down,” he says, still smiling.

Your grin only widens, entirely too pleased with yourself. The praise had gone straight to your head. One successful dodge and suddenly you were ready to retire Wooyoung and take over for him yourself. He just smiles. There was something ridiculously endearing about the way you wore your pride so openly. One compliment and you looked ready to conquer the world, and he loved every second of it.

“I think I’m a natural.”

“You are,” he plays along.

Wooyoung lets out another breathy chuckle, as he takes a step back. The black gloves come up near his face again, though there isn't a single intimidating thing about him right now. If anything, he looks entertained. Like he's watching a kid show off a drawing they were way too proud of.

“Okay, Conor McGregor,” he teases, “Let’s see if you can throw one.”

“Throw one where?” you echo confused.

He lifts a glove and taps the center of his chest. “Here.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you shake your head.

“I’m not punching you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Baby,” his tone gains that firmness to it.

“No.”

The corner of his mouth lifts higher. His hair slowly falling down over his forehead again. Throat moving as he swallowed. “You think you’re gonna knock me out?”

“No.”

“Then hit me.”

You just stare at him suspiciously. You'd watched enough of his matches by now to know exactly what one punch from him could do. Seen people hit the mat from a single clean shot. Seen entire fights end before they really had the chance to begin. Not that you believed for a second you could ever do that to him, but it still sat in the back of your mind every time he told you to hit him. Still made you hesitate.

Yet despite it, you lift your gloves anyway. Because beneath all the teasing, beneath the laughter and the way he seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of you, you knew he was only teaching you for your own good. And if there was one thing you'd learned since dating Wooyoung, it was that when it came to keeping you safe, he was serious.

“Not my face.”

You roll your eyes. “I wasn’t even aiming there.”

The gloves still feel strange. Too bulky. Too big. Every movement feels delayed by half a second because of the extra weight around your hands.

Before you can do anything, Wooyoung steps forward.

“Relax your shoulders.”

Immediately, you tense them.

His laugh bounces around the empty gym.

“Not the opposite.”

“I'm trying.”

“I can see that.”

“Alright,” he says, stepping back again. “Small punch. Right here.” He taps his chest once more.

You pull your fist back, hesitation still lingering stubbornly in the back of your head. The glove feels heavier now that you're actually expected to use it. A few moments ago you were just copying whatever Wooyoung told you to do. Now he was standing there waiting for you to hit him.

You pause. Then pull your fist back even further. Like that’s gonna help.

“Baby.”

His voice cuts through your concentration immediately. You glance up. The smile already threatening his face tells you everything. There was nothing intimidating about you.

You looked ridiculous.

Standing there with your fist pulled halfway back, body stiff as a board, looking less like someone about to throw a punch and more like someone trying to calculate a math equation and the likelihood of your punch actually doing any damage.

“I'm thinking.”

“Don't think.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

That earns a look from him. A very specific look. One eyebrow lifts, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fights back a smile. Like he knows exactly how dramatic you're being. Like he already knows every thought running through your head without you having to say a word. He tilts his head slightly, and the smile finally wins, turning teasing as he looks down at you.

“Just punch me.”

You huff loudly through your nose and finally swing.

The glove lands square against his chest with a satisfying thud. And nothing happens. Nothing. Not a stumble. Not a flinch. Not even a tiny shift backwards.

The impact disappears into him like you'd thrown the punch into a brick wall. The only evidence you'd actually hit him at all is the slight movement of his shirt beneath your glove.

How dare he? Not even a grunt? Not a sound? This was insulting.

“Are you serious?”

A laugh immediately escapes him.

“Was that it?”

“Alright, fuck yourself.”

“Again.”

Your eyes narrow. A bitter expression washing over your face.

“Don't piss me off.”

“Then hit harder.”

The grin on his face only makes it worse. You pull your hand back again, determination replacing the embarrassment now. This time you actually want to hit him. Actually wanting to prove a point. Wooyoung notices instantly. His smile softens.

Before you can throw it, he reaches forward and gently adjusts your stance. One gloved hand settles on your shoulder while the other nudges your elbow.

“Turn your shoulder.”

His hand taps it.

“Use your hips.” his gloved hand slides up your waist. “And waist. Don’t just throw your arm and expect damage to be done, dummy.”

His touch lingers for only a second before he steps back again, giving you room.

You take a breath, adjusting your feet and turning your shoulder. Mentally checking off every single thing he'd just told you, running through the instructions in your head one by one like an imaginary checklist. Then swing.

The second punch lands much cleaner. The impact echoes through the ring. And immediately Wooyoung takes a step backwards in fake defeat like you had just successfully knocked the air out of him. Your eyes light up. Pride immediately washing over you.

“HA!” The victory leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

Wooyoung bites the inside of his cheek so hard trying not to laugh that it almost hurts.

This liar. This absolute liar.

This man had spent the last hour pounding heavy bags hard enough to shake their chains. Had trained with fighters double your size. Had walked into amateur matches and come out looking annoyingly unbothered. Spent afternoons wrapping his bruised split open knuckles like they were just another part of his routine and yet here he is, pretending to be hurt.

There was no universe where that punch had actually did anything to someone like him. But he saw the way your entire face brightened. Saw the pride immediately bloom across your features.

And just like that, the fake step backwards had been worth it.

“Getting stronger, baby,” he says, grinning.

Your smile grows even wider. So unbelievably proud of yourself. Like you'd just won a championship belt instead of successfully punching your boyfriend.

Something about it makes his chest ache a little.

Without warning he reaches forward and catches your face between both gloves. Your cheeks immediately squish together.

“Wooyoung!” you say pushing him away in a failed attempt.

The complaint comes out ruined. Your lips forced into the world's most pathetic pucker.

“Look at you.”

“Stop.”

“You're scary.”

“Stop.”

“You almost killed me.”

You try to glare. The squished cheeks completely ruin the effect.

His smile softens into something warmer as he looks at you. Hair messy. Oversized gloves swallowing your hands. Looking entirely too pleased with yourself over a punch that barely would've moved a shopping cart.

Before you can swat him away, he leans forward and presses a quick kiss against your puckered lips.

The kind that lasts barely a second.

The kind that still somehow leaves you smiling long after he pulls away.

And like that, you continue.

The gym feels further away again. The hum of the lights, the echo of earlier punches, all of it fading into something distant. Outside, it’s already fully dark, midnight long passed, the city reduced to nothing but blurred reflections in the windows. And still, you’re here. Still, it’s just the two of you in a place that was never meant to feel this quiet.

But somehow it doesn’t feel out of place. Not with him. Not with you. It feels settled in a way you don’t really question anymore, like the space has learned your rhythm, the way he moves between training and you, the way you linger just close enough to always be part of it without having to try.

Like the gym belongs to you both in these hours when no one else is around.

You both drown in repetitive punching self defense movements. His hands hovering over your waist, wrists, shoulders, neck. Him constantly adjusting your position. You constantly complaining.

“Let’s try something a bit more real.”

He steps closer again, but there’s no tension in it anymore. No stance, no guard. Just Wooyoung being Wooyoung in your space, like the ring doesn’t separate anything between you.

He tosses his gloves aside, you follow his que, doing the same.

“Not everything is punches,” he continues. “Sometimes someone grabs you. Pulls you off balance. Tries taking you down.”

His hands come up slowly, giving you time to see it coming, and he takes your wrist lightly. Not harsh, just showing. Where contact starts. Where control begins.

“If I grab you here,” he says, gently tightening just enough for you to feel the shift, “your first reaction isn’t to panic. You stay with your feet.”

He nudges your stance with his knee, correcting you without really thinking about it, as if he knows where you’re off balance before you do.

“Feet under you,” he repeats, quieter now.

“And if you do get taken down,” he adds, eyes flicking up to yours, soft in a way that doesn’t match the lesson at all, “you don’t go limp. You don’t just fall and hope for the best.”

He shifts closer, and for a moment it stops feeling like instructions, just the two of you standing too near in an empty ring.

“You learn how to land,” he says.

His grip loosens slightly on your wrist, but he doesn’t let go right away.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ll go slow. I’ve got you.”

You nod, trying to copy what he showed you. Trying being the important word.

He moves first, just enough to guide you off balance, not enough to actually throw you. His hand shifts, your footing adjusts wrong for half a second, and then everything happens a little too fast for you to recover cleanly.

Instead of a controlled fall, you stumble right into him, grabbing onto his shirt as you instinctively pull him with you.

Your shoulder hits his chest, his arms come up on reflex to catch you, and despite trying to keep you up. He ends up losing balance as well. There’s a short, surprised sound from him before you both go down onto the mat with a soft thud that echoes through the empty gym.

A beat of silence.

Then he starts laughing.

Amusement hangs loosely in the air as he turns his head slightly, still half tangled with you on the floor. One of your hands is gripping his forearm, the other caught in the fabric of his shirt, while his hands stay steady at your waist without really letting you go.

“You’re not supposed to crash into the floor, baby,” he says through it, trying and failing to sound serious.

You let out a frustrated noise, but it only makes him laugh harder. One of his arms is still loosely around you, keeping you from fully rolling away, and you can feel his chest moving with each laugh, warm and vibrant against you.

“You said you’d go slow,” you mutter, trying to shift the blame onto him as embarrassment dawns on you anyway, heat rising in your face at how easily it all fell apart. Of all things, you’d messed up something that was supposed to be controlled, simple, almost impossible to get wrong.

The way your foot slipped at the exact moment it shouldn’t have. The way you turned a clean demonstration into both of you on the mat in under a second. Your eyes flick away in pretend annoyance, but it’s more humiliation than anything else, like you can’t quite meet his face right now without feeling it all over again.

“I did go slow,” he says, still smiling, eyes closing for a second like he’s trying to catch his breath from shamelessly laughing at you. “That was on you,” he pokes at the side of your stomach and you jolt slightly.

You huff, genuine annoyance slipping into it this time. Your earlier attitude settles right back into place, stubborn and familiar. It only seems to amuse him more.

A laugh still lingers in his chest, quieter now, softer. Your clumsiness isn't something he's frustrated by, but something he's already accepted as part of you.

Above, the fluorescent lights hum steadily. The surface beneath you is warm where the two of you had gone down moments ago, the air carrying that familiar mix of leather, his cologne, and the lingering aftermath of training. His laughter gradually fades, leaving behind a comfortable silence.

Neither of you moves right away.

One of his hands remains at your waist, absentmindedly holding you even though there's no need anymore. The pressure shifts slightly as his fingers settle more comfortably against your side, and you hate how quickly it affects you.

The irritation you'd been holding onto begins to unravel.

Like it always does with him. Somehow he always finds a way to make you forget what you were pretending to be upset about in the first place.

Suddenly, he pulls you up, guiding you until you’re straddling his lap. His hands rest at your waist, familiar, like they’ve always known where to go. He looks up at you with that same teasing warmth in his eyes, the kind that always manages to undo your attitude before you can properly hold onto it.

You glance down at him with a faint scowl, trying to keep your expression firm, but it doesn’t land the way you want it to. More forced than convincing.

Because your stomach is already doing that annoying, traitorous flutter again at the smallest shift of his hands, at the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

“You wanna keep pouting?” he murmurs from below in that soft, velvety tone that always manages to make your resolve wobble and your knees buckle under you.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You very much are,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. And those damn dimples show up again, completely ruining your attempt at staying annoyed.

“You messed it up.”

“You’re right, baby. I’m sorry,” he says, far too easily, with obvious sarcasm tucked under the apology.

Before you can even gather another complaint, his hand slides to the back of your neck and pulls you down toward him, your chest flush against his, his other hand ghosting down to cup your ass. The space between you disappears in an instant.

He presses a kiss to your lips, soft and uncomplicated.

When he pulls back, he’s still smiling like he won something.

“There,” he says quietly. “Fixed it.”

You pause for a moment, acting unimpressed, even as your hands settle against his chest to steady yourself properly on his lap. You look down at him, his hair spread slightly beneath him, back resting comfortably against the ring floor like he belongs there just as much as he belongs standing.

And just like that, the gym doesn’t feel like a gym anymore. It doesn’t really matter where you are, whether it’s here under the buzzing lights or anywhere else in the world.

Because in this moment, even being on the moon in space would mean nothing, you needed him.

“No, do better.”

His smirk only widens. Knowing exactly what was going on. And he was loving it. Loved when you got needy like this. In your own way.

“Mm, yes ma’am,” he simply says, pulling you down by the back of your neck again.

There’s no warning in it this time, no teasing, just certainty. Like he already knows exactly where this is going the moment your lips meet his.

And the second kiss lands.

Not soft. Just pure hunger. It’s immediate, almost greedy in the way it pulls you into him, like something in him finally stops pretending to be patient. Every second of teasing, every laugh, every slow correction from earlier training folds into it all at once.

A hard smack lands across your ass. Making you gasp into his mouth. He swallows your noise.

His hands slide up to your hips, slow, on purpose. Trying to see just how much resolve he can loosen with a mere mundane touch.

Steadying you where you’re straddling him, holding you there with a grip that isn’t rough but isn’t gentle either. Just intentional and familiar. Feeling like he knows exactly how to touch you without needing to think about it.

The kind of touch that makes your confidence from earlier feel stupid in hindsight.

Because this is what actually gets to you. Not the training. Not the jokes.

Just him, holding you like he’s been doing it long enough that it’s second nature now, and still somehow makes your chest tighten every time.

Your tongues find each other and move in the same rhythm with him setting the pace. The sounds of wet kissing echoing off the gym walls. One of your hands rests against his jaw, thumb moving gently against the warm flush of his cheek, while the other stays on his chest, fingers curled into his shirt like you’re holding onto something solid without meaning to.

His grip on your hips firms, fingers digging into your bones making your breath hitch slightly, as he rocks you gently back and fourth. He’s steadying you there and setting a pace. Your bodies grinding into each other slowly, unhurried, every shift of movement deliberate in the way it builds between you without needing anything said.

Dry humping? Really? Childish. At least that was what you tried to convince yourself with. Despite how good it felt.

Your shorts already riding up as the movement forces it higher, fabric catching with every small adjustment of his hands, every slight pull of his hold as he keeps you close. The heat of him is constant beneath your palms, beneath your attention, something you’ve already stopped trying to separate yourself from.

“Do you need anything?” he pulls away just enough to whisper against your mouth, his warm breath brushing your wet lips.

Despite already folding under almost zero pressure, you squint at him anyway, stubbornly holding your ground. “No.”

He smiles against your lips before fully pulling back, your mouth chasing his for half a second before you catch yourself.

“Really?” he murmurs, eyes flicking down for the briefest second before meeting yours again. “Because I can feel you throbbing on me.” You swallow, embarrassingly enough feeling that familiar sense of a slow, throbbing ache building low in your body, making it hard to sit still.

But what made the embarrassment easier to deal with was what you felt under you. You were clearly not the only one affected by this closeness. It was in the way he held you a fraction tighter with each passing second, the way his breath didn’t quite stay as steady as his voice tried to sound, the way his focus kept flickering for just a second too long before he looked back at you again.

Oh, and the undeniable hard outline in his sweats settled right between your legs.

He shifts slightly on the floor, unbothered, as if he has all the time in the world. Then he pulls one of the bulky gloves and slides it under his head, propping himself up on it with an ease that makes the whole situation feel even more unfairly relaxed.

Fully prepared to ruin you.

Your hips roll for a brief second on their own, a small, involuntary movement you can’t quite hide, like your body refuses to stay still on top of him. Whatever frustration or need you were trying to keep tucked away slips through in the simplest, most obvious way.

He notices. Of course he does.

His hand comes up, slow and unhurried, brushing your hair back behind your ear with care. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you in this position, before letting the touch settle back into something quieter. Lazily tracing your thighs up and down. Goosebumps rising against his palms.

“All that sulking from earlier… where’d it go?” his fingers tug at the hem of your shorts. “Say it again. ‘I’m not pouting.’ Go on.”

He watches the way your hips rock back and forth on their own, subtle and unthinking, your body reacting before your mind has time to catch up. Instinctive movement chasing some relief for the aching need between your thighs.

And it only makes it worse that it’s happening right here, in the middle of the boxing ring, under the hum of the gym lights. He just felt too good for you to actually give half of a fuck. Which he didn’t mind himself. This was the place he won multiple matches, it only makes sense to ruin you here.

Your fingers catch on the strings of his sweatpants, pulling them loose in one quick motion. Whatever restraint you were trying to hold onto disappears just as fast as it came.

He just looks up at you with that easy smile of his, completely unbothered, watching something he already expected. Amused, fond in a way that makes it worse. He loved seeing you lose control. Taking what you need from him.

“Pull them lower, baby, go on,” he says smoothing his palms against your thighs. And without a second thought, you do. His sweatpants lower, his hard length straining against his boxers.

And even though his own need was eating away at him, he lets you strip him entirely on your own accord. Something about your hands urgently pulling him apart layer by layer only made it better. He loved watching you do it, watching the impatience take over, watching you unwrap him piece by piece like a Christmas present you'd been waiting all day to get your hands on.

“Easy,” he teases, knowing it only drove you crazier.

“Oh, shush,” you bite back and slowly tug at his boxers, freeing his length, immediately noticing that familiar side curve it had, the one you’d already become used to seeing far too often in just a few months of dating. Him and his crazy libido that matched yours perfectly.

His tip was leaking a thin layer of precum.

“Stop looking, perv,” he teases.

“Right,” you say, annoyance slipping through your voice, your hoodie gets shoved off in the same breath, landing somewhere on the floor beside you and forgotten almost immediately.

His hands leave your thighs, ghosting up your stomach until they settle against the lace fabric of your bra. Unintentionally, the bra was a deep navy blue. Wooyoung's favorite color. Not that it was a thought that had crossed your mind when you got dressed.

But clearly it worked in your favor now.

His eyes catch on the color almost immediately, a smile pulling at his lips as he looks at it. Then at you.

“My favorite,” he murmurs, the smile in his voice impossible to miss.

His thumbs brush absentmindedly against those familiar sensitive peaks beneath the fabric, the touch so casual yet deliberate. A soft breath slips from you before you can stop it, and the look on his face immediately tells you he noticed.

“It wasn’t intentional,” you say immediately, needing him to know that.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s like that?”

You nod once. A grin slowly spreads across his face.

“Don’t care,” he says, almost laughing, “I'd still fuck you no matter what you're wearing.”

And with that, his fingers find the clasp at the back of your bra. Months of familiarity make the movement effortless, and within seconds it comes undone beneath his hand.

He carelessly tosses it somewhere to the side, not bothering to look where it lands. Freeing your chest against the cold air of the gym.

The second his eyes find your boobs again, his mouth parts ever so slightly in quiet admiration. Not enough to be overly obvious, but enough for you to catch it.

Like he'd just been handed his favorite candy.

This man was the biggest fan of your boobs.

Your chest is left fully on display in front of him as you instinctively try to cover yourself with one arm across it, the movement more clumsy than effective. The sudden exposure makes your confidence falter for a second, heat creeping up your neck as you glance away, suddenly very aware of how he’s looking at you.

“No, don’t cover up, come here.”

He quickly removes your arm, pinning it behind your back by your wrist, his grip firm but familiar. His other hand finds your upper back and guides you slightly lower, steadying you so you stop fidgeting away from him.

“So pretty,” says the fanboy.

As he guided you to lean lower, his hand closed gently around one of your breasts, holding it with warmth. His mouth found it without hesitation, enclosing it slowly, unhurried, as if testing the moment itself.

The damp heat of his mouth wrapped around your peak, drawing a sharp, quiet gasp from you before you could stop it. When he looked up at you, his eyes stayed unnervingly calm, steady and composed, as though he didn’t literally have your tit in his mouth. Sucking on it like at any moment milk might actually come out.

“Mm,” he hums softly around it, the sound vibrating faintly through the air between you. His other hand lingers at your wrist, still holding it gently pinned behind your lower back, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles into your skin.

This man had you straddling his lap in the middle of an empty MMA gym, your body leaning over his like it was the most natural thing in the world, like neither of you had thought to question it in the first place. Your boob sat in his mouth with that same careless ease, while his hands stayed steady on you, warm and grounding in a way that made you not think twice over it.

His tongue flicked out briefly, licking a slow and deliberate vertical line from your underboob up to your nipple where the wet tip of it swirled around, before he sucked it back in with unhurried ease. For a moment he held it there, then let it slip free again with a soft, loud ‘pop’ that echoed faintly in the quiet gym, matching the cadence of your breathless sounds

It felt like he was mapping out the exact shape of your boob using his tongue only.

He places a wet kiss against your already drenched peak.

“Perfect,” another kiss. “All mine,” jiggling it greedily in his hand like a toy. Completely in a trance.

His hand finds your other boob, giving the exact same treatment. Taking every part of it unhurried. He sucks red bruises onto your chest. He loved the way the marks deepened, a lingering echo of him in his absence. A reminder to you.

“Take this off,” he says under his breath, fingers hooking onto your shorts and pulling them down. With a quick tug, they slid down and get tossed aside.

His grip tightened on your hips, fingers digging into yielding flesh as he anchored you precisely where he wanted you. The thin barrier of your panties—damp from anticipation—slid between your slick inner thighs, offering no real resistance as his bare, heated length pressed insistently against your core.

He settled into a slow, devastating rhythm, grinding your clothed heat directly against the rigid length of him until your panties were utterly soaked.

The deliberate friction dragged a desperate sound from your throat, leaving you breathless and trembling as he worked you over his cock. The throbbing between your legs only becoming more evident. His own body pulsing back.

“Feel that?” He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging it aside to expose your slick center. The heavy length of his shaft settled directly against your folds, skin to skin, the prominent veins adoring it dragging lazily through your wetness without pushing inside. Denying you the fullness you craved.

Moments later, your panties are off. Continuing to grind you against himself.

“Fuck, I’m so hard,” he groans. “Keep those eyes on me.”

Your hands dart aimlessly against his shirt, sneaking past it and under the fabric, against the hard outlines of his bare abs where the muscle rippled beneath your touch. Your hips worked themselves into the movement he set.

“Don’t tell me that’s enough to mess you up,” he teases from below, voice edged with amusement that doesn’t match the position he’s in. As if his groans weren’t eating at the walls of the gym too.

He might be under you, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still got you exactly where he wants you, through the way you keep reacting, the way your focus slips whenever he speaks. You’re losing the thread of your own thoughts, attention narrowing to him alone, stuck on him in a way that makes it hard to breathe properly.

“Put it in…” You let out something barely there, almost inaudible, but not quite. Like you wanted him to catch it without you having to say it properly.

Your voice sits just above a whisper, fragile at the edges, already slipping out of reach. One octave lower and it would’ve disappeared into the space between you.

His smirk only deepens, calm and knowing.

“Go on, baby, it’s in your name,” he says, letting go of your hips. “Use it. Use me. You’re the one on top, aren’t you?”

His tone is light, teasing, too calm for someone who just put you on the spot. He knows exactly what he’s doing, stepping back just enough to make it feel like the responsibility is suddenly yours, watching to see how you’ll handle it.

You push yourself up onto your knees, rising just enough to hover directly above him.

"Spit on it," he commanded, his tone insanely casual.

You obeyed without hesitation, letting a string of spit fall directly onto his flushed head. It glistened against his tip before he took himself in hand, smoothing the slick moisture down the rest of his shaft.

"Mm, fuck," A low, breathy groan tore from his throat as he coated his length in your mess. "Again."

He held his palm flat directly beneath your lips, catching the saliva as it dripped from your mouth. Without a second thought, he smeared it over his shaft, using your own spit as lube so casually. Nothing you did disgusted him, everything about you turned him on.

And with one hand resting at the base of his shaft, he steadies it for you without hesitation. You lower yourself carefully, his tip brushing against your entrance, making you hold his shoulders for balance. The thin layer of precum that dotted his tip smeared on your heat.

You tense at the feeling of his tip pressing against your entrance, instinctively bracing yourself for it.

“You got it, you can take it,” he encourages nodding slowly.

A whine escapes your throat as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped indents behind.

“It’s too big.”

“You’re gonna take it one way or another,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against the small of your back. “I can gladly use your mouth instead.”

Working your slick heat over his thick shaft, he struggled to make it fit, his thumb finding your clit trying to soothe you. He pressed and circled right there, right against your sensitive nerve, using the hand that had been resting on your inner thigh to stretch and coax you open while he guided his stubborn girth against your entrance.

"Too much?"

You shook your head no, eyes glassy and pleading, refusing to let the stretch deter you. You needed him inside, even if his girth strained against you despite being soaked. This was always how it was at first, a desperate, needy struggle to accommodate him, your body aching and ready yet still having to work to take every thick inch.

A faint wet slick lingered between your bodies as his hand remained on the small of your back, applying gentle pressure as he eased you down his shaft.

His head fell back uncontrollably, giving way to a raw, unfiltered sound. A deep, guttural groan that rumbled through his chest and escaped him completely unchecked. He never held back his noises.

That's how Wooyoung operated.

Which only made you less embarrassed about the throaty gasp that slipped out as you felt him disappear inside you, filling you completely in this position that allowed him to reach intimate depths. His thick length stretched you open, his tip pushing against your innermost walls like it was trying to burrow into your stomach.

“Look at you, swallowed it whole,” his tone was so cocky in that familiar Wooyoung way. The way he spoke when he knew he had you where he wanted you. Like he knew exactly where he stood with you. No shame. No second guessing. Nothing carefully filtered or held back. Just him, saying it exactly how he thinks it, like whatever slips out of his delicious lips was always meant to be said that way.

His hands begin moving you up and down like his own personal toy, holding your hips. Setting the pace himself. Agonizingly slow. Making you feel every single ridge of his shaft double, your eyes holding that deep gaze. Except his eyes dropped up and down your face and between your bodies, watching intently how you connected.

You bounce matching his hands guiding you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes following his shaft as it disappears repeatedly inside you and then returns looking noticeably messier. Wetter. “Taking that shit like your life depends on it, huh?”

You fold over him, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt into tight bunches as you let out small, broken sounds you don’t fully mean to make. Your back arches away from his palm where he held you, in reflex, every careful movement still hitting sharper than expected. Even at that slow, controlled pace, it’s overwhelming. Because Wooyoung knows exactly how to get a reaction out of you without pushing too far.

You can feel it everywhere at once, in the way your grip tightens on his shirt, your neatly manicured fingers holding on harder matching the grip of his hand on your hipbones.

The pace picks up, a little faster, and the pressure catches you off guard—your body jerking away on instinct as a sharp, overwhelming shock of pleasure runs through you.

“Ah, shit,” you curse, sounding choked.

Before you can fully pull back, your hips are guided right back into place again, his grip firmer now, steadying you through it without giving you room to slip out of his hold.

“Move again and watch how I’ll fuck your brains out,” he says, barely able to get the words through his uneven breathing, voice rough. Jamming you back into the same pace without hesitation like a ragdoll, secure enough to stop you from shifting away again. He sinks back inside with a curse. “Keep taking it for me.”

His hand struck down on your ass, the impact leaving a red mark on contact. You wince slightly at the feeling. Your hips begin moving on their own, rolling slowly back and fourth seeking to double the pleasure you were feeling. And as his tip makes contact with your cervix deep inside, you grind your clit against his lower abdomen.

“You’re soaking wet, it’s cute,” he smiles, his bottom lip jammed between his teeth sharp enough to almost draw blood. You manage a sound in protest. “No? Then look at the mess you’re making all over my cock.”

Your moans and his uneven rhythm of air lingered in the space between you, the gym quieting into something almost unreal. And each time he bottomed out inside you, a gentle slap against your ass is earned.

He reached up, his large palm splaying across your sweat dampened chest, roughly kneading the soft bouncing flesh until it spilled from between his needy, greedy fingers.

Pressing you lower, he captured a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling as his hips snapped upward from below, driving his cock deep into your core while you attempted to ride him. He wasn’t waiting on you to make an effort, he was taking it how he wanted.

The sound of wet, squelching movements fills the air. Shamelessly.

He removes his mouth. Your breaths mix and mingle in the small space between you, your chests close enough to feel each sharp exhale rise and fall against the other. Your faces hover near, lips mere inches apart, every breath shared in the same air between you, into each others mouths.

His hand wraps around your throat gently as he slows his pace down a little more, adjusting the movement carefully to match and maximize your reactions.

Even slow strokes helped undo you.

You sit up again, leaning back on your palms that rest on his thighs.

Giving him access to wreck you further.

He thumbs your clit with the other hand, making you shudder at the sudden feeling. The repeated in–out motion of his shaft had eventually stirred you into a creamy mess. His cock growing stickier with each pass, each redraw leaving it heavier and uneven. It started to take on a faint milky tint, as if something had been worked too far, too many times.

“What a mess,” he says aimlessly, doubling down on his movement. Actually loving it.

“Wooyoung…” you breathe out, walls clenching tightly around him drawing a sharp inhale from him.

“Mhm, baby,” he coos back, “you got it,” he adds, his voice dropping into an encouraging whisper as he keeps going. “You can take all of it.”

“Deeper, please,” you plead.

And without missing a beat, Wooyoung, still moving inside you, flips you onto your back, reversing the roles.

Your back lands purposefully against his zip up hoodie that was tossed on the floor a long time ago, instinctively protecting your bare body from making direct contact with the floor, like you’re a precious diamond in his hands, careful enough to keep your soft skin from ever meeting the ring surface.

He pins your thighs back and keeps you grounded, driving his cock deeper. Practically pounding into you like a jackhammer by now. Earning soft, broken gasps from you in response.

“Like this?”

You aren’t even able to reply.

And in this angle, it hits deeper, the force of him pressing through your center making it feel like he settles right in your guts.

He licks a quick, teasing line along your skin starting beneath your tits to your neck, lingering just long enough to make you flinch and shudder in protest before he sucks a spot right under your ear, leaving a stubborn mark as if to prove a point. Nibbling slightly at your earlobe before pulling back.

Your body wasn’t the only thing he was ravaging, your mind followed right behind in that same queue, unable to keep up. He was deliberately doing everything in his power to keep you caught on him, tuned in to the way he had your preferences memorized. What made you tick, what made you lose your composure.

“Wooyoung…” You cry out again, moving your hips. Squirming underneath his pinning.

Which makes him press his hand firmly against your lower stomach so you could feel every inch of him register through you. Keeping you steady beneath him, reducing you to a shaking, whining wreck as you struggle to keep taking his pounding. The sticky, creamy mess between your bodies only growing more noticeable with each ruthless thrust.

“You go crazy for this, hm?” His voice comes out a little whiny there, edged with tease. “Love getting fucked into the floor like a slut?”

You nod back pathetically, barely registering what you’re admitting to, your thoughts still lagging behind you. He mirrors it instantly, nodding with a smile tugging at his face, clearly amused, copying your dazed little state as if to show you exactly how you look right now.

“I want you addicted to it.”

Catching you off guard he pushes his thumb between your lips, stretching your mouth to the side a little. Completely toying with your sweaty face.

“My girl loves getting pounded, doesn’t she?” Tracing the pad of his thumb, he smears your spit on your cheek, delivering a few light, mocking smacks to your flushed skin “Can’t talk? That’s okay. Just keep whining for it.”

You feel a subtle twitch inside you and he pulls back, deliberately resetting his orgasm. His head tips back slightly.

"I'm gonna cum inside, that okay?" he asked, looking down at your connected bodies, his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as he felt the overwhelming pleasure building. You just nodded mindlessly, too far gone to care.

His thumb finds your clit from above again, circling it gently as he watches closely, taking in the way your tits bounced with the rhythm of his thrusts.

Back arching slightly off the surface beneath you, you let out a sharp, breathless gasp, your thigh twitching in response. And he just smiles, watching you with quiet satisfaction. Like he always did. Loving the moment he got to admire the way you came undone from his doing, his work, touch, attention. Loving being used for your pleasure.

“All over my cock,” he encourages, tone needier, “fucking drench me.”

He pressed harder into your lower abdomen, applying firm pressure that finally tipped you over the edge.

“There it is.”

Your orgasm erupted in a violent, gushing squirt that drenched his lower stomach and the hoodie beneath you. A shocked, high pitched cry ripped from your throat as your nails clawed into the forearm that held you pinned, your walls fluttering around his shaft.

“Oh, fuckkk,” he curses. His lower abdomen tensing as it glistened with your fluid beneath the light.

He followed right after, his hips stuttering as he emptied his warm load deep inside, just like he'd promised. You winced at the sudden rush of heat and the feeling of the sticky mess coating your walls. Your eyes widened in slight surprise as you realized you were falling apart at the exact same moment, your bodies working together so beautifully. The moment far too intimate.

"No, don’t stop now," he groaned, pounding into you with relentless, unforgiving strokes while his thumb worked your clit in small circles, coaxing out every last pulsing squirt until your body went limp and weak. Despite being absolutely ruined himself.

He milked you dry until you collapsed onto the surface beneath you, a trembling, crying mess with nothing left to give, completely emptied yet filled to the brim simultaneously.

Still buried inside but not moving, he leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you. His breathing had turned so heavy, so uneven, it looked as though he was struggling to stay conscious.

Your breaths mingled in the space between you, neither of you moving for a moment as you waited for the dizziness clouding your vision to settle.

You could feel him gradually soften inside you. His forehead flush against yours.

The shift was almost jarring.

One second he’s all confidence, all control, knowing exactly how he had you completely figured out. The next, it’s gone so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

“Mm,” he manages a whimper, the sound slipping out far softer than intended, almost embarrassing in how quickly it betrays him. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, one hand settling on your waist. “Don’t move.”

The words come out strained, stripped of every ounce of cockiness he had a moment ago. The sudden sensitivity in his body clear.

But you weren’t one to talk. You were just as sensitive, if not worse, and it showed.

In the way every movement seemed slowed down, delayed by a second. In the weak trembles that kept running through your legs no matter how still you tried to stay. And in the fact that you couldn’t even put together a proper sentence, every thought dissolving before it could make it past your lips.

Pushing himself up onto his palms, he scatters lazy kisses across your face. One to each cheek, another to your forehead, one to the tip of your nose, and finally a soft kiss pressed to your lips.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, gently brushing the hair off your sweaty forehead. “I’ve got you. You did good.”

He waits a few more moments, giving you space to recover. Your breathing steadies, your legs relax, and eventually your eyes meet his, glassy and slightly red from exhaustion

“I’ll pull out slowly,” he reassures, drawing his completely soaked shaft out with gentle care so you don’t react sharply. You let out a quiet whiny breath, shuddering, shoulders tightening briefly before easing.

And as soon as you lose that satisfying full feeling, his cum starts leaking out of you in a slow, steady stream. Your body gradually emptying itself, feeling the thick ropes leaking out and onto the surface beneath you. His gaze falters slightly, fixed on the mess, clear satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he watches the evidence of his release trickle down your spent core. Clearly loving the sight of how well he put you to use.

Putting his hand up, he studies the red scratches running along his forearm. A few of them had broken the skin enough to draw the faintest trace of blood. Not that he cared. He hadn’t even noticed them until now

If anything, the sight makes the corner of his mouth twitch. Physical proof of just how overwhelmed he had you, written across his arm for the next few weeks he guessed. A reminder he’ll be far fonder of than he probably should.

“How does it feel?” he asks. You look up curiously. “Y’know, getting fucked where people usually beat the shit out of each other?” he teases, snickering as you smack his shoulder weakly.

“Thought this was supposed to be an educational course on self defense,” you say, rolling your eyes as you catch your breath.

“We’ll try harder next time,” he grins, all easy confidence again, “just don’t distract me.”

And although this wasn’t the ideal spot, it was more than enough. The kind of closeness that didn’t need perfect conditions, just the two of you fitting into each other the way you always did. It winds down in soft teasing and quiet care as he helps you clean up, careful hands and steady focus, easing you back into reality at your own pace. He keeps talking to you in that low, reassuring way of his the whole time, grounding you without ever making you feel rushed or alone in it.

Even on the way home, his hand keeps finding you without thinking. A steady touch on your back, your hand in his, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face whenever it falls there. That familiar look of absolute devotion never leaves him, the one that says he’s right there with you no matter what. Deeply in love with every bit of you. Even carrying you a good chunk of the way.

At home it softens further, slower and warmer. He stays close through everything, helping you shower without making it feel like anything other than care. And when it’s finally quiet, he pulls you into bed with him, arms wrapped around you like it’s second nature, leaving small, appreciative kisses here and there until everything settles into something safe and you doze off.

You guys were just lucky the gym owner was too cheap to install security cameras.

© geumnana ― 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚

[geumnana]

PLEASE make more I have been waiting for more PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

ʚ KANG WOOYOUNG - Training You. ɞ

꣑ৎ― all characters depicted are 18 years or older consenting adults. │ wc: 9,8k cw (please read & proceed with caution): adult content / s*xual themes / consensual adult intimacy / fluff build-up / established relationship / attitude reader / semi public intimacy / kissing / boyfriend wooyoung / rough / with plot kinda / slight spit play / d*grading / attitude taken care of / making it fit / you will take it / p in v / finish inside / you scratch / slightest mention of bl*od / aftercare pairing: boyfriend! kang wooyoung x female reader

⤷ sypnosis: wooyoung takes you to the mma gym with him as he trains. seeing your boredom, he takes it upon himself to teach you a few fighting moves. till that leads to something else. leaving you a complete mess.

۶ৎ author message ﹕hi my loves, i've been kind of off tt for the time being as i fix some things but u ask and mommy vanta shall deliver. i hope you enjoy this oneshot. worked hard on it and did my best to portray wooyoung how i see him. let me know if you have any requests or characters you'd like to see. also your comments are much appreciated, i read them all on both tumblr and tt :) enjoy <3

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated ♡ + ↻

੭﹕﹒AGAIN, MDNI 18+ 彡

masterlist . ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ♬⋆.˚ M a k e I t T o T h e M o r n i n g - PARTYNEXTDOOR ᴺᵉˣᵗ ᵁᵖ ♬⋆.˚ Don't Make Me Wait - Sabrina Claudio

The gym felt completely different at night. Without the usual crowd filling the space, every sound seemed louder than it should have been. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the only thing cutting through the silence was the steady impact of gloves against a heavy bag.

The owner had trusted Wooyoung with spare keys months ago. Something about being responsible enough to lock up after and dedicated enough to actually train and use the place even when everyone else was asleep.

And as expected, Wooyoung put that spare key to good use. Even after spending his afternoons at the gym with everyone else during scheduled training, he'd still find himself back here late at night, unable to stay away for long before convincing himself he needed a few more hours.

And since the two of you had been dating for a couple of months now, Wooyoung had made a habit of dragging you along whenever he came. It was his way of spending time with you even when his schedule was packed and most of his free hours somehow ended up revolving around training.

You complained every single time. Told him it was boring. Reminded him that watching someone punch things for hours wasn't exactly quality entertainment.

Yet somehow, every now and then, you'd still end up here anyway. Like today.

You were sprawled out on your stomach on the mats off to the side, completely removed from whatever he had planned for himself. Pajama shorts exposed your legs to the cool air of the gym, and an oversized hoodie, one of Wooyoung's that had mysteriously found its way into your closet months ago, nearly swallowed the rest of you whole. Even after countless washes, traces of his cologne still clung stubbornly to the fabric.

Which you secretly loved, even if you’d never say it out loud.

Your phone rested in your hand as you scrolled aimlessly through social media, barely paying attention to anything on the screen. The repetitive sound of gloves hitting a heavy bag echoed through the otherwise empty gym.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You glanced up briefly.

Wooyoung was still at it. Still moving like he had all the energy in the world despite the fact that it was pushing midnight.

You looked back down at your phone with a sigh.

A few moments later, the steady sounds of impact suddenly stopped. Curious, you glanced up again.

Wooyoung had finally stepped away from the heavy bag. Sweat darkened the neckline of the shirt he had on underneath his zip up hoodie and dampened the hair sticking to his forehead. Climbing through the ropes and into the ring, as he pulled off his gloves and hoodie, tossing them aside, he headed straight for the corner where he'd left his water bottle.

He bent down, unscrewed the cap, and took several long chugs. Downing the bottle in one go. Some water trickling down his chin and neck. Your eyes followed the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the bottle down. Then his attention shifted to you. A grin immediately spread across his face.

He leaned over the ring ropes, his forearms settling across the top one as it dipped slightly beneath his weight. Still warm from training, the lines of muscle were more defined under his skin, with faint veins tracing along them in a way that showed exactly how long he’d been working out. The look he gave you was pure amusement. He’d heard every dramatic sigh you’d let out over the last hour.

“You look miserable,” he said simply from above.

“I am,” you murmur, turning onto your back as you look up at him from the mats. He looks so good in the ring, like he belongs there more than anywhere else, all controlled strength and ease in the way he holds himself.

Letting out a soft “pfff,” he rolls his eyes, clearly teasing you. He looks more amused than anything, like your dramatics are something he’s quietly fond of even when he pretends not to be. It was cute to him.

“Come here,” he says, softer this time.

You get up slowly, taking your time as you walk over, still a little lazy with it.

“Put some pep in your step.”

You walk slower on purpose.

“What,” you say, more attitude than question when you reach the ring.

He huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

“Get in, dummy,” he says, tilting his head toward the ring in an invitation, already reaching out a hand like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Looking at him with a look that could only be described as a mix of confusion and quiet disbelief, you give in and take his hand as he pulls you up effortlessly. He lifts the ropes for you so you can climb in.

You stumble slightly as you get in, your foot catching on one of the ropes, and he catches you before you fully crash into him. You land against his chest anyway. He lets out a breathless laugh, trying and failing to hold it in. You immediately hit him over the arm.

“I was going to teach you some moves,” he says, still laughing under his breath, “but after that? I think you’d be safer bubble wrapped in a box.”

You roll your eyes, arms folding across your chest.

“Great, because I’m not doing that with you,” you say, already turning to climb out of the ring.

Before you make it a step, he catches your wrist and pulls you back into him with an ease that steals the momentum right out of you. You end up pressed against his chest again, his breath still slightly uneven from training.

He looks down at you with a soft grin, whisker dimples deepening as he holds your gaze for a second too long. Sweat still clings to his skin, hair slightly messy, cheeks faintly flushed from the strain of punching a bag for an hour. There’s something almost unfair in how good he looks even like this, worn down but still effortlessly put together in his own way, in that familiar Wooyoung way you’ve come to recognize and adore without even thinking about it.

It makes your annoyance slip for half a second before you catch it again.

“Too late,” he says.

He finally lets you go, just enough to reach down and pick up extra gloves resting by the corner. Red gloves.

He gently takes your hand and starts sliding the gloves onto it. They’re a little big, clearly made for the men who usually train here, but he works them on carefully anyway, adjusting your fingers so they sit right before tightening the velcro strap.

He gives it an extra tug, like he wants it to feel secure, then steps back to look at you properly.

A quiet laugh slips out of him, soft and unguarded, as he takes in how the gloves swallow your hands.

You hold up a bitter middle finger and he brings your hand up to his lips before placing kisses against your manicured fingers.

“You look ridiculous,” he says playfully, but his smile gives him away, lingering a second longer as if he’s trying to memorize the sight of his girl looking annoyed and out of place.

“Are you serious?” you mutter, holding your hands up to study the gloves.

He takes a moment to crack his knuckles before he leans down and grabs his black pair. His usual gloves.

In the leather of his, your name is embroidered cleanly. He got them custom made a few weeks ago, not saying much about it at the time, just bringing them in like it was nothing. He wanted a piece of you wherever he was, even in his matches.

And you try to hide the smile creeping onto your face as you notice it again, that softness he never really puts into words. The part of him that shows through in small things like this, even when he’s all sharp edges and tough around everyone else.

“Baby,” he starts, voice a little lower now, softer, “you should let me teach you a few self defense moves.”

“Why would I need that? I have you,” you say, like it’s obvious, like it solves everything. What was the point of having a boyfriend with biceps the size of your face if he didn’t use them to be your personal bodyguard after all.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a soft smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach how he’s looking at you. His eyes stay on yours a moment longer.

“I know,” he replies gently, stepping closer without even thinking about it, “but I’m not always gonna be right there.”

There’s no distance in his tone, just something steady. He’s already decided it matters even if you’re trying to brush it off.

“And I’d rather you be able to defend yourself,” he continues, voice calm but firmer now, “even though I’ll still go find the person myself.”

He says it like it’s already decided, like your safety isn’t something he’s willing to negotiate on.

You let your shoulders slump slightly and roll your eyes, already acting like you’ve lost before you’ve even started. Already deciding this is going to end with you regretting it.

He raises his hands into a proper fighting stance, gloves framing his face, eyes focused but still calm in that way of his that never really feels intimidating when it’s just you.

“Fists up, baby,” he says.

And you do. A little awkward at first, then steadier as you mirror him properly, your stance matching his as best as you can manage. He smiles across you, clearly enjoying how adorable you looked trying to match his moves.

“First thing,” he says, a little more focused now but still soft around the edges, “when someone swings, you don’t freeze. You don’t just stand there and take it.”

His voice stays calm, almost gentle in the way it always is with you, like it’s instinct for him to soften the moment he’s talking to you. There’s truly no version of him that fully switches that off when it’s you he’s looking at, no matter how serious he’s trying to be.

“When someone swings from either side, you either move your head out of line, or step out of it. Simple,” he puts a glove up mimicking the movement to illustrate what he meant.

“If it’s a hook coming in like this,” he continues, demonstrating a slow left hook, “you keep your guard up, tuck your chin, and either slip under it or step back just enough so it misses clean.”

His eyes flick back to you, checking if you’re following.

“Try it. Hands up. Imagine I’m throwing it at you.”

You put your hands back up in the position he taught you, trying to match his stance as closely as you can.

He shifts his weight and brings his glove into that same slow left hook, deliberately controlled, careful, holding back every bit of force on purpose so it doesn’t even come close to hurting you.

Something his teammates could only wish for, the kind of restraint he never really shows in training or matches, where he’s usually all brutal focus and impact. But with you, it’s different without him even thinking about it.

As the hook closes in, you lean your upper body back just like he taught you, the glove barely missing you, but still cutting through the space right in front of you without ever making contact.

“Good job,” he says immediately, his voice bright with praise as a smile spreads across his face, clearly pleased in a way he doesn’t bother hiding when it’s you. “Good girl.”

“See, I can defend myself,” you say, almost cocky as you straighten up.

He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t decide if he’s proud or amused.

“Alright, simmer down,” he says, still smiling.

Your grin only widens, entirely too pleased with yourself. The praise had gone straight to your head. One successful dodge and suddenly you were ready to retire Wooyoung and take over for him yourself. He just smiles. There was something ridiculously endearing about the way you wore your pride so openly. One compliment and you looked ready to conquer the world, and he loved every second of it.

“I think I’m a natural.”

“You are,” he plays along.

Wooyoung lets out another breathy chuckle, as he takes a step back. The black gloves come up near his face again, though there isn't a single intimidating thing about him right now. If anything, he looks entertained. Like he's watching a kid show off a drawing they were way too proud of.

“Okay, Conor McGregor,” he teases, “Let’s see if you can throw one.”

“Throw one where?” you echo confused.

He lifts a glove and taps the center of his chest. “Here.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you shake your head.

“I’m not punching you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Baby,” his tone gains that firmness to it.

“No.”

The corner of his mouth lifts higher. His hair slowly falling down over his forehead again. Throat moving as he swallowed. “You think you’re gonna knock me out?”

“No.”

“Then hit me.”

You just stare at him suspiciously. You'd watched enough of his matches by now to know exactly what one punch from him could do. Seen people hit the mat from a single clean shot. Seen entire fights end before they really had the chance to begin. Not that you believed for a second you could ever do that to him, but it still sat in the back of your mind every time he told you to hit him. Still made you hesitate.

Yet despite it, you lift your gloves anyway. Because beneath all the teasing, beneath the laughter and the way he seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of you, you knew he was only teaching you for your own good. And if there was one thing you'd learned since dating Wooyoung, it was that when it came to keeping you safe, he was serious.

“Not my face.”

You roll your eyes. “I wasn’t even aiming there.”

The gloves still feel strange. Too bulky. Too big. Every movement feels delayed by half a second because of the extra weight around your hands.

Before you can do anything, Wooyoung steps forward.

“Relax your shoulders.”

Immediately, you tense them.

His laugh bounces around the empty gym.

“Not the opposite.”

“I'm trying.”

“I can see that.”

“Alright,” he says, stepping back again. “Small punch. Right here.” He taps his chest once more.

You pull your fist back, hesitation still lingering stubbornly in the back of your head. The glove feels heavier now that you're actually expected to use it. A few moments ago you were just copying whatever Wooyoung told you to do. Now he was standing there waiting for you to hit him.

You pause. Then pull your fist back even further. Like that’s gonna help.

“Baby.”

His voice cuts through your concentration immediately. You glance up. The smile already threatening his face tells you everything. There was nothing intimidating about you.

You looked ridiculous.

Standing there with your fist pulled halfway back, body stiff as a board, looking less like someone about to throw a punch and more like someone trying to calculate a math equation and the likelihood of your punch actually doing any damage.

“I'm thinking.”

“Don't think.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

That earns a look from him. A very specific look. One eyebrow lifts, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fights back a smile. Like he knows exactly how dramatic you're being. Like he already knows every thought running through your head without you having to say a word. He tilts his head slightly, and the smile finally wins, turning teasing as he looks down at you.

“Just punch me.”

You huff loudly through your nose and finally swing.

The glove lands square against his chest with a satisfying thud. And nothing happens. Nothing. Not a stumble. Not a flinch. Not even a tiny shift backwards.

The impact disappears into him like you'd thrown the punch into a brick wall. The only evidence you'd actually hit him at all is the slight movement of his shirt beneath your glove.

How dare he? Not even a grunt? Not a sound? This was insulting.

“Are you serious?”

A laugh immediately escapes him.

“Was that it?”

“Alright, fuck yourself.”

“Again.”

Your eyes narrow. A bitter expression washing over your face.

“Don't piss me off.”

“Then hit harder.”

The grin on his face only makes it worse. You pull your hand back again, determination replacing the embarrassment now. This time you actually want to hit him. Actually wanting to prove a point. Wooyoung notices instantly. His smile softens.

Before you can throw it, he reaches forward and gently adjusts your stance. One gloved hand settles on your shoulder while the other nudges your elbow.

“Turn your shoulder.”

His hand taps it.

“Use your hips.” his gloved hand slides up your waist. “And waist. Don’t just throw your arm and expect damage to be done, dummy.”

His touch lingers for only a second before he steps back again, giving you room.

You take a breath, adjusting your feet and turning your shoulder. Mentally checking off every single thing he'd just told you, running through the instructions in your head one by one like an imaginary checklist. Then swing.

The second punch lands much cleaner. The impact echoes through the ring. And immediately Wooyoung takes a step backwards in fake defeat like you had just successfully knocked the air out of him. Your eyes light up. Pride immediately washing over you.

“HA!” The victory leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

Wooyoung bites the inside of his cheek so hard trying not to laugh that it almost hurts.

This liar. This absolute liar.

This man had spent the last hour pounding heavy bags hard enough to shake their chains. Had trained with fighters double your size. Had walked into amateur matches and come out looking annoyingly unbothered. Spent afternoons wrapping his bruised split open knuckles like they were just another part of his routine and yet here he is, pretending to be hurt.

There was no universe where that punch had actually did anything to someone like him. But he saw the way your entire face brightened. Saw the pride immediately bloom across your features.

And just like that, the fake step backwards had been worth it.

“Getting stronger, baby,” he says, grinning.

Your smile grows even wider. So unbelievably proud of yourself. Like you'd just won a championship belt instead of successfully punching your boyfriend.

Something about it makes his chest ache a little.

Without warning he reaches forward and catches your face between both gloves. Your cheeks immediately squish together.

“Wooyoung!” you say pushing him away in a failed attempt.

The complaint comes out ruined. Your lips forced into the world's most pathetic pucker.

“Look at you.”

“Stop.”

“You're scary.”

“Stop.”

“You almost killed me.”

You try to glare. The squished cheeks completely ruin the effect.

His smile softens into something warmer as he looks at you. Hair messy. Oversized gloves swallowing your hands. Looking entirely too pleased with yourself over a punch that barely would've moved a shopping cart.

Before you can swat him away, he leans forward and presses a quick kiss against your puckered lips.

The kind that lasts barely a second.

The kind that still somehow leaves you smiling long after he pulls away.

And like that, you continue.

The gym feels further away again. The hum of the lights, the echo of earlier punches, all of it fading into something distant. Outside, it’s already fully dark, midnight long passed, the city reduced to nothing but blurred reflections in the windows. And still, you’re here. Still, it’s just the two of you in a place that was never meant to feel this quiet.

But somehow it doesn’t feel out of place. Not with him. Not with you. It feels settled in a way you don’t really question anymore, like the space has learned your rhythm, the way he moves between training and you, the way you linger just close enough to always be part of it without having to try.

Like the gym belongs to you both in these hours when no one else is around.

You both drown in repetitive punching self defense movements. His hands hovering over your waist, wrists, shoulders, neck. Him constantly adjusting your position. You constantly complaining.

“Let’s try something a bit more real.”

He steps closer again, but there’s no tension in it anymore. No stance, no guard. Just Wooyoung being Wooyoung in your space, like the ring doesn’t separate anything between you.

He tosses his gloves aside, you follow his que, doing the same.

“Not everything is punches,” he continues. “Sometimes someone grabs you. Pulls you off balance. Tries taking you down.”

His hands come up slowly, giving you time to see it coming, and he takes your wrist lightly. Not harsh, just showing. Where contact starts. Where control begins.

“If I grab you here,” he says, gently tightening just enough for you to feel the shift, “your first reaction isn’t to panic. You stay with your feet.”

He nudges your stance with his knee, correcting you without really thinking about it, as if he knows where you’re off balance before you do.

“Feet under you,” he repeats, quieter now.

“And if you do get taken down,” he adds, eyes flicking up to yours, soft in a way that doesn’t match the lesson at all, “you don’t go limp. You don’t just fall and hope for the best.”

He shifts closer, and for a moment it stops feeling like instructions, just the two of you standing too near in an empty ring.

“You learn how to land,” he says.

His grip loosens slightly on your wrist, but he doesn’t let go right away.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ll go slow. I’ve got you.”

You nod, trying to copy what he showed you. Trying being the important word.

He moves first, just enough to guide you off balance, not enough to actually throw you. His hand shifts, your footing adjusts wrong for half a second, and then everything happens a little too fast for you to recover cleanly.

Instead of a controlled fall, you stumble right into him, grabbing onto his shirt as you instinctively pull him with you.

Your shoulder hits his chest, his arms come up on reflex to catch you, and despite trying to keep you up. He ends up losing balance as well. There’s a short, surprised sound from him before you both go down onto the mat with a soft thud that echoes through the empty gym.

A beat of silence.

Then he starts laughing.

Amusement hangs loosely in the air as he turns his head slightly, still half tangled with you on the floor. One of your hands is gripping his forearm, the other caught in the fabric of his shirt, while his hands stay steady at your waist without really letting you go.

“You’re not supposed to crash into the floor, baby,” he says through it, trying and failing to sound serious.

You let out a frustrated noise, but it only makes him laugh harder. One of his arms is still loosely around you, keeping you from fully rolling away, and you can feel his chest moving with each laugh, warm and vibrant against you.

“You said you’d go slow,” you mutter, trying to shift the blame onto him as embarrassment dawns on you anyway, heat rising in your face at how easily it all fell apart. Of all things, you’d messed up something that was supposed to be controlled, simple, almost impossible to get wrong.

The way your foot slipped at the exact moment it shouldn’t have. The way you turned a clean demonstration into both of you on the mat in under a second. Your eyes flick away in pretend annoyance, but it’s more humiliation than anything else, like you can’t quite meet his face right now without feeling it all over again.

“I did go slow,” he says, still smiling, eyes closing for a second like he’s trying to catch his breath from shamelessly laughing at you. “That was on you,” he pokes at the side of your stomach and you jolt slightly.

You huff, genuine annoyance slipping into it this time. Your earlier attitude settles right back into place, stubborn and familiar. It only seems to amuse him more.

A laugh still lingers in his chest, quieter now, softer. Your clumsiness isn't something he's frustrated by, but something he's already accepted as part of you.

Above, the fluorescent lights hum steadily. The surface beneath you is warm where the two of you had gone down moments ago, the air carrying that familiar mix of leather, his cologne, and the lingering aftermath of training. His laughter gradually fades, leaving behind a comfortable silence.

Neither of you moves right away.

One of his hands remains at your waist, absentmindedly holding you even though there's no need anymore. The pressure shifts slightly as his fingers settle more comfortably against your side, and you hate how quickly it affects you.

The irritation you'd been holding onto begins to unravel.

Like it always does with him. Somehow he always finds a way to make you forget what you were pretending to be upset about in the first place.

Suddenly, he pulls you up, guiding you until you’re straddling his lap. His hands rest at your waist, familiar, like they’ve always known where to go. He looks up at you with that same teasing warmth in his eyes, the kind that always manages to undo your attitude before you can properly hold onto it.

You glance down at him with a faint scowl, trying to keep your expression firm, but it doesn’t land the way you want it to. More forced than convincing.

Because your stomach is already doing that annoying, traitorous flutter again at the smallest shift of his hands, at the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

“You wanna keep pouting?” he murmurs from below in that soft, velvety tone that always manages to make your resolve wobble and your knees buckle under you.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You very much are,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. And those damn dimples show up again, completely ruining your attempt at staying annoyed.

“You messed it up.”

“You’re right, baby. I’m sorry,” he says, far too easily, with obvious sarcasm tucked under the apology.

Before you can even gather another complaint, his hand slides to the back of your neck and pulls you down toward him, your chest flush against his, his other hand ghosting down to cup your ass. The space between you disappears in an instant.

He presses a kiss to your lips, soft and uncomplicated.

When he pulls back, he’s still smiling like he won something.

“There,” he says quietly. “Fixed it.”

You pause for a moment, acting unimpressed, even as your hands settle against his chest to steady yourself properly on his lap. You look down at him, his hair spread slightly beneath him, back resting comfortably against the ring floor like he belongs there just as much as he belongs standing.

And just like that, the gym doesn’t feel like a gym anymore. It doesn’t really matter where you are, whether it’s here under the buzzing lights or anywhere else in the world.

Because in this moment, even being on the moon in space would mean nothing, you needed him.

“No, do better.”

His smirk only widens. Knowing exactly what was going on. And he was loving it. Loved when you got needy like this. In your own way.

“Mm, yes ma’am,” he simply says, pulling you down by the back of your neck again.

There’s no warning in it this time, no teasing, just certainty. Like he already knows exactly where this is going the moment your lips meet his.

And the second kiss lands.

Not soft. Just pure hunger. It’s immediate, almost greedy in the way it pulls you into him, like something in him finally stops pretending to be patient. Every second of teasing, every laugh, every slow correction from earlier training folds into it all at once.

A hard smack lands across your ass. Making you gasp into his mouth. He swallows your noise.

His hands slide up to your hips, slow, on purpose. Trying to see just how much resolve he can loosen with a mere mundane touch.

Steadying you where you’re straddling him, holding you there with a grip that isn’t rough but isn’t gentle either. Just intentional and familiar. Feeling like he knows exactly how to touch you without needing to think about it.

The kind of touch that makes your confidence from earlier feel stupid in hindsight.

Because this is what actually gets to you. Not the training. Not the jokes.

Just him, holding you like he’s been doing it long enough that it’s second nature now, and still somehow makes your chest tighten every time.

Your tongues find each other and move in the same rhythm with him setting the pace. The sounds of wet kissing echoing off the gym walls. One of your hands rests against his jaw, thumb moving gently against the warm flush of his cheek, while the other stays on his chest, fingers curled into his shirt like you’re holding onto something solid without meaning to.

His grip on your hips firms, fingers digging into your bones making your breath hitch slightly, as he rocks you gently back and fourth. He’s steadying you there and setting a pace. Your bodies grinding into each other slowly, unhurried, every shift of movement deliberate in the way it builds between you without needing anything said.

Dry humping? Really? Childish. At least that was what you tried to convince yourself with. Despite how good it felt.

Your shorts already riding up as the movement forces it higher, fabric catching with every small adjustment of his hands, every slight pull of his hold as he keeps you close. The heat of him is constant beneath your palms, beneath your attention, something you’ve already stopped trying to separate yourself from.

“Do you need anything?” he pulls away just enough to whisper against your mouth, his warm breath brushing your wet lips.

Despite already folding under almost zero pressure, you squint at him anyway, stubbornly holding your ground. “No.”

He smiles against your lips before fully pulling back, your mouth chasing his for half a second before you catch yourself.

“Really?” he murmurs, eyes flicking down for the briefest second before meeting yours again. “Because I can feel you throbbing on me.” You swallow, embarrassingly enough feeling that familiar sense of a slow, throbbing ache building low in your body, making it hard to sit still.

But what made the embarrassment easier to deal with was what you felt under you. You were clearly not the only one affected by this closeness. It was in the way he held you a fraction tighter with each passing second, the way his breath didn’t quite stay as steady as his voice tried to sound, the way his focus kept flickering for just a second too long before he looked back at you again.

Oh, and the undeniable hard outline in his sweats settled right between your legs.

He shifts slightly on the floor, unbothered, as if he has all the time in the world. Then he pulls one of the bulky gloves and slides it under his head, propping himself up on it with an ease that makes the whole situation feel even more unfairly relaxed.

Fully prepared to ruin you.

Your hips roll for a brief second on their own, a small, involuntary movement you can’t quite hide, like your body refuses to stay still on top of him. Whatever frustration or need you were trying to keep tucked away slips through in the simplest, most obvious way.

He notices. Of course he does.

His hand comes up, slow and unhurried, brushing your hair back behind your ear with care. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you in this position, before letting the touch settle back into something quieter. Lazily tracing your thighs up and down. Goosebumps rising against his palms.

“All that sulking from earlier… where’d it go?” his fingers tug at the hem of your shorts. “Say it again. ‘I’m not pouting.’ Go on.”

He watches the way your hips rock back and forth on their own, subtle and unthinking, your body reacting before your mind has time to catch up. Instinctive movement chasing some relief for the aching need between your thighs.

And it only makes it worse that it’s happening right here, in the middle of the boxing ring, under the hum of the gym lights. He just felt too good for you to actually give half of a fuck. Which he didn’t mind himself. This was the place he won multiple matches, it only makes sense to ruin you here.

Your fingers catch on the strings of his sweatpants, pulling them loose in one quick motion. Whatever restraint you were trying to hold onto disappears just as fast as it came.

He just looks up at you with that easy smile of his, completely unbothered, watching something he already expected. Amused, fond in a way that makes it worse. He loved seeing you lose control. Taking what you need from him.

“Pull them lower, baby, go on,” he says smoothing his palms against your thighs. And without a second thought, you do. His sweatpants lower, his hard length straining against his boxers.

And even though his own need was eating away at him, he lets you strip him entirely on your own accord. Something about your hands urgently pulling him apart layer by layer only made it better. He loved watching you do it, watching the impatience take over, watching you unwrap him piece by piece like a Christmas present you'd been waiting all day to get your hands on.

“Easy,” he teases, knowing it only drove you crazier.

“Oh, shush,” you bite back and slowly tug at his boxers, freeing his length, immediately noticing that familiar side curve it had, the one you’d already become used to seeing far too often in just a few months of dating. Him and his crazy libido that matched yours perfectly.

His tip was leaking a thin layer of precum.

“Stop looking, perv,” he teases.

“Right,” you say, annoyance slipping through your voice, your hoodie gets shoved off in the same breath, landing somewhere on the floor beside you and forgotten almost immediately.

His hands leave your thighs, ghosting up your stomach until they settle against the lace fabric of your bra. Unintentionally, the bra was a deep navy blue. Wooyoung's favorite color. Not that it was a thought that had crossed your mind when you got dressed.

But clearly it worked in your favor now.

His eyes catch on the color almost immediately, a smile pulling at his lips as he looks at it. Then at you.

“My favorite,” he murmurs, the smile in his voice impossible to miss.

His thumbs brush absentmindedly against those familiar sensitive peaks beneath the fabric, the touch so casual yet deliberate. A soft breath slips from you before you can stop it, and the look on his face immediately tells you he noticed.

“It wasn’t intentional,” you say immediately, needing him to know that.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s like that?”

You nod once. A grin slowly spreads across his face.

“Don’t care,” he says, almost laughing, “I'd still fuck you no matter what you're wearing.”

And with that, his fingers find the clasp at the back of your bra. Months of familiarity make the movement effortless, and within seconds it comes undone beneath his hand.

He carelessly tosses it somewhere to the side, not bothering to look where it lands. Freeing your chest against the cold air of the gym.

The second his eyes find your boobs again, his mouth parts ever so slightly in quiet admiration. Not enough to be overly obvious, but enough for you to catch it.

Like he'd just been handed his favorite candy.

This man was the biggest fan of your boobs.

Your chest is left fully on display in front of him as you instinctively try to cover yourself with one arm across it, the movement more clumsy than effective. The sudden exposure makes your confidence falter for a second, heat creeping up your neck as you glance away, suddenly very aware of how he’s looking at you.

“No, don’t cover up, come here.”

He quickly removes your arm, pinning it behind your back by your wrist, his grip firm but familiar. His other hand finds your upper back and guides you slightly lower, steadying you so you stop fidgeting away from him.

“So pretty,” says the fanboy.

As he guided you to lean lower, his hand closed gently around one of your breasts, holding it with warmth. His mouth found it without hesitation, enclosing it slowly, unhurried, as if testing the moment itself.

The damp heat of his mouth wrapped around your peak, drawing a sharp, quiet gasp from you before you could stop it. When he looked up at you, his eyes stayed unnervingly calm, steady and composed, as though he didn’t literally have your tit in his mouth. Sucking on it like at any moment milk might actually come out.

“Mm,” he hums softly around it, the sound vibrating faintly through the air between you. His other hand lingers at your wrist, still holding it gently pinned behind your lower back, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles into your skin.

This man had you straddling his lap in the middle of an empty MMA gym, your body leaning over his like it was the most natural thing in the world, like neither of you had thought to question it in the first place. Your boob sat in his mouth with that same careless ease, while his hands stayed steady on you, warm and grounding in a way that made you not think twice over it.

His tongue flicked out briefly, licking a slow and deliberate vertical line from your underboob up to your nipple where the wet tip of it swirled around, before he sucked it back in with unhurried ease. For a moment he held it there, then let it slip free again with a soft, loud ‘pop’ that echoed faintly in the quiet gym, matching the cadence of your breathless sounds

It felt like he was mapping out the exact shape of your boob using his tongue only.

He places a wet kiss against your already drenched peak.

“Perfect,” another kiss. “All mine,” jiggling it greedily in his hand like a toy. Completely in a trance.

His hand finds your other boob, giving the exact same treatment. Taking every part of it unhurried. He sucks red bruises onto your chest. He loved the way the marks deepened, a lingering echo of him in his absence. A reminder to you.

“Take this off,” he says under his breath, fingers hooking onto your shorts and pulling them down. With a quick tug, they slid down and get tossed aside.

His grip tightened on your hips, fingers digging into yielding flesh as he anchored you precisely where he wanted you. The thin barrier of your panties—damp from anticipation—slid between your slick inner thighs, offering no real resistance as his bare, heated length pressed insistently against your core.

He settled into a slow, devastating rhythm, grinding your clothed heat directly against the rigid length of him until your panties were utterly soaked.

The deliberate friction dragged a desperate sound from your throat, leaving you breathless and trembling as he worked you over his cock. The throbbing between your legs only becoming more evident. His own body pulsing back.

“Feel that?” He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging it aside to expose your slick center. The heavy length of his shaft settled directly against your folds, skin to skin, the prominent veins adoring it dragging lazily through your wetness without pushing inside. Denying you the fullness you craved.

Moments later, your panties are off. Continuing to grind you against himself.

“Fuck, I’m so hard,” he groans. “Keep those eyes on me.”

Your hands dart aimlessly against his shirt, sneaking past it and under the fabric, against the hard outlines of his bare abs where the muscle rippled beneath your touch. Your hips worked themselves into the movement he set.

“Don’t tell me that’s enough to mess you up,” he teases from below, voice edged with amusement that doesn’t match the position he’s in. As if his groans weren’t eating at the walls of the gym too.

He might be under you, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still got you exactly where he wants you, through the way you keep reacting, the way your focus slips whenever he speaks. You’re losing the thread of your own thoughts, attention narrowing to him alone, stuck on him in a way that makes it hard to breathe properly.

“Put it in…” You let out something barely there, almost inaudible, but not quite. Like you wanted him to catch it without you having to say it properly.

Your voice sits just above a whisper, fragile at the edges, already slipping out of reach. One octave lower and it would’ve disappeared into the space between you.

His smirk only deepens, calm and knowing.

“Go on, baby, it’s in your name,” he says, letting go of your hips. “Use it. Use me. You’re the one on top, aren’t you?”

His tone is light, teasing, too calm for someone who just put you on the spot. He knows exactly what he’s doing, stepping back just enough to make it feel like the responsibility is suddenly yours, watching to see how you’ll handle it.

You push yourself up onto your knees, rising just enough to hover directly above him.

"Spit on it," he commanded, his tone insanely casual.

You obeyed without hesitation, letting a string of spit fall directly onto his flushed head. It glistened against his tip before he took himself in hand, smoothing the slick moisture down the rest of his shaft.

"Mm, fuck," A low, breathy groan tore from his throat as he coated his length in your mess. "Again."

He held his palm flat directly beneath your lips, catching the saliva as it dripped from your mouth. Without a second thought, he smeared it over his shaft, using your own spit as lube so casually. Nothing you did disgusted him, everything about you turned him on.

And with one hand resting at the base of his shaft, he steadies it for you without hesitation. You lower yourself carefully, his tip brushing against your entrance, making you hold his shoulders for balance. The thin layer of precum that dotted his tip smeared on your heat.

You tense at the feeling of his tip pressing against your entrance, instinctively bracing yourself for it.

“You got it, you can take it,” he encourages nodding slowly.

A whine escapes your throat as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped indents behind.

“It’s too big.”

“You’re gonna take it one way or another,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against the small of your back. “I can gladly use your mouth instead.”

Working your slick heat over his thick shaft, he struggled to make it fit, his thumb finding your clit trying to soothe you. He pressed and circled right there, right against your sensitive nerve, using the hand that had been resting on your inner thigh to stretch and coax you open while he guided his stubborn girth against your entrance.

"Too much?"

You shook your head no, eyes glassy and pleading, refusing to let the stretch deter you. You needed him inside, even if his girth strained against you despite being soaked. This was always how it was at first, a desperate, needy struggle to accommodate him, your body aching and ready yet still having to work to take every thick inch.

A faint wet slick lingered between your bodies as his hand remained on the small of your back, applying gentle pressure as he eased you down his shaft.

His head fell back uncontrollably, giving way to a raw, unfiltered sound. A deep, guttural groan that rumbled through his chest and escaped him completely unchecked. He never held back his noises.

That's how Wooyoung operated.

Which only made you less embarrassed about the throaty gasp that slipped out as you felt him disappear inside you, filling you completely in this position that allowed him to reach intimate depths. His thick length stretched you open, his tip pushing against your innermost walls like it was trying to burrow into your stomach.

“Look at you, swallowed it whole,” his tone was so cocky in that familiar Wooyoung way. The way he spoke when he knew he had you where he wanted you. Like he knew exactly where he stood with you. No shame. No second guessing. Nothing carefully filtered or held back. Just him, saying it exactly how he thinks it, like whatever slips out of his delicious lips was always meant to be said that way.

His hands begin moving you up and down like his own personal toy, holding your hips. Setting the pace himself. Agonizingly slow. Making you feel every single ridge of his shaft double, your eyes holding that deep gaze. Except his eyes dropped up and down your face and between your bodies, watching intently how you connected.

You bounce matching his hands guiding you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes following his shaft as it disappears repeatedly inside you and then returns looking noticeably messier. Wetter. “Taking that shit like your life depends on it, huh?”

You fold over him, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt into tight bunches as you let out small, broken sounds you don’t fully mean to make. Your back arches away from his palm where he held you, in reflex, every careful movement still hitting sharper than expected. Even at that slow, controlled pace, it’s overwhelming. Because Wooyoung knows exactly how to get a reaction out of you without pushing too far.

You can feel it everywhere at once, in the way your grip tightens on his shirt, your neatly manicured fingers holding on harder matching the grip of his hand on your hipbones.

The pace picks up, a little faster, and the pressure catches you off guard—your body jerking away on instinct as a sharp, overwhelming shock of pleasure runs through you.

“Ah, shit,” you curse, sounding choked.

Before you can fully pull back, your hips are guided right back into place again, his grip firmer now, steadying you through it without giving you room to slip out of his hold.

“Move again and watch how I’ll fuck your brains out,” he says, barely able to get the words through his uneven breathing, voice rough. Jamming you back into the same pace without hesitation like a ragdoll, secure enough to stop you from shifting away again. He sinks back inside with a curse. “Keep taking it for me.”

His hand struck down on your ass, the impact leaving a red mark on contact. You wince slightly at the feeling. Your hips begin moving on their own, rolling slowly back and fourth seeking to double the pleasure you were feeling. And as his tip makes contact with your cervix deep inside, you grind your clit against his lower abdomen.

“You’re soaking wet, it’s cute,” he smiles, his bottom lip jammed between his teeth sharp enough to almost draw blood. You manage a sound in protest. “No? Then look at the mess you’re making all over my cock.”

Your moans and his uneven rhythm of air lingered in the space between you, the gym quieting into something almost unreal. And each time he bottomed out inside you, a gentle slap against your ass is earned.

He reached up, his large palm splaying across your sweat dampened chest, roughly kneading the soft bouncing flesh until it spilled from between his needy, greedy fingers.

Pressing you lower, he captured a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling as his hips snapped upward from below, driving his cock deep into your core while you attempted to ride him. He wasn’t waiting on you to make an effort, he was taking it how he wanted.

The sound of wet, squelching movements fills the air. Shamelessly.

He removes his mouth. Your breaths mix and mingle in the small space between you, your chests close enough to feel each sharp exhale rise and fall against the other. Your faces hover near, lips mere inches apart, every breath shared in the same air between you, into each others mouths.

His hand wraps around your throat gently as he slows his pace down a little more, adjusting the movement carefully to match and maximize your reactions.

Even slow strokes helped undo you.

You sit up again, leaning back on your palms that rest on his thighs.

Giving him access to wreck you further.

He thumbs your clit with the other hand, making you shudder at the sudden feeling. The repeated in–out motion of his shaft had eventually stirred you into a creamy mess. His cock growing stickier with each pass, each redraw leaving it heavier and uneven. It started to take on a faint milky tint, as if something had been worked too far, too many times.

“What a mess,” he says aimlessly, doubling down on his movement. Actually loving it.

“Wooyoung…” you breathe out, walls clenching tightly around him drawing a sharp inhale from him.

“Mhm, baby,” he coos back, “you got it,” he adds, his voice dropping into an encouraging whisper as he keeps going. “You can take all of it.”

“Deeper, please,” you plead.

And without missing a beat, Wooyoung, still moving inside you, flips you onto your back, reversing the roles.

Your back lands purposefully against his zip up hoodie that was tossed on the floor a long time ago, instinctively protecting your bare body from making direct contact with the floor, like you’re a precious diamond in his hands, careful enough to keep your soft skin from ever meeting the ring surface.

He pins your thighs back and keeps you grounded, driving his cock deeper. Practically pounding into you like a jackhammer by now. Earning soft, broken gasps from you in response.

“Like this?”

You aren’t even able to reply.

And in this angle, it hits deeper, the force of him pressing through your center making it feel like he settles right in your guts.

He licks a quick, teasing line along your skin starting beneath your tits to your neck, lingering just long enough to make you flinch and shudder in protest before he sucks a spot right under your ear, leaving a stubborn mark as if to prove a point. Nibbling slightly at your earlobe before pulling back.

Your body wasn’t the only thing he was ravaging, your mind followed right behind in that same queue, unable to keep up. He was deliberately doing everything in his power to keep you caught on him, tuned in to the way he had your preferences memorized. What made you tick, what made you lose your composure.

“Wooyoung…” You cry out again, moving your hips. Squirming underneath his pinning.

Which makes him press his hand firmly against your lower stomach so you could feel every inch of him register through you. Keeping you steady beneath him, reducing you to a shaking, whining wreck as you struggle to keep taking his pounding. The sticky, creamy mess between your bodies only growing more noticeable with each ruthless thrust.

“You go crazy for this, hm?” His voice comes out a little whiny there, edged with tease. “Love getting fucked into the floor like a slut?”

You nod back pathetically, barely registering what you’re admitting to, your thoughts still lagging behind you. He mirrors it instantly, nodding with a smile tugging at his face, clearly amused, copying your dazed little state as if to show you exactly how you look right now.

“I want you addicted to it.”

Catching you off guard he pushes his thumb between your lips, stretching your mouth to the side a little. Completely toying with your sweaty face.

“My girl loves getting pounded, doesn’t she?” Tracing the pad of his thumb, he smears your spit on your cheek, delivering a few light, mocking smacks to your flushed skin “Can’t talk? That’s okay. Just keep whining for it.”

You feel a subtle twitch inside you and he pulls back, deliberately resetting his orgasm. His head tips back slightly.

"I'm gonna cum inside, that okay?" he asked, looking down at your connected bodies, his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as he felt the overwhelming pleasure building. You just nodded mindlessly, too far gone to care.

His thumb finds your clit from above again, circling it gently as he watches closely, taking in the way your tits bounced with the rhythm of his thrusts.

Back arching slightly off the surface beneath you, you let out a sharp, breathless gasp, your thigh twitching in response. And he just smiles, watching you with quiet satisfaction. Like he always did. Loving the moment he got to admire the way you came undone from his doing, his work, touch, attention. Loving being used for your pleasure.

“All over my cock,” he encourages, tone needier, “fucking drench me.”

He pressed harder into your lower abdomen, applying firm pressure that finally tipped you over the edge.

“There it is.”

Your orgasm erupted in a violent, gushing squirt that drenched his lower stomach and the hoodie beneath you. A shocked, high pitched cry ripped from your throat as your nails clawed into the forearm that held you pinned, your walls fluttering around his shaft.

“Oh, fuckkk,” he curses. His lower abdomen tensing as it glistened with your fluid beneath the light.

He followed right after, his hips stuttering as he emptied his warm load deep inside, just like he'd promised. You winced at the sudden rush of heat and the feeling of the sticky mess coating your walls. Your eyes widened in slight surprise as you realized you were falling apart at the exact same moment, your bodies working together so beautifully. The moment far too intimate.

"No, don’t stop now," he groaned, pounding into you with relentless, unforgiving strokes while his thumb worked your clit in small circles, coaxing out every last pulsing squirt until your body went limp and weak. Despite being absolutely ruined himself.

He milked you dry until you collapsed onto the surface beneath you, a trembling, crying mess with nothing left to give, completely emptied yet filled to the brim simultaneously.

Still buried inside but not moving, he leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you. His breathing had turned so heavy, so uneven, it looked as though he was struggling to stay conscious.

Your breaths mingled in the space between you, neither of you moving for a moment as you waited for the dizziness clouding your vision to settle.

You could feel him gradually soften inside you. His forehead flush against yours.

The shift was almost jarring.

One second he’s all confidence, all control, knowing exactly how he had you completely figured out. The next, it’s gone so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

“Mm,” he manages a whimper, the sound slipping out far softer than intended, almost embarrassing in how quickly it betrays him. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, one hand settling on your waist. “Don’t move.”

The words come out strained, stripped of every ounce of cockiness he had a moment ago. The sudden sensitivity in his body clear.

But you weren’t one to talk. You were just as sensitive, if not worse, and it showed.

In the way every movement seemed slowed down, delayed by a second. In the weak trembles that kept running through your legs no matter how still you tried to stay. And in the fact that you couldn’t even put together a proper sentence, every thought dissolving before it could make it past your lips.

Pushing himself up onto his palms, he scatters lazy kisses across your face. One to each cheek, another to your forehead, one to the tip of your nose, and finally a soft kiss pressed to your lips.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, gently brushing the hair off your sweaty forehead. “I’ve got you. You did good.”

He waits a few more moments, giving you space to recover. Your breathing steadies, your legs relax, and eventually your eyes meet his, glassy and slightly red from exhaustion

“I’ll pull out slowly,” he reassures, drawing his completely soaked shaft out with gentle care so you don’t react sharply. You let out a quiet whiny breath, shuddering, shoulders tightening briefly before easing.

And as soon as you lose that satisfying full feeling, his cum starts leaking out of you in a slow, steady stream. Your body gradually emptying itself, feeling the thick ropes leaking out and onto the surface beneath you. His gaze falters slightly, fixed on the mess, clear satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he watches the evidence of his release trickle down your spent core. Clearly loving the sight of how well he put you to use.

Putting his hand up, he studies the red scratches running along his forearm. A few of them had broken the skin enough to draw the faintest trace of blood. Not that he cared. He hadn’t even noticed them until now

If anything, the sight makes the corner of his mouth twitch. Physical proof of just how overwhelmed he had you, written across his arm for the next few weeks he guessed. A reminder he’ll be far fonder of than he probably should.

“How does it feel?” he asks. You look up curiously. “Y’know, getting fucked where people usually beat the shit out of each other?” he teases, snickering as you smack his shoulder weakly.

“Thought this was supposed to be an educational course on self defense,” you say, rolling your eyes as you catch your breath.

“We’ll try harder next time,” he grins, all easy confidence again, “just don’t distract me.”

And although this wasn’t the ideal spot, it was more than enough. The kind of closeness that didn’t need perfect conditions, just the two of you fitting into each other the way you always did. It winds down in soft teasing and quiet care as he helps you clean up, careful hands and steady focus, easing you back into reality at your own pace. He keeps talking to you in that low, reassuring way of his the whole time, grounding you without ever making you feel rushed or alone in it.

Even on the way home, his hand keeps finding you without thinking. A steady touch on your back, your hand in his, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face whenever it falls there. That familiar look of absolute devotion never leaves him, the one that says he’s right there with you no matter what. Deeply in love with every bit of you. Even carrying you a good chunk of the way.

At home it softens further, slower and warmer. He stays close through everything, helping you shower without making it feel like anything other than care. And when it’s finally quiet, he pulls you into bed with him, arms wrapped around you like it’s second nature, leaving small, appreciative kisses here and there until everything settles into something safe and you doze off.

You guys were just lucky the gym owner was too cheap to install security cameras.

© geumnana ― 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚

[esaestrellaeramilujo]

WHC Boys | How he makes love vs how he fucks headcanons

Summary: headcanons of how this boys will make love vs. fuck you rough

Warning: +18, smut, oral, praise, aftercare, jealousy, masturbation, fem!reader.

Idea credit: megumour on tumblr

Note: English is not my first language so feel free to tell me if there are any mistakes.

𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒊-𝒆𝒖𝒏:

How does he make love?

❥ Si-eun is incredibly observant and quiet. When he’s being gentle, his touch is light... almost delicate.

❥ He isn’t the type to say "I love you" a thousand times, but he will constantly check in, asking if you want to do this or if you like that. His tone remains flat, yet he can’t quite hide how nervous he actually is. His kisses are brief and precise, scattered across your face and the base of your throat.

❥ To him, oral sex is a way to study you. He needs to figure out the exact pressure and rhythm that pushes you over the edge. He takes mental notes of your physical reactions; it’s his way of ensuring your happiness.

❥ His favorite position for making love is a reclined cowgirl. He loves it when you’re on top but leaning down against his chest, burying your face in his neck and letting him take the lead.

❥ He’ll wrap his arms firmly around your waist, pinning you against him as he begins to sink into you, tilting his hips up with slow, deliberate thrusts.

❥ He’d say things like:

“You’re shaking.”

“Don’t pull away.”

“Do you like it like this?”

It’s all very logical, but whispered in his low voice, it feels incredibly intimate.

❥ Aftercare is the most important part for him, especially since he grew up feeling lonely and overlooked by his parents. Afterward, he’ll stay glued to your side, likely bringing you water or food without you even asking. He doesn't say much, but he’ll let you fall asleep on his chest while he silently strokes your hair.

On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?

❥ It doesnt happen often, it just doesn't align with his usual personality or the nature of your relationship.

❥ If he takes the initiative, it’s usually because he’s been under extreme pressure. He isnt angry with you, and he makes sure you know it’s not your fault... he just needs to burn off the pent-up adrenaline.

❥ If you take the initiative, its usually after he's had to fight to protect you. You simply find it hotter when your quiet boyfriend lets his more violent side slip through.

❥ If he’s jealous, he’ll be rougher in bed, though you’ll likely never know jealousy was the catalyst. Si-eun is guarded and a man of few words; he’d never admit to feeling insecure.

❥ Don’t expect cheap degradation, he’s too smart for that. Instead, he’ll say things that prove he knows you better than anyone:

“Did you really think you could pretend you don’t like this?”

He isn’t mocking you, he’s just exposing the truth of your desire with his signature coldness.

❥ The pace stays slow, but the force behind his thrusts increases. He knows exactly where to push to cause the most pleasure. He doesn’t like leaving marks (or being marked), but he might leave faint bruises from biting your shoulders.

❥ He’s fascinated by seeing you... his shy and quiet girlfriend, go completely irrational for him. He won’t overstimulate you until it hurts, but he’ll certainly keep going until you’re begging.

❥ Si-eun has deceptive physical stamina. Though he looks fragile, he can go for a long time without reaching his own peak.

❥ When he wants to go hard, he likes pinning you against the wall. It lets him move your body however he wants. His hands would be busy: one likely cupping your breast and the other gripping your hip firmly... never to actually hurt you, but to guide you.

𝑨𝒉𝒏 𝑺𝒖-𝒉𝒐:

How does he make love?

❥ When Su-ho decides to be gentle, everything slows down, as if time stops in his room. His touch is firm but warm, he loves tracing your body with his fingers, marvelling at how soft your skin is.

❥ He’ll whisper things like “You’re beautiful,” or just mutter your name in that signature deep voice of his. His kisses are slow and deeply calm, usually starting on your forehead and the tip of your nose before moving down to your neck.

❥ Since he’s always active, working or training, his stamina is enviable. He’ll touch you with technical precision, he needs to make sure you’re properly prepped because he hates the idea of causing you any unnecessary pain.

❥ He gives the best head of your life because he’s dedicated. He genuinely enjoys it because, to him, seeing you come is the ultimate win.

❥ Missionary is his favorite. Its simple, comfortable, and lets him control the depth... plus, he gets to look you in the eyes the whole time. He’ll stroke your face with his thumb while he’s inside you. He isnt much of a hair-puller during sweet moments, he prefers keeping you flushed against him.

❥ He’s a man of few but very direct words:

“Don’t stop.”

“Do that again for me.”

He keeps that playful, ironic tone he uses with his friends, so if he sees you’re totally lost in the pleasure, he might drop a smug: “Am I really that good?”

❥ Su-ho is fiercely protective, so afterward, he’ll wrap you in his arms or a blanket. He’s usually exhausted, so he’ll likely pass out as soon as he gets comfortable.

On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?

❥ Rough sex with Su-ho doesn't come from a place of malice; he has a strong sense of justice and isn't abusive. It usually happens when built-up desire simply overflows.

❥ It’s rarely about jealousy since he’s quite confident, but if someone has been bothering you, that protective energy transforms into an overwhelming physical intensity in the bedroom.

❥ He won’t degrade you, but he will tease you:

“Is this what you wanted when you were looking at me like that earlier?”

“Bet you can’t handle much more.”

It’s a power play where he knows exactly which buttons to push.

❥ The pace is rough, fast, and passionate. Thanks to his martial arts training, his body control is incredible... he’s fast and strong, but never reckless. He does like leaving marks; he sees it as a silent way of marking his territory. But if you dont like it, he won’t do it.

❥ His stamina is legendary. He just doesnt get tired. Doggy style is his favorite for dominating you because it gives him the perfect angle to be rough. He loves the view and the ability to apply rhythmic force, using his hands to grip your hair or hold your hips. In this mode, he isn't there to cuddle, he’s there to claim.

𝑶𝒉 𝑩𝒆𝒐𝒎-𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒌:

How does he make love?

❥ Generally, Beom-seok is very gentle. His way of showing affection is almost painfully shy and needy.

❥ His touch is hesitant at first, as if he’s waiting for you to reject him or for things to turn sour. Once he feels secure, he lets go and caresses you without breaking eye contact. He loves hearing how good he makes you feel.

❥ He whispers things like “Dont leave me” or “You’re the only thing I have,” constantly seeking validation. His kisses are soft, concentrated on your hands or your neck.

❥ Beom-seok is surprisingly good at giving oral. He’s deeply obsessed with your taste. He does it to please you, but also because it makes him feel useful. There’s always a shadow of insecurity, worrying if he’s doing it well enough, but your reactions are usually enough to reassure him.

❥ His favorite position is missionary, but with him clinging to you tightly. He needs the eye contact and the feeling of your weight to convince himself that you’re choosing him.

❥ He’ll rarely grab your neck or hair when making love, those gestures remind him too much of the abuse he’s suffered.

❥ Afterward, he feels safest. He’ll stay wrapped around you in silence, likely hiding his face against your chest with a small smile.

On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?

❥ Rough sex with Beom-seok doesn't usually stem from healthy passion, but from frustration or jealousy. If he feels sidelined or thinks you’ve paid attention to someone else, he will use sex to reaffirm that you belong to him.

❥ He’s the type to take out his daily pent-up rage on you. In these moments, he can become unrecognizable. He won’t use cruel insults, but he might mock your need for him as a way to project his own insecurities: “You know nobody else is ever going to love you like this, right?”

❥ The rhythm is erratic and a bit clumsy, driven by a mix of desire and anger. He likes leaving marks, especially bites or hickeys in visible places, to "mark his territory." There’s no romance here, it’s a physical manifestation of his anger at the world.

❥ In public, he wont show his jealousy. He’ll be quiet and distant. But in private, he becomes suffocating. Sex becomes a way to punish you for making him feel excluded.

❥ He’s prone to overstimulating you. He enjoys the physical control. He might even ignore your pleas to stop for a second, getting lost in the sensation of power that comes from having you at his mercy.

❥ His stamina is lower when he’s angry. The adrenaline and lack of emotional control mean he burns out faster than usual, leaving him vulnerable and sometimes immediatey regretful after he finishes. He prefers positions where he doesn't have to look you in the eye.

𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈-𝒃𝒊𝒏:

How does he make love?

❥ Yeong-bin has a very fragile ego. When he makes love to you, his primary goal is seeking your validation.

❥ His touch is possessive, he loves running his hands down your back and legs to feel like you are his. He’ll whisper things like “No one will ever love you like I do,” projecting his need for control. He actually enjoys it when you challenge him.

❥ His kisses are intense and a bit desperate. He is the kind of idiot who leaves marks on your neck just so everyone knows you were with him.

❥ He likes to finger you at a fast pace, watching your face constantly to ensure he has power over your pleasure. Honestly, he’s not a fan of giving oral and probably isn't good at it. You’d have to beg quite a bit for him to even consider it.

❥ His favorite position is the mating press, with your legs over his shoulders. He craves direct eye contact because he needs to see that he has your undivided attention.

❥ After, he is surprisingly clingy. He seeks refuge in you, snuggling up and letting you stroke his hair. Deep down, he’s terrified of being abandoned or humiliated. Once things calm down, he’ll offer you food or a shower. He hates when you have to leave, so he’ll playfully demand that you stay the night.

On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?

❥ Rough sex with Yeong-bin happens when he’s had a bad day or feels humiliated by others. He takes it out on you to reclaim the sense of power he lost on the street or at school.

❥ He says very degrading things centered on his authority:

“Who’s in charge here?”

“Look at you, begging for more.”

❥ He’ll mock you if he notices you’re enjoying the roughness, using it to inflate his ego. He prefers you to be submissive in this mode; if you talk back, he’ll only get angrier.

❥ The pace is unpredictable. At first, he’ll go slow just to make you wait. Then he’ll become rough and erratic. It’s a pure display of force. He loves leaving bite marks or finger bruises... to him, they’re trophies of his dominance.

❥ When he’s jealous, he’s the type to wrap an arm around your neck in a suffocating way to mark his territory in front of others. In private, that jealousy translates to extremely possessive sex. He enjoys pushing you to your limit and then stopping just to watch you beg.

𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐-𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈:

How does he make love?

❥ It doesn’t happen often, but when he lets his guard down, Woo-young treats you like his only safe haven. His touch is firm, and his hands, usually balled into fists, open up to trace your jawline with agonizing slowness.

❥ He’ll tell you things like “Stay like this,” or “Just look at me.” It’s possessive, but in a soft way. His kisses are deep, like he’s finally catching his breath.

❥ He is fairly neutral about giving oral, but since you told him you like it, he’s determined to be the best at it. Plus, he’s realized it’s a great way to relax you so you can take him more easily later.

❥ He’ll masturbate you with a steady rhythm, watching your face to see exactly what makes you lose it. He’ll start with one finger and slowly add more, testing how much you can take.

❥ He likes any position that allows for maximum body contact. He loves missionary for the control, spooning so he can whisper in your ear, and he loves it when you mount him so he can hold you. He just needs to confirm your attention is 100% on him.

❥ While he’s inside you, he’ll interlock his fingers with yours against the pillow or hold your face. He never lets go. He loves telling you how much he likes you, but in a rougher way:

“You’re incredible.”

“Look at what you’re like for me.”

❥ Aftercare wasn't a thing for him until he met you. Now, he finds it vital, though he’d never admit it. He feels vulnerable after making love, so he’ll bury his face in your neck for minutes at a time.

On the other hand… how does he fuck you rough?

❥ Rough sex usually stems from frustration. Woo-young has a serious problem with losing. If he’s had a bad day or felt inferior, he’ll use that fire in bed to feel powerful again.

❥ In this mode, he is a natural teaser. He’ll ask if you can keep up with his pace or if you’re ready to give up yet. He’ll tease you about your moans:

“Is that all you can handle?”

“Are you going to come that fast?”

❥ It’s not cruel, just a playful superiority that drives you crazy. The rhythm is rough and passionate, almost like he’s sparring with you.

❥ He’s fascinated by leaving marks. Bite marks on your collarbones or finger marks on your hips so that, the next day, you remember exactly who you belong to.

❥ When he’s jealous, his silent and dangerous vibe doesn't change... it just intensifies in the bedroom. He becomes much more vocal about the fact that you are his.

❥ He loves making you beg for an orgasm and will demand that you do so, threatening to pull out and leave you hanging. He’s never actually done it, but you’re not about to test him.

❥ His stamina actually increases when he’s rough. He can go for several rounds without losing intensity.

❥ When he’s in this mood, he wants you on your knees. He’ll use one hand to grip your hair and guide you. It gives him total control over your body. He’ll tilt your head back to make you look at him, relishing the sight of your flushed face and arched back, knowing he’s the one who put you there.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑯𝒖-𝒎𝒊𝒏:

How does he make love?

❥ Baku is all pure love and warmth. With you, he’s incredibly careful, as if he’s terrified of breaking you with his large hands. His caresses are slow and steady; he loves tracing the line of your shoulders and back.

❥ He’ll whisper how much he adores you and how lucky he feels to have you. His kisses are deep, but he loves peppering your forehead and the tip of your nose with them between soft chuckles.

❥ He loves giving oral. It’s in his nature to be service-oriented with the people he loves. He’ll stop every now and then just to look you in the eyes and make sure you’re okay. To him, prepping you properly is an extension of taking care of you, but he ends up enjoying it as much as you do because seeing your pleasure is his greatest reward.

❥ He doesn't have a favorite position, anything where he can face you works. He craves eye contact and constant physical proximity.

❥ He loves the feeling of your breath against his neck... it always makes him smile. He’ll use his hands to cup your cheeks and tuck your hair behind your ears with a tenderness he shows no one else.

❥ He says sweet, slightly clumsy things like, "You're so amazing," or "I can't believe you're actually here with me." He’s very vocal about how much he admires you.

❥ During aftercare, he’ll carry you to the bathroom, help you clean up, and then wrap his arms around you like a human shield. He’ll likely order takeout, and you’ll fall asleep cuddled up while binge-watching a series.

On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?

❥ When it happens, it’s never out of malice. Baku is deeply compassionate and would never take out external frustrations on you.

❥ Rough sex usually happens when he’s afraid of losing you... maybe after a heavy fight or when he sees that look of mixed anger and pity on your face after he’s been hurt in a brawl. It’s a release of raw, passionate energy.

❥ He’s not the type to degrade you, even then, but he will tease you about how much you tremble under him or how your eyes roll back. "Look at you... did you really need me that badly?" he’d murmur with an arrogant but lustful smirk.

❥ The pace is rough, passionate and powerful. However, there’s always a hint of romance in the way he seeks you out for a kiss in the middle of the chaos.

❥ And yes, he absolutely loves leaving marks all over your body. Baku is territorial but not toxic. In intimacy, he becomes much more dominant and possessive, claiming every inch of your skin to remind you who you belong to.

❥ He has incredible stamina and uses it to overstimulate you, he wants to see how much you’ll beg. But if he senses you’re actually in pain or truly distressed, his protective instinct kicks in immediately, and he’ll stop to comfort you.

❥ His favorite position for going rough is prone bone. He loves heavy body contact, pinning you down and taking you from behind. He’ll use his free hands to cup a breast or tilt your jaw back to force you to look at him.

𝑮𝒐 𝑯𝒚𝒖𝒏-𝒕𝒂𝒌:

How does he make love?

❥ Gotak is a ball of energy in daily life, but in bed, he’s surprisingly attentive. His absolute priority is making sure you feel cared for. His touch is warm and heavy with affection. He’ll whisper things like: "You're safe with me," or "You're the best thing I've got."

❥ His kisses are slow and deep, always lingering on your forehead or neck.

❥ He touches you with a playful curiosity, watching every reaction to learn exactly what makes you tick. He’s incredibly proud of his oral skills. If you finish just from his tongue, his ego hits the roof, and he’ll give you the most radiant smile in the world.

❥ He loves it when you mount him. First, because he needs to see you... Gotak is all about that visual connection. He also loves the skin-to-skin contact. Finally, he likes giving you control at the start, only to take it back once you’re tired.

❥ Afterward, you both usually pass out instantly from exhaustion. Aftercare for him is simply tangled limbs and deep sleep.

On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?

❥ This happens fairly often, mostly because Gotak has a short fuse and you often offer to let him "take it out on you." He hates that phrase, but he loves what it leads to: hours of intense sex.

❥ He isn't the type to use cruel degradation, but he’ll talk back: "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" or "I bet you can't handle much more than this."

❥ Gotak has incredible tenacity, so the rhythm will be fast and unrelenting. He loves leaving marks, though he keeps them in places only the two of you can see.

❥ If he’s jealous, he gets very physical and much more possessive. He’ll claim you with a force that ensures the other person’s name is the last thing on your mind.

❥ Overstimulating you isn't always intentional, it’s often just a byproduct of how long it takes him to reach his own peak. You’ll be going until your legs give out and he’s still not tired.

❥ His favorite position for rough sex is from behind... whether it’s against a wall, over his desk or on all fours. He just loves the sight and feel of his body slamming against yours. He’ll grab your hair to pull your head back for a rough kiss or grip your hips so you can’t escape his pace.

𝑮𝒆𝒖𝒎 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈-𝒋𝒆:

How does he make love?

❥ Just because he’s being "gentle" doesn't mean he’s going to be soft. It just means he takes his time to analyze your reactions. He studies your body and uses that knowledge to make you lose your mind.

❥ His touch is slow and provocative. During foreplay, he simply cannot keep his hands still. He’s not one for traditional sweet talk; instead, he’ll whisper how much he loves being the only one who gets to see you like this.

❥ His kisses are deep and possessive, mostly concentrated on your neck and jawline... marking his territory while enjoying the skin-to-skin contact.

❥ When he touches you, it’s with a torturous calm. He can spend minutes just teasing you, watching every reaction. He’ll often demand you say things like, "I'm yours."

❥ I don't think he’s naturally a fan of giving oral, but he’d give in without hesitation if you asked. You’ll have to teach him exactly what you like, and luckily, he’s a fast learner. His favorite part? Hearing you beg for more and watching his glasses fog up.

❥ His favorite position is having you on top. After the oral, he’ll let out a tired sigh and sit back against the headboard. He loves the visual of your chest against his face. He’ll smirk like an idiot when you take his face in your hands and smother him.

On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?

❥ Rough sex is more frequent and usually follows a fight. It’s not about hate, but he needs to release that savage intensity to feel alive.

❥ His words get sharp. He’ll tease you and can be slightly degrading in a playful way that baits you into challenging him. If you push back in a way he doesn't like, though, he gets genuinely riled up.

❥ The pace is fast, passionate, and absolutely draining. He alternates between violent thrusts and a torturous slowness. He loves edging you just to see how much you can take before you break and beg to come.

❥ He loves leaving evidence: bite marks on your shoulders and finger-shaped bruises on your thighs that last for days.

❥ If he’s jealous in public, he’s cold and dismissive, keeping a heavy hand on your waist to mark his territory. In private, that coldness vanishes and turns into hours of sex that leave you on the verge of tears, ignoring your pleas to stop just so he can push you through one climax after another.

❥ He has superhuman stamina. He doesn't tire... in fact, the more you struggle, the more energy he seems to get. His favorite position is doggy style, but he’ll pin your hips down to keep you as flat as possible against the bed. He’ll grab your hair to force you to look back at him or grip your neck to remind you who’s in control.

𝑵𝒂 𝑩𝒂𝒆𝒌-𝒋𝒊𝒏:

How does he make love?

❥ When Baek-jin decides to be gentle, his usual coldness shifts into a meticulous focus on every inch of your skin. His touch isn't random, his long fingers glide over your collarbones and thighs as if he’s memorizing your anatomy.

❥ He leaves lingering kisses on the curve of your neck while whispering how perfect you are for him.

❥ He finds a quiet satisfaction in making you lose your composure. He takes all the time in the world with oral and manual play, ensuring you’re more than ready for him.

❥ Missionary is his favorite, but he’ll always ask you to wrap your legs around his waist to pull you closer. He insists on uninterrupted eye contact. While he thrusts rhythmically and deep, he will interlace his fingers with yours or cradle your face, forcing you to look at him as he confirms you are his.

❥ Words are scarce but heavy with meaning. He’ll praise your body’s response in a low, raspy tone, telling you how much he loves how receptive you are only for him.

❥ Aftercare is an extension of his need for order and protection. He’ll wrap you in the sheets or carry you to the bath with a delicacy that contrasts sharply with his public persona.

On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?

❥ Rough sex isn't a daily occurrence, he usually vents his frustrations elsewhere. But if someone has tried to get too close to you, the "inevitable" is coming. He won't make a scene in public... he will just watch you with a glacial intensity that warns you the real conversation will happen behind closed doors.

❥ His rhythm is slow and punishing, a way to remind you who has absolute authority in the relationship. He uses his stamina to keep you on the edge, ignoring your pleas for him to go faster.

❥ He enjoys how your body shakes under his. He’s an expert at orgasm control, stopping the moment you’re about to peak just to watch your face contort in frustration. He’ll keep you in that state of absolute need until he decides you’ve learned your lesson.

❥ He prefers doggy style or any position where he can pin you down firmly. He loves the sight of your arched back and your hands immobilized against the mattress, using his strength to set a rough, breathless pace.

𝑩𝒂𝒆𝒌 𝑫𝒐𝒏𝒈-𝒉𝒂:

How does he make love?

❥ When he’s gentle, his mocking attitude turns into hypnotic focus. He treats you with unexpected delicacy, tracing your skin with his fingertips. His words are slow, whispered promises about how much you belong to him.

❥ His kisses are deep and show a devotion he’d never reveal in public. He’ll focus on the corners of your mouth and the arch of your neck, wanting to show you he only has eyes for you.

❥ Foreplay is essential. He enjoys the patience of prepping you, watching your face with that signature smirk, though this time it’s softened with genuine affection. He loves the power he has over your pleasure.

❥ Missionary is his favorite because of the eye contact and the ability to pin your hands above your head. He loves feeling your heartbeat against his and having one hand free to caress your cheek while telling you how beautiful you look when you're about to come.

On the other hand... how does he fuck you rough?

❥ Rough sex with him is intense. Forget any trace of tenderness. It usually happens because of accumulated tension or a spike in jealousy. He needs to re-establish his possession over you in a physical, overwhelming way.

❥ His language turns much cruder. He’ll mock how much you love the roughness and use degrading talk, calling you his "slut" or reminding you that no one else knows you like he does. He loves seeing you lose control and uses it to tease you further.

❥ The pace is relentless, it feels like he’s hammering you into the mattress. The only "romance" you’ll get is a bite on the shoulder or marks hidden where only the two of you know they exist.

❥ He is toxic to the point of getting into physical altercations with anyone who flirts with you. In private, that energy means the control is entirely his. He’ll overstimulate you until you’re begging for him to stop.

❥ Since he’s used to fighting and staying on his feet, he can go for hours without flagging. His favorite positions are doggy style or against a wall, where he can see your whole body and keep a firm grip on your hair or neck.

[lovablesunshinesworld]

Stage Fright | Jung Hoseok

"A single misstep in front of fifty thousand people...and the only one who noticed was the man driving you crazy."

Warnings: Sexual tension (that's that), Reader's in denial, Hobi's a tease, Smut (MDNI), Unprotected sex (BE SMART!) Oral sex (f & m receiving), Reader's whiny and pathetic for Hobi (LMAO) Sorta taboo?? (Idol x Backup dancer), Dom! Hobi x Sub! Reader.

🦋 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 🦋 *

The stadium was a colossal, breathing organism of light and sound, tens of thousands of glowing purple ARMY bombs pulsing in unison like a sea of distant stars under the night sky. The sheer atmospheric pressure of the Arirang tour was enough to make your chest vibrate, the massive subwoofers beneath the staging sending a continuous, heavy concussive thump straight through the soles of your sneakers.

The stage lights cut through the haze with blinding electric intensity, flashing in sharp, synchronized bursts as the iconic, infectious instrumental beat of "Aliens" dropped over the speakers.

This gon' be the jam of the year (ay)

지루하고 따분해 모든 게 (모든 게)

시간은 참 빨라 tick-tock, stadium으로 집합

도대체 뭘 더 고민해? (고민해)

You were locked into your precise formation on the left wing of the main stage, your body moving with the practiced, razor-sharp muscle memory of months of grueling rehearsals. As part of BTS’s core backup dance crew, you lived in the margins of the spectacle, executing every pop, lock, and isolation with absolute precision while the members commanded the spotlight. But tonight, try as you might, your focus was entirely fractured.

Your eyes kept drifting.

Just a few yards away, moving with that lethal, effortless fluidity that always made your heart skip an irregular beat, was Jung Hoseok.

Under the stadium lights, he looked unreal. He wore the black leather trench coat left half-open over a bare chest draped in delicate, layered silver and pearl chains that caught every glint of light. Dark sunglasses shielded his eyes, and his styled hair was slightly damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead as he executed a series of sharp, blistering footwork patterns that left the crowd screaming. He radiated an intoxicating, untouchable confidence, owning the stage with every breath.

태생부터 다른 seven aliens (ay, ay)

우릴 부러워하네 저 civilians (ay, ay)

굳이 설명하기 입 아파, stadium

You were supposed to be keeping your gaze locked forward, tracking the geometric lines of the choreography, but your peripheral vision was entirely consumed by him. As he transitioned into a sharp body roll, sweeping his arm out and tilting his chin up with that signature, devastating smirk playing on his lips, you stared. You watched the way the leather coat billowed behind him, the way the silver chains shifted against his skin, the absolute mastery with which he moved.

Hello, this your, hello, this your new honey

박수 쳐, 흔들어, 중모리

It was a fraction of a second, a tiny lapse in concentration, but it was all it took.

When the formation shifted and you were supposed to pivot sharply to the right for the next downbeat, your left foot caught awkwardly on a seam of the stage flooring. The momentum of your body carried you forward, completely out of sync. Your ankle buckled under you with a sharp twist, and for one terrifying, heart-stopping moment, you completely lost your step, stumbling hard out of alignment as the crowd roared around you.

Your breath caught in your throat. Panic flared hot and sharp behind your ribs.

Scrambling instantly to correct yourself, you whipped your weight back onto your center, throwing your arm up to snap cleanly into the next movement just as the lyrics hit:

Oh, my God, do I look too funny?

뭐 어쩔래? Just move for me, yeah, move for me

You forced your face into the professional, high-energy performance expression required for the show, but your heart was hammering a frantic, deafening rhythm against your ribs. You risked a quick, terrified glance to your left and right.

Just two paces away, your close friend and fellow backup dancer, Minji, was executing the choreography with flawless, machine-like precision. She hadn't missed a beat. But as she swept past you in the next rotation, her eyes flicked sideways for a fraction of a second, locking onto yours with a knowing, highly expressive deadpan look before she snapped her gaze back to the front. She didn't say a word. She didn't break formation. She just kept moving, leaving you to sweat under the stage lights.

Further down the line, Hana caught the stumble too. A tiny, knowing smirk flashed across her face for half a second before she seamlessly transitioned into the next formation drop.

From the 가나가나 to the 하, 우리 보고 배워 놔, yeah, we aliens

If you wanna hit my house, 신발은 벗어 놔, yeah, we aliens

The music pushed forward with relentless momentum, carrying you along in its wake.

어쩜 그래 shameless? 예의를 차려, we aliens

해는 동쪽에서, risin' aliens, aliens

Across the stage, Hoseok hit a hard, dynamic freeze right on the heavy bass hit, his chest heaving slightly under the glittering chains as he caught the front camera feed. Even from a distance, the sheer magnetic pull of his presence was overwhelming. You swallowed hard, forcing every ounce of your remaining concentration back into your footwork, desperately trying to lock down your focus for the remainder of the track.

Every night, every day (ooh-ooh-ooh)

뭐든 더 빠르게 (ooh-ooh, ooh)

매일 밤새워 대 (ooh-ooh-ooh)

Yeah, we livin' that aliens, aliens

The chorus swelled, the stadium vibrating with the deafening cheers of fifty thousand fans. The choreography grew faster, more demanding, sweeping you up in a blur of motion, lights, and sweat.

Every night, every day (ooh-ooh-ooh)

뭐든 더 빠르게 (ooh-ooh, ooh)

시대가 우릴 원해 (ooh-ooh-ooh)

Yeah, we livin' that aliens, aliens

As the bridge bled into the final outro, the energy reached a fever pitch.

yeah, we land on it

(헛 둘) and stand on it

(헛 둘) 찍어 put that stamp on it

Stamp on it, stamp on it

With a final, synchronized pose that hit the exact millisecond the beat cut out, the entire stage plunged into a dramatic blackout, save for the cool wash of blue spotlights overhead and the roaring ocean of cheers from the audience.

For a second, nobody moved. The physical toll of the performance hung heavy in the air, thick with the scent of heat, adrenaline, and ozone.

"Alright, good job everyone, clear the stage, let's reset for the encore transition!" the stage manager’s voice crackled sharply through the hidden in-ear monitors.

Instantly, the backup dancers broke formation, turning in unison to march quickly off the back of the massive stage toward the shadowy labyrinth of the wings. The moment you crossed behind the heavy black velvet curtains, stepping out of the blinding glare of the stadium lights and into the cool, quiet safety of the backstage corridor, your knees felt remarkably weak.

You let out a long, shaky exhale, leaning your shoulder briefly against a flight case to catch your breath as you untangled the mic pack clipped to your waistband.

"Well," a smooth, teasing voice chimed in right beside you.

You turned your head to see Minji and Hana unzipping their matching tour jackets, walking side-by-side as they headed toward the dressing rooms. Minji offered you a slow, incredibly pointed smile, her dark eyes sparkling with wicked amusement.

"If we're wrong..." Minji started, tilting her head as she adjusted her ponytail.

"...you were definitely staring at J-Hope," Hana finished smoothly, picking right up without missing a beat as a chorus of muffled snickers rippled through the rest of the dance crew walking behind you.

Your face instantly caught fire, a burning, mortified heat rushing up from your collarbones straight to the tips of your ears.

"I was not staring," you snapped back defensively, crossing your arms over your chest as you forced your voice to sound completely steady, though your wildly hammering pulse completely betrayed you. "I missed my step because the stage flooring near the lift is slightly uneven, okay? It had nothing to do with—with anything else."

Minji let out a bright, unbelieving laugh, shaking her head as she patted your shoulder patronizingly. "Right. Uneven flooring. Mmhmm. Sure it was, babe. Come on, let's go change before the stylists murder us for being late."

They walked off down the hallway, giggling amongst themselves, leaving you standing alone in the shadows of the corridor. You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second, pressing the cool palm of your hand against your burning cheek.

You knew they didn't believe a single word. And worse, deep down, as the memory of Hoseok under those stage lights flashed stubbornly through your mind, you didn't believe it either.

The heavy, sterile air of the backstage dressing room was a stark, jarring contrast to the roaring, sweat-soaked pandemonium of the stadium just beyond the heavy black curtains. Rows of costume racks lined the walls, and the harsh overhead vanity lights cast a clinical brightness over the chaos of quick changes, discarded jackets, and stylists rushing back and forth with clothing bags and makeup touch-up kits.

You dropped heavily onto a metal stool in front of your designated station, letting out a long, ragged exhale that sounded more like a hiss of pure frustration. Your muscles still throbbed with the residual adrenaline of the opening set, and your heart was stubbornly refusing to drop below a frantic, high-speed rhythm.

Minji was standing right behind your chair, unpinning her intricate stage braids with quick, practiced fingers while glaring at your reflection in the lit mirror.

"I'm just saying," Minji pressed, her voice dripping with a mix of amusement and teasing disbelief as she tossed a hair tie onto the counter. "It’s not like you’re plotting a bank heist or asking him to marry you on the spot. You’re literally part of his core dance line. You work with him every single day, hour after hour, sweating in the same studio. Walking up to him and telling him you thought his energy on stage tonight was cool is literally the most normal, casual thing in the world."

"Are you completely, utterly nuts?" you hissed, whipping around on the stool to stare up at her with wide eyes, your voice pitching into a defensive, panicked whisper. "It’s J-Hope. Have you seen him? Have you looked at him under those stadium lights wearing half a leather trench coat and a dozen diamond chains?"

"Yes, we've all seen him," Hana chimed in smoothly, walking past your station with a bottle of water in her hand, a knowing, wicked smirk playing across her lips. "The entire stadium saw him. And the entire crew saw you trip over your own feet during the third chorus because you were too busy eye-fucking him during Aliens."

"I did not eye-fuck him!" you groaned, burying your face hot with mortification in both hands as a fresh wave of heat rushed up your neck. "I tripped because the stage lift seam was raised by half an inch! It was a mechanical hazard!"

"Right, a mechanical hazard," Minji laughed, leaning down to rest her hands on your shoulders, giving them a playful, affectionate shake. "Look, babe, you're driving yourself crazy over nothing. He's a professional. If you walk over, give him a quick compliment about the set, and walk away, he isn't going to think twice about it. He hears it from thousands of people every single night anyway. To him, you're just one of his trusted dancers."

That last part... you're just one of his trusted dancers, stung with a strange, twisting irony that made your stomach churn.

It was true, objectively. To the rest of the world, to the thousands of screaming fans in the audience, and even to management, you were simply part of the professional machinery backing up global superstars. You shared studio sweat, grueling rehearsal hours, and synchronized formations. But it didn't feel professional anymore. Not after the lingering glances in the practice room mirror, the way his hand would brush yours just a fraction longer than necessary when reviewing choreography notes, and the electric, suffocating way he looked at you when the cameras finally stopped rolling.

"That's exactly why I can't do it," you mumbled into your hands, your voice muffled and desperate. "If I go up there and try to play it cool, my voice is going to shake, or I'll stare at his mouth, or I'll completely forget how to speak English or Korean at the same time. I'd rather die."

"You're being dramatic," Hana scoffed good-naturedly, tossing her empty water bottle into the recycling bin by the door. "You survived the main stage wardrobe malfunction scare of 2025, you can handle telling a guy he did a good job."

Before you could fire back another desperate excuse, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the background hum of the dressing room.

"Alright, ladies! Five-minute warning! Let's move, move, move! We are resetting for FYA right now!"

The stage manager’s voice echoed off the concrete walls with military precision, instantly transforming the relaxed, bantering atmosphere of the dressing room back into a high-stakes zone of urgency.

"Saved by the bell," Minji whispered with a teasing wink, stepping away from your chair and grabbing her fresh stage jacket off the rack. "Consider your execution postponed. But we're revisiting this conversation the second the show wraps tonight."

"I hate you both," you muttered, though a nervous, excited grin tugged at the corners of your lips despite yourself.

You scrambled up from the stool, shaking out your limbs to chase away the lingering stiffness in your muscles. You grabbed your spare headset mic from the counter, clipping it securely around your ear and adjusting the pack against the waistband of your cargo dance pants. You took one final, critical look in the mirror, smoothing down your hair, checking your makeup for any signs of sweat-smudging, and forcing your breathing to steady into a controlled, rhythmic pattern.

The cue lights mounted near the exit doors flashed from steady green to a rapid, pulsing amber.

Five minutes.

The collective energy of the backstage area instantly shifted gear. Dancers, stylists, and audio technicians began streaming out of the dressing rooms and into the dimly lit labyrinth of the backstage corridors, all moving with a synchronized, high-octane purpose toward the wings of the main stage.

As you fell into line behind Minji and Hana, weaving your way past heavy road cases and stacked lighting rigs, the low, distant rumble of the stadium seating began to vibrate through the floor once again. The massive crowd was roaring for the transition, the sound swelling into a wall of white noise that made your skin prickle with goosebumps.

This was it. No more time to overthink interactions, no more time to panic over stumbled steps. The next block of the set was coming fast, and the sprawling, neon-soaked world of the Arirang tour was swallowing you whole all over again.

The stadium lights shifted from the cool, electric blues of the previous block into a blinding, hyper-saturated wash of neon pinks and acid greens as the opening heavy synth bassline of "FYA" slammed through the massive arena speakers.

The crowd’s reaction was instantaneous—a deafening, earth-shaking roar that rattled the metal scaffolding overhead and sent a physical shockwave vibrating through the stage floor. You moved into your opening formation with automatic, razor-sharp precision, your body locking into the heavy, aggressive choreography of the track. The energy in the air was thick, electric, and entirely relentless.

As the first verse built up, the main platform elevator lifted smoothly from beneath the stage, bringing Jung Hoseok up into the blinding glare of the spotlights.

The crowd lost their minds. He was an absolute vision under the flashing lights, moving with a fluid, lethal confidence that commanded every single pair of eyes in the stadium. As he stepped forward to take center stage, delivering his rapid-fire bars with absolute mastery, the choreography naturally rotated the core backup dancers into a tight, dynamic framing around him.

Your heart hammered a frantic, deafening rhythm against your ribs. You kept your focus locked outward, hitting every sharp angle and isolation with fierce dedication, desperately trying to keep the memory of your earlier stumble out of your head.

Then, the formation shifted.

The routine required Hoseok to weave backward through the moving lines of dancers during the bridge, his path cutting directly past your wing of the formation. You pivoted smoothly on your heel, tracking the movement, but as he closed the distance, he didn't just pass by.

Hoseok slowed his pace by a fraction of a second, sliding right into your immediate space.

As he dropped low into a sharp body isolation, matching your movement step-for-step, he turned his head. The dark sunglasses he wore couldn't hide the devastating, knowing smirk that split across his face. He leaned in just an inch closer than the choreography called for, his breath hot against your ear as he delivered his next line straight into his mic pack, his voice dipping into a low, teasing register meant exclusively for you.

The proximity was suffocating. The sheer electricity radiating off him made your breath catch violently in your throat.

Out in the sea of thousands of fans, someone near the barricade caught the micro-interaction on the massive jumbotron screens. A piercing, collective shriek echoed through the stadium, instantly multiplying as a wave of high-pitched screams and ecstatic gasps surged through the crowd.

"OH MY GOD, DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

"NO WAY, WAIT—LOOK AT THEM!"

The noise level spiked so violently it felt like physical pressure against your eardrums. Panic flared hot and sharp behind your ribs, threatening to trip your footing all over again. For one terrifying second, your mind went completely blank, the weight of fifty thousand screaming fans pressing down on your shoulders like lead.

Pull it together.

You forced every ounce of your professional survival instincts to kick in. You dragged the corners of your mouth upward, pasting on a bright, utterly convincing, unbothered smile as you smoothly executed the next transition, snapping your arm out on the exact downbeat as if you weren't internally melting into a puddle of absolute mortification.

Hoseok caught the look, caught the split-second panic in your eyes followed by your fiercely stubborn recovery, and his smirk deepened into something dangerously fond before he spun away on his heel, hitting the front edge of the stage as the chorus exploded around him.

You survived the rest of the song in a dizzying, adrenaline-fueled blur, executing every step on pure, automated muscle memory while your pulse roared in your ears.

When the final heavy beat cut out and the stage plunged into darkness, the collective exhale of the entire crew was palpable.

"Alright, brilliant run, everyone! Let's clear the stage, standard rotation to the chill rooms for a ten-minute reset!" the stage manager’s voice cracked through the in-ear monitors.

Instantly, the backup dancers broke formation, turning in a synchronized wave to march off the back of the massive stage toward the sprawling labyrinth of backstage corridors. The moment you crossed behind the heavy black velvet curtains, stepping out of the glaring heat of the stadium lights, your knees felt remarkably weak.

You let out a long, ragged breath, pulling the strap of your dance bag higher up your shoulder as you walked alongside Minji and Hana down the dim hallway.

You hadn't even made it ten feet before Minji grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face her with eyes the size of dinner plates. Her jaw was literally hanging open.

"Are you—did that just—" Minji stammered, her voice pitching up in pure, unadulterated disbelief as she shook your shoulders back and forth. "Did J-Hope just literally corner you on stage, lean down, and whisper directly into your soul while fifty thousand people screamed their lungs out?!"

"Shut up, shut up, keep your voice down!" you hissed frantically, your face instantly catching fire as a burning, mortified flush raced across your cheeks. You slapped a hand over her mouth, glancing around nervously to make sure no stray staff members or stylists were within earshot.

Hana stepped in closer, a dazed, starstruck grin plastered across her face as she gently batted your hand away from Minji's mouth. "Are you out of your mind? You looked like you were going to combust, but you actually pulled off the coolest, calmest little smile right back at him! I swear to god, the jumbotron caught the whole thing. The shippers on Twitter are going to lose their absolute minds by the time we log onto our phones tonight."

"I hate both of you," you groaned, burying your burning face in both hands as you let out a long, pathetic whine. "I didn't want him to do that! I was just trying to do my job, keep my head down, and not trip over the stage lift again! And then he just... he just appeared out of nowhere like a tactical missile of stress!"

"Stress?" Minji let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, elbowing Hana in the ribs. "Babe, that wasn't stress. That man was actively flirting with you on live international broadcast in front of an entire stadium. If that's stress, sign me up for a heart attack immediately."

"Come on," Hana added, linking her arm securely through yours as the group resumed walking down the winding corridor toward the private dancers' chill room. "You survived the stage encounter of the century. But seriously, this is your definitive sign. The universe is literally shoving you toward him on a silver platter. You are walking up to him tonight, and you are telling him he's cool. End of discussion."

"I am going to walk straight into traffic," you muttered miserably, though the frantic, electric fluttering in your stomach completely betrayed how much your heart was racing at the thought.

The corridor opened up into the spacious, dimly lit backstage chill room reserved for the core dance crew and touring staff. Plush velvet couches lined the walls, a long minibar stocked with ice-cold water and energy drinks sat in the corner, and soft warm lighting cast a welcome, relaxed glow over the space. The heavy bass from the main stage muffled through the walls, serving as a distant reminder that the concert was still tearing through its setlist.

As the rest of the dancers filtered into the room, collapsing onto the couches and groaning in shared exhaustion, you kicked off your heavy dance sneakers by the door.

The thick, heavy air of the backstage area was suffocatingly warm, and the cumulative heat from the rigorous choreography had your skin damp with sweat under your layers. Shivering slightly as the chill of the air conditioning hit your overheated skin, you reached up to grab the collar of your damp black stage jacket.

With a sharp, efficient motion, you slipped your arms out of the sleeves, peeling the heavy jacket off your shoulders and tossing it over the back of an empty armchair. You stood there in your form-fitting black tank top and cargo dance pants, running a hand through your slightly damp hair as you let out a long, bone-deep sigh, completely unaware of the heavy silence that had suddenly fallen over the doorway behind you.

The heavy metal door of the private chill room swung shut with a muffled click, cutting off the distant, muffled thud of the stadium bass and plunging the quiet space into an abrupt, eerie stillness.

You stood alone in the center of the dimly lit room, the harsh fluorescent panels overhead casting a warm, amber glow across the plush velvet couches and the empty minibar. Your friends, Minji and Hana, had vanished down the corridor toward the main dressing areas a moment before, leaving you completely by yourself to catch your breath. The oppressive heat of the stage still lingered against your skin, and you reached up to wipe a stray bead of sweat from your collarbone, completely unaware that the heavy latch of the door was turning open once again.

Assuming it was just Minji returning to nag you about going to speak to Hoseok, you didn’t bother turning around as you unclipped your wireless headset pack, tossing it onto the nearest coffee table with a soft clatter.

"Minji, for the last time, I'm not going to hunt him down like a lovesick puppy in the middle of a world tour," you threw your hands up in exasperation, your voice dripping with defensive exhaustion as you turned on your heel. "Drop it."

A low, rich chuckle cut right through the empty air, smooth, velvety, and entirely unmistakable.

"I'm not Minji."

Your breath caught violently in your throat. Your entire body went completely rigid, every single muscle locking up as your eyes snapped toward the doorway.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, blocking any easy exit, was Jung Hoseok.

He had ditched the heavy black leather trench coat from the stage, now wearing a simple, soft charcoal hoodie with the hood slung low, though the delicate silver and pearl chains still draped across his collarbone, catching the dim light of the room. His dark hair was slightly damp, clinging artfully to his forehead, and his expression was an intoxicating mix of amusement and a dark, razor-sharp focus that made your stomach execute a frantic, terrifying freefall.

"H-Hoseok," you stammered, your voice pitching up slightly before you managed to swallow hard and force your jaw to stay shut. Panic flared hot and bright behind your ribs. "What are you... what are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be with the stylists or getting ready for the final encore block?"

Hoseok didn't answer immediately. He pushed off the doorframe with a slow, deliberate movement, closing the distance between you with a predatory, unhurried grace that made every instinct in your body scream.

"I was," Hoseok said softly, his voice dropping into a low, smoky register that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards. He stopped just a few paces away from you, his dark eyes sweeping over you with a heavy, undisguised intensity that made your skin tingle. "And then I spent the entire third verse watching one of my best dancers look like she was about to pass out because I got a little too close."

"I didn't look like I was going to pass out," you protested, though the weak, breathy quality of your voice completely undermined your words. You instinctively took a half-step back, your shoulders coming into contact with the firm, padded back of the armchair where you had tossed your jacket minutes earlier. You were officially trapped.

"Oh, you definitely did," Hoseok murmured, a wicked, lopsided smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he closed the remaining gap between you. He placed one hand on the back of the armchair right beside your head, caging you in completely. The heavy, intoxicating scent of his stage cologne, mixed with sharp cedar and warm skin, completely flooded your senses. "I could see it in your eyes right on the jumbotron. The panic was cute. But the little smile you forced out right after? That was impressive."

"I'm a professional," you managed to squeak out, desperately trying to keep your gaze locked on his collarbone rather than his mouth. "We're on a tight schedule. Management would have a fit if—"

"Management isn't in this room," Hoseok interrupted, his voice dropping another octave, losing all trace of playful banter as his dark eyes locked onto yours with absolute, unflinching gravity. "And I'm tired of pretending we're just coworkers following a strict schedule."

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. Every breath you took felt shallow, stolen away by the sheer proximity of him. The memory of how he had leaned down on stage, whispering directly into your ear while fifty thousand people shrieked in the dark, rushed back to the surface with blistering clarity.

"Hoseok, people are going to walk in here," you whispered, your fingers curling tightly into the fabric of the armchair behind you as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours.

"Let them," he replied smoothly, his gaze dipping down to your lips for a fraction of a second before flashing back up to your eyes. He reached out, his warm fingertips brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of your bare collarbone, tracing the path of the silver chains resting against your chest. The casual, electrifying contact sent a violent, shuddering wave straight down your spine, making your knees feel suspiciously weak.

"You've been avoiding me all week during rehearsals," Hoseok noted softly, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic circle against your skin. "Every time I try to catch you alone to talk about the routine, you suddenly have a dozen errands to run with Minji or Hana. Or you go talk to one of my members. Why is that?"

"I haven't been avoiding you," you lied instantly, your voice betraying you with a nervous tremor.

"Liar," he chuckled, the low sound rumbling right against your skin. He shifted his weight, pressing his lean, solid frame just a fraction closer so that there was barely any air left between you. "It’s cute, really. You can handle a stadium full of screaming fans, you can execute a backflip on a moving stage lift, but the second I look at you for more than three seconds, you turn into a complete mess."

"I am not a mess," you hissed defensively, a sudden surge of pride overriding your terror as you glared up at him. "You're just... you're arrogant, Hoseok. You think you can just walk up, pull some theatrical stunt on live television, and throw everyone off balance—"

"Did it throw you off balance?" he cut you off smoothly, tilting his head as his dark eyes glittered with undeniable triumph.

You opened your mouth to snap a sharp denial, but the words completely failed you. Your chest heaved, your gaze dropping helplessly to his lips. He knew the answer. You knew the answer. The heavy, electric silence stretched between you, thick with days of suppressed tension, stolen glances in studio mirrors, and the undeniable magnetism that had been pulling you toward each other all tour long.

Hoseok’s expression softened, the playful teasing melting away into something raw, steady, and deeply intense. His hand slid up from your collarbone, his fingers gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb resting softly against your jawline.

"We can talk more," Hoseok whispered, his breath hot against your cheek, sending a shiver rolling across your skin. "Come by my hotel tonight. I don't share a room with any of the guys. My room number's 45. We can talk as much as you want."

The invitation hung in the air between you like a loaded trigger, heavy with implication and dripping with a quiet, certain gravity that made your head spin.

Before your brain could process the magnitude of what he was asking, before you could formulate a single excuse or muster the strength to say no, Hoseok slowly lowered his head, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth. The touch was agonizingly brief, just enough to leave your skin burning and your entire body starved for more, before he pulled back with a slow, devastating smile.

"I'll leave the door unlocked for you," he murmured softly against your ear.

Without waiting for an answer, Hoseok stepped back, letting his hand fall away from your skin with a reluctant slide. He turned on his heel, walking toward the heavy metal door with that same effortless, fluid confidence, pulling it open and disappearing back out into the bright, chaotic hum of the backstage corridor, leaving you standing alone in the quiet chill room with your racing heart and a decision that was going to change everything.

The remainder of the concert passed in a dizzying, surreal blur of lights, basslines, and automated choreography. Your body went through the motions on pure muscle memory, executing every formation and turn, but your mind was entirely trapped back in that dimly lit chill room.

Room 45.

The numbers seemed to echo on a loop in your head, overriding every thought, every cue, and every lingering shred of your professional composure. When the final encore wrapped and the crew was finally dismissed to return to the hotel, your heart hammered against your ribs like a caged bird.

You bypassed the group elevator, opting for the quiet service stairs that led up to the private VIP floor of the touring hotel. Every footstep on the concrete stairs felt heavy, loaded with the weight of a decision you couldn't undo.

When you reached the fourth floor, the hallway was dead silent, bathed in soft, amber sconce lighting. You walked slowly down the carpeted corridor, your eyes scanning the gold plaques mounted beside each door until you stopped dead in your tracks.

45.

You didn't give yourself a second to hesitate, terrified that if you stopped to think, your nerve would completely shatter. You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles softly against the wood, tap, tap, tap.

You barely had time to draw a ragged breath before the heavy door clicked and swung inward.

Jung Hoseok stood in the doorway. He had already changed out of his stage clothes into a soft, oversized white t-shirt and loose black sweatpants, his dark hair falling in soft waves across his forehead without the styling product. But it was the look in his eyes, heavy, dark, and burning with an intense, unmistakable hunger that made your breath catch in your throat.

Without a word, Hoseok’s hand shot out, catching your wrist and pulling you smoothly across the threshold before the door clicked shut behind you with a sharp, echoing finality.

The interior of the suite was dim, lit only by the pale city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Before your eyes could fully adjust, Hoseok backed you gently against the heavy wood of the closed door, caging you in with both arms braced on either side of your head.

"I knew you'd come," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent a violent shiver racing straight down your spine.

"I didn't say I was going to—" you started to protest, your voice betraying you with a breathless tremor.

"Actions speak louder, baby," Hoseok interrupted softly, a dark, wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Before you could draw another breath, he captured your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss.

All the restrained tension, the weeks of stolen glances in the practice mirrors, the heavy teasing on stage, and the suffocating anticipation of the hallway melted away into a chaotic, breathless rush. It wasn't gentle; it was hungry, demanding, and utterly intoxicating. His lips parted yours with practiced ease, his tongue sweeping warmly, authoritatively inside your mouth as his hand slid up from the door, his warm fingers tangling firmly into the hair at the nape of your neck to tilt your head back and deepen the angle.

A soft, helpless whimper slipped past your lips, swallowed entirely by his mouth. Your hands instinctively flew up, gripping the soft cotton of his t-shirt, bunching the fabric in your fists as you pulled him flush against you.

Hoseok groaned low in the back of his throat—a thick, resonant sound that vibrated straight through your chest.

Breaking away from your lips for a fraction of a second, he didn't give you a chance to catch your breath. He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw, tracking a burning path over your sensitive collarbone and down the exposed column of your neck. His teeth grazed lightly against your pulse point, making your knees buckle beneath you as an electric shockwave of pure pleasure erupted through your core.

Hoseok paused, his hot breath fanning over your damp skin as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, his hands sliding down to grip your hips with firm, possessive strength.

"Bet you've been thinking about this, mm?" Hoseok murmured against your skin, his voice rough with a heady mix of triumph and desire. "J-Hope of BTS having you like this? Tell me, baby."

"Hoseok..." you gasped out, your voice sounding small, wrecked, and completely ruined as your fingers tightened desperately in his shirt.

"Tell me," he repeated, turning his head slightly so his lips brushed your earlobe. "Say it."

"I've been thinking about it," you confessed, the humiliated, reckless honesty tearing out of your throat. "I've been thinking about it all week..."

A dark, approving chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Atta girl," he praised softly, pulling back just enough to look down into your flushed, breathless face. His dark, obsidian eyes were dilated, burning with an absolute intensity. "Can I take off your shirt?"

You couldn't form words. You just nodded mutely, your chest heaving under the thin fabric of your top.

Hoseok paused, his hands resting on the hem of your shirt, his thumb tracing the skin of your waist. He tilted his head, a playful, challenging glint flashing in his dark eyes.

"I need words, beautiful," he chuckled softly, his voice a smooth, dangerous velvet. "Do you want this? Because I can stop—"

"No!" you whined instantly, a spike of panic making your hands shoot up to grip his wrists, stopping him from pulling away.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across his face. "No?"

"Please..." you breathed, your eyes locking onto his with desperate, unfiltered need as your cheeks burned bright red. "Please... I want you."

Hoseok’s breath hitched violently. The playful amusement vanished from his face in a single heartbeat, replaced by a raw, overwhelming surge of heat that made his pupils blow wide.

"Fuck..." Hoseok whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he crashed his lips back down onto yours with a hungry, ravenous desperation. "...I want you too, baby."

The kiss that followed was no longer a question; it was a claim. Hoseok devoured your mouth with a ferocity that made your head spin, his tongue claiming yours in a rhythm that mirrored the pounding of your own heart. The air in Room 45 felt charged, thick with the scent of his cologne something woody and expensive and the undeniable musk of arousal that seemed to radiate from his skin.

His hands, large and warm, abandoned the door to explore the curves of your body. One hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his palm searing against the bare skin of your stomach. The contact made you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively rolling forward to seek more of him. Through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, you could feel the evidence of his need the hard, unmistakable length of him pressing against your thigh, promising a release that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

"You're shaking," Hoseok murmured against your lips, though he made no move to slow down. His fingers splayed across your ribs, dragging upward until his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts. "Is it because you're scared? Or because you're desperate?"

"Both," you confessed, your voice breaking. "More desperate."

"Good girl." The praise was a physical caress. "I want you desperate. I want you so undone that you can't remember anything but my name."

With the practiced efficiency of someone who knew exactly how to dismantle composure, he pulled your shirt up and over your head. The cool air of the suite hit your skin for only a second before his heat replaced it. He didn't immediately move to your breasts that were trapped in your bra; instead, he took a moment to simply admire you. His gaze raked over you with a possessive hunger that made you feel exposed, yet more seen than you ever had in your life. The amber light from the sconces cast long, dramatic shadows across your collarbones and the swell of your chest, painting you in gold.

"Beautiful," he whispered, the word reverent even as his eyes remained dark with lust. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."

He stepped back just enough to guide you toward the king sized bed that dominated the center of the room. The sheets were silk, cool and inviting beneath your bare skin as he pressed you down onto them. Hoseok followed you down, his body a heavy, welcome weight that pinned you to the mattress. He worked quickly, shedding his own shirt before moving to strip you of the rest of your clothing. Every inch of skin revealed seemed to draw a new sound from his throat low growls, appreciative hums, and curses that made your blood sing.

When you were both bare, the reality of the situation settled over you like a fever. The contrast between his lean, corded muscle and your softer curves was stark, a visual feast that made your pulse flutter erratically. Hoseok hovered over you for a moment, his arms braced on either side of your head, simply breathing you in. His eyes traced every line of your body before settling on your face.

"I've imagined this since the first day of rehearsals," he confessed, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Watching you move on stage, watching how you command attention... I wanted to see if you'd taste as sweet as you look."

Before you could respond, he descended. His mouth found your breast, his lips encircling one nipple with sudden, sharp hunger. He tugged gently with his teeth, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your clitoris. You arched off the bed, your fingers tangling in his dark waves as you cried out his name. He didn't stop there; his mouth wandered lower, his tongue tracing the valley between your breasts before descending to your stomach. His kisses became more urgent as he approached the apex of your thighs.

"Ho-Hoseok, please..." you whimpered, your legs parting instinctively.

"Shh, baby. Call me Hobi, and I've got you." His hands slid between your thighs, spreading them wide. "Just wanna make you feel good, pretty."

He moved down the bed until he was positioned between your legs. The sight of him the powerful thighs, the lean torso, the dark intensity in his eyes left you breathless. Then, he lowered his head.

The first contact of his tongue against your swollen clitoris made your entire body convulse. It was warm, wet, and impossibly precise. Hoseok was not gentle; he was thorough. He used his tongue like a weapon, swirling it around your sensitive nub before applying firm, direct pressure that drove you toward the edge of madness. One of his hands reached up to grip your hip, holding you steady as he delved deeper, his tongue sliding inside you to explore your slick heat.

"Ho-bi... yes, right there... Feels s'good." You sobbed, your hips bucking against his face. The sensation was overwhelming the wet friction, the sound of his breathing, the way his fingers kneaded your ass cheeks. You felt like you were unraveling, your consciousness narrowing down to that single point of contact.

"You're so wet for me," he mumbled against your inner thigh before returning to your center. "So fucking perfect."

He increased the pace, his tongue working with a devastating rhythm. He knew exactly when to slow down to prolong the torment and when to quicken to drive you over the precipice. You were lost in a haze of sensation, your eyes rolling back as the first waves of climax began to crash through you. "I'm... I'm gonna–"

"Let it go, baby. Give it all to me. I got you," he commanded.

As you shattered, your climax rippling through you in waves that left you shaking and weak, Hoseok drank you in, his mouth never leaving you until the last tremor had passed. You lay there for several minutes, panting, your skin flushed and damp with sweat, feeling completely hollowed out in the best possible way.

But Hoseok wasn't finished. He moved up your body, his eyes fixed on yours, burning with a rekindled fire. "Wanna suck me off, beautiful?"

"Please," you begged, reaching for him.

"Come on then." He stood up by the edge of the bed as you began to crawl to him.

You guided him to your mouth, your fingers wrapping around his hardening length. He was hot and pulsing, a physical manifestation of the hunger he had been carrying for weeks. As you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head and sucking gently on the underside, you watched his expression shift from controlled desire to raw, unguarded pleasure. His head fell back, a guttural groan escaping him as you worked to please him, your throat tightening around him with each stroke.

"Fuck, you're good at that," he hissed, his hand coming down to rest on the back of your head, guiding your movements. "So good. But I need to feel you. I need to be inside you."

He pulled away from you just long enough to position himself. The room was silent except for your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Hoseok moved between your legs, settling himself between your thighs. He propped himself up on his elbows, hovering over you in a classic missionary position, allowing you to see every inch of his face.

"Look at me, baby," he commanded softly. "I want you to see me when I fuck you."

Slowly, deliberately, he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He paused there for a heartbeat, letting you feel the blunt pressure before pushing forward. You gasped as you felt yourself stretching to accommodate him, the fullness of him filling the emptiness that had been aching inside you. He moved slowly at first, each inch a deliberate invasion, ensuring you could take all of him.

"You okay? Tell me if it's too much," he whispered, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

"No... it's perfect. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

With your permission granted, the pace shifted from tentative to primal. Hoseok began to thrust, his hips meeting yours in a steady, powerful rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the quiet room, a metronome for your shared ecstasy. Each thrust drove him deeper, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made your vision blur.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his teeth gritted as he fought for control. "Like you were made just for me."

"I...," you cried out, clearly unable to finish your sentence, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even closer, wanting to eliminate every millimeter of space between you. "Hobi..."

The missionary position allowed for an intimacy that no other could match. Your chests pressed together, your hearts beating in synchronized chaos. You could feel the sweat sliding between your bodies, the friction increasing as the pace accelerated. Hoseok's movements became more urgent, less controlled. His breathing turned into harsh, broken gasps, and his eyes never left yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that felt like it was searing your soul.

"I'm close," he warned, his voice breaking. "You gonna come with me, baby?"

"Y-Yeah... Yeah... Mmm."

The climax hit you both simultaneously. As you moaned his name, your internal muscles clamping around him in desperate spasms, Hoseok let out a raw, animalistic roar. He buried himself as deep as possible, his body tensing as he came inside you in powerful, pulsing waves. The sensation of him filling you while you climaxed was overwhelming, a white hot explosion that left you both gasping for air.

For several long minutes, neither of you moved. Hoseok remained collapsed against you, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours. The only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioning and your own retreating breaths. Slowly, he lifted his head, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"Mine," he whispered against your skin, the word less a claim and more a promise. "You're mine."

"Yours," you agreed weakly, closing your eyes as the afterglow wrapped around you like a warm blanket, finally allowing the exhaustion of the concert and the intensity of the night to pull you toward sleep.

The morning light filtered softly through the heavy blackout curtains of Suite 45, casting a warm, hazy gold across the rumpled white sheets.

You woke up slowly, floating in that heavy, delicious haze where reality hadn't quite set in yet. Your body felt completely relaxed, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and heavy comfort that you didn't want to break. For a second, your sleepy brain tried to convince you that the entire night before, the secret walk down the VIP corridor, the suffocating tension, the breathless panic and raw heat in the dark had just been an impossibly vivid dream born from too many hours of stage adrenaline.

Then, a slow, deliberate movement broke the stillness.

A heavy, warm arm draped securely over your waist, pulling you flush against a solid, bare chest. A split-second later, a soft, lingering warmth brushed against the sensitive skin of your bare shoulder.

Gentle, feather-light kisses were pressed rhythmically right where your shoulder met your neck, deliberate and tender, sending a soft, shiver-inducing ripple straight through your sleepy muscles.

A low, gravelly morning chuckle vibrated right against your back, thick with sleep and absolute satisfaction.

"Good morning, beautiful," Jung Hoseok murmured, his voice rough and deep with slumber as his lips brushed your skin one more time.

Your eyes fluttered open completely, a soft, involuntary smile breaking across your face as the hazy dream state evaporated, replaced by the dizzying, wonderful reality of where you were. You shifted slightly against the mattress, turning your head over your shoulder to look back at him.

Hoseok was lying propped up on one elbow, his dark hair messy and untamed against the white pillows, falling in soft strands across his forehead. He wasn't wearing his stage clothes, nor the fierce, untouchable aura he wore under the stadium lights. Without the sunglasses or the leather trench coat, looking at him like this, soft-eyed, relaxed, and smiling that wide, heart-melting, sleepy smile made your chest ache with a sudden, overwhelming fondness.

"Morning," you whispered back, your voice raspy with sleep.

Hoseok’s dark eyes softened further, a sleepy kind of warmth pooling in them as he reached up, using the back of his fingers to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. His thumb traced a slow, affectionate path along your cheekbone, his gaze lingering on your lips as if memorizing the curve of them all over again.

"Sleep well?" he teased softly, his lips curling into a knowing, lopsided smirk.

"Like I've been running a marathon for three days straight," you mumbled honestly, though you leaned instinctively into his touch, nuzzling slightly against his palm.

"Well, you definitely worked hard last night," he laughed softly, the rich sound rumbling deep in his chest. He pulled you a fraction closer, tucking you impossibly tighter against his side so that your head rested comfortably right over his steady, beating heart. "We earned the rest."

For a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved. The world outside the hotel window could have been ending, but inside Suite 45, time seemed to slow down entirely. The heavy curtains blocked out the morning rush, leaving just the sound of your breathing syncing with his, the quiet rustle of the sheets, and the undeniable, electric comfort of being wrapped up in him.

Your fingers traced idly over the smooth skin of his chest, lightly brushing past the spot where his silver chains usually rested, though right now, he was completely bare, stripped of all the armor he wore for the cameras.

After a while, the faint, internal reminder of reality began to buzz at the back of your mind. Tour schedules, rehearsal calls, the rest of the dance crew.

"What time is it?" you murmured softly into his chest, your eyes still half-closed as you blinked against the bright sliver of light peaking through the curtain gap.

Hoseok didn't answer immediately; he just let out a soft sigh, tightening his arm around your waist as if trying to trap you in bed forever. "Who cares? The call time isn't for hours."

"I should probably check just in case my phone is blowing up," you reasoned, though your limbs felt like lead. You stretched out an arm blindly toward the nightstand where you had tossed your phone the night before. Your fingers brushed against the smooth glass surface, wrapping around it and dragging it back under the heavy duvet cover.

You tapped the screen to wake it up, squinting slightly against the sudden glare of light.

The lock screen was a chaotic wall of notifications, missed calls from Minji and Hana demanding to know if you were alive, group chat messages flooded with teasing emojis, and a cascade of social media alerts. But one notification right at the top, pulled straight from a viral X (formerly Twitter) update tag, made your entire heart stop dead in its tracks.

@TourUpdates_BTS: DID EVERYONE FORGET ABOUT THIS?! Footage of J-Hope cornering backup dancer Y/N on stage during FYA last night is currently hitting 2M views. Look at his face omg... we are not surviving this tour.

Your breath hitched violently in your throat. Your thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed.

Before you could lock the phone or shove it under the pillow, a lean arm slid over your shoulder. Hoseok leaned in, resting his chin comfortably right on top of your head, his dark eyes reading the glowing screen over your shoulder with effortless ease.

He didn't look panicked. In fact, a slow, highly amused smirk spread across his face as he watched the words register in your mind.

"Well," Hoseok murmured, his warm breath fanning over your ear. "Looks like the secret's out, baby."

"Oh my god," you whimpered, covering your face with your free hand as a hot, mortified flush raced across your cheeks. "We're going to get lectured by management. The whole fandom saw that. They literally caught you trapping me on stage on a live international broadcast..."

"Let them look," Hoseok chuckled softly, unfazed. Instead of pulling away, his index finger reached out, brushing your hand aside so he could take control of the phone screen.

With a smooth, practiced swipe, his finger scrolled down past the initial post, opening the quote-reposts and the comment section below the viral video.

You braced yourself for impact, squeezing your eyes shut for a second, expecting a tidal wave of backlash, jealous theories, or chaotic drama.

Instead, scrolling down the screen, what met your eyes completely threw you off.

@bts_ot7_love: WAIT THEY LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER THOUGH?? Look at the way he smiles at her pls 😭

@hobi_core: Honestly...if j-hope looked at me like that on stage i would simply combust into flames. let them be happy omggg

@taejin_95: the backup dancers work SO hard, but Y/N is literally living my absolute dream life right now. look at his shoulders!!

@agustd_supremacy: im screaming the way he literally cornered her in broad daylight on live tv?? he is SO not subtle anymore lmao i love it

@ARMY_sunshine_94: protect them at all costs. if hobi is happy we are happy!! STREAM ARIRANG NOW 🍓☁️✨

Hoseok’s finger continued to scroll smoothly down the feed, revealing hundreds of comments, cute edits, supportive fan theories, and overwhelmingly positive, hyper-fixated shipping threads from fans who were melting over the chemistry they had accidentally put on display.

A quiet, disbelieving breath slipped past your lips as you stared at the glowing screen.

"See?" Hoseok whispered softly, his voice dropping into that warm, reassuring register that always made your chest feel too full. He pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your temple, his arm tightening around your waist once more. "It's ARMY. They love it. And more importantly... I love it."

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. The mischievous, teasing glint in his dark eyes had melted into something entirely devoted, making the frantic hammering of your heart return, not out of panic, but out of a sudden, rushing wave of warmth.

"You're impossible, Jung Hoseok," you muttered, a helpless, genuine smile breaking across your face as you locked your phone screen and tossed it back onto the nightstand.

"I know," he grinned, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, sweet, lingering morning kiss that completely wiped every remaining thought of the world outside out of your head. "Now stop worrying about the internet, close your eyes, and stay right here."

And for the rest of the morning, in the quiet warmth of Suite 45, you didn't look at a single notification again.

[divinelyparkjimin]

— heat after dark [m] | kth.

◦ summary ↠ he’s been around forever—your brother’s best friend, charming, off-limits, and slowly getting under your skin. when a group camping trip forces you too close for comfort, the tension finally snaps.

◦ pairing ↠ taehyung x reader

◦ word count ↠ 10.2k

◦ genre ↠ fluff, smut

◦ content warning(s) ↠ brother's best friend!taehyung, camping au, suggestive/explicit content, dirty talk, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected sex, cum denial, lot of praise kink, edging, humiliation kink (very mild), dom!taehyung

a/n: hihi, still debating whether or not i should make this a series but lmk your thoughts! hope you guys enjoy :D

masterlist

You were halfway through getting ready, one eye already lined in sharp black eyeliner, the other still bare, hair clipped up messily to keep it out of your face. The faint hum of your playlist filled the room, mixing with the occasional squeak of your chair as you leaned over your vanity. You’d meant to take your time, finish doing your hair and maybe pick out a better outfit, but that was much easier said than done.

Your phone buzzed against the wood, startling you slightly as you’d just finished up your other eye. You stared at the text that flashed across your phone screen from your best friend, Rei: “Almost outside!” You glanced at the message, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Okay,” you murmured, brushing off some stray hair and grabbing your bag. Finishing the rest could wait. You clipped the strap over your shoulder and practically ran downstairs, already imagining her teasing you for being in your unfinished state.

The doorbell rang sharply just as you reached the bottom step, echoing through the quiet house. 

You swung the door open without thinking, hair falling around your face in loose waves, eyeliner freshly done but the rest of you clearly unfinished, only to freeze.

And there stood your brother’s best friend, Taehyung.

He looked momentarily caught off guard, eyes flicking over you in that split second of silence that stretched a little too long—your unfinished makeup, the casual clothes, the way you’d clearly been mid-routine. Then that familiar, slow smile tugged at his lips, amused and unreadable all at once.

“Oh—hey,” you said, suddenly very aware of everything you hadn’t finished.

“Hey,” he said. “Jimin home?”

“Yeah,” you replied, stepping aside. “He’s upstairs. He’ll be down in a second.”

You turned to close the door, catching the brief flick of his eyes before he looked away again. It wasn’t obvious, barely a beat too long, but you felt it. The chill from outside lingered in the entryway and the thin fabric of your tank top was doing you no favors. You glanced down just long enough to realize your nipples were clearly outlined, unmistakable once you noticed. Heat crept up your neck before you could stop it. You crossed your arms loosely, more habit than embarrassment, and led him inside. 

“Sorry,” you added with a small laugh. “I’m kind of mid–getting ready.”

Taehyung glanced around the entryway like he was taking inventory of a place he already knew by heart. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said easily. “I’m the one who keeps barging into your guys’ place. Might as well start paying rent.”

You snorted. “You’d owe us millions at this point.” 

“Well Jimin hasn’t kicked me out yet, so I’m calling it a win,” he admitted without shame, kicking his shoes off.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment later, cutting off the awkward silence before it could form. 

“Tae!” Jimin called. “You’re early.”

Taehyung grinned. “Finished up work earlier than I expected, so I thought I’d swing by.” He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a satisfied breath.

“Well, you know what time it is then,” Jimin said, dropping onto the couch with a devious smirk, controller in hand. Taehyung followed, settling in beside him, his eyes flicking toward Jimin with a grin of his own.

You started back up the stairs, shaking your head at the boys and their ridiculous antics.

You’d known Taehyung for as long as you could remember. You all grew up together—same neighborhood, same schools, the kind of closeness that came from constant overlap. He was always around when you were younger, stretched out on the living room floor with your brother, stealing snacks, teasing both of you endlessly.

You’d had a crush on him once.

A small one.

He was older, cooler in that effortless way, and completely unreachable back then. Somewhere along the line, it faded, replaced by familiarity. But you had to admit that the butterflies did resurface at times. He was attractive, and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t deny it.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you paused for half a second before the doorbell rang again, and you hurried to answer it. Rei was standing there, grinning, bag slung over her shoulder.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, practically running inside. She threw her arms around you in a quick, enthusiastic hug. You laughed, taking her bag as the two of you scurried further inside. 

You both passed the living room where the guys were gaming, yelling, shoving each other playfully, and leaning way too close to the screens like the stakes were life or death. There'd be controllers slammed, voices cracked with laughter and fake anger, and every so often someone would leap up to argue a point, sending cushions flying.

Upstairs, your room felt like a retreat. Rei flopped onto your bed and propped herself up on her elbows, looking at you with a mischievous grin.

“So,” she said, her voice dropping playfully, “your brother and his best friend? Honestly… I think they’re so attractive.”

You nearly choked on your snack. “Ew. My brother?”

“Yes!” Rei exclaimed. “And his friend too! I mean… wow. You’re lucky you get to see them all the time.”

You hesitated, cheeks warming. “…I mean… he’s pretty attractive,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But he’s definitely my brother’s best friend and it’s probably best that it stayed that way.” 

“See! You do find him attractive!” Rei’s grin widened. “You should totally shoot your shot.”

“No way. Absolutely not.” You slapped her arm, laughing. 

She laughed too, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m just saying… if I were you, I’d take advantage of the situation.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You shook your head, reaching for snacks as you turned on the movie you two planned to watch. 

The rest of the night passed easily. Rei kicked off her shoes and immediately made herself comfortable, grabbing the popcorn and commenting on the movie like she was hosting her own commentary track. You half-watched, half-laughed, pausing now and then when she got too loud or insisted on rewinding a scene she missed while talking.

Somewhere along the way, the snacks disappeared, the movie turned into background noise, and the conversation drifted. Topics ranged from random updates, to inside jokes, to things that absolutely didn’t matter. You sprawled on opposite ends of the bed, scrolling on your phones at the same time while still talking, the way only close friends could.

Eventually, Rei groaned upon receiving a message from her mother. “Ugh, I should get going. If I stay any longer, my mom’s going to kill me.” 

“Already?” you asked, surprised at how late it felt.

“Yep. I’ll survive… barely,” she said, standing. You walked her to the door and gave her a quick hug before she'd finally left.

Once she was gone, the house felt quieter than before, the darkness of the night seeping in through the windows. You headed back upstairs before slipping into your usual evening routine without much thought. Pajamas laid out on the bed. Phone tossed aside. You just wanted something warm to wash the day off before curling up and doing absolutely nothing.

You padded down the hall toward the bathroom, already half on autopilot, when you noticed the soft glow seeping from beneath the door.

Occupied.

You sighed quietly. Of course.

Jimin had a habit of treating showers like spa retreats—long, unnecessary, and borderline criminal. You leaned down just enough to confirm the light was on, then straightened with a shake of your head.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath.

Rather than deal with it immediately, you wandered back to your room and flopped onto your bed, grabbing your phone. A few minutes turned into more than a few. Scrolling aimlessly. Letting time pass. Waiting for the sound of the water to shut off.

It didn’t.

By the time you checked the clock again, irritation had crept in. He’d been in there forever.

You groaned, pushing yourself up from the bed and heading back down the hallway, but this time with determination. As you reached the bathroom door, you knocked, firm but familiar.

“Jimin,” you called through the wood, already bracing yourself. “Hurry up. You’ve been in there for—”

The door swung open mid-sentence.

And there stood your brother’s best friend, Taehyung, yet again. 

You froze.

Your brain stalled, scrambling to catch up to what your eyes were suddenly processing. He was shirtless, his bare chest still damp, water droplets tracing lazy paths down his skin, dark hair wet and pushed back messily from his forehead. A towel hung low around his waist, secured just enough to be decent… barely.

And very much not Jimin.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

“Oh—” you blurted, instinctively stepping back, heat rushing straight to your face. “I— I thought you left.”

Taehyung blinked, clearly just as surprised to see you standing there, then glanced down at himself like he was only now realizing the situation.

“No, it’s—” he started, then stopped himself, clearing his throat. “I’m done. It’s all yours.”

You nodded too fast, heart hammering as you slipped past him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you a little harder than necessary.

Only once you were alone did you let out the breath you’d been holding.

Great.

Just great.

And now you had to shower with the image of Taehyung. Unexpected, shirtless, and very much not gone, but perhaps burned into your mind. You let the water run hot, hoping it would wash the thoughts away along with the day, steam fogging up the mirror as you tried to reset your head.

By the time you stepped out of the shower and changed into something soft and oversized, you'd finally gotten around to plopping into bed for some of your usual doom-scrolling. This often went on for longer than you'd like to admit, but hours in bed also meant hours without food.

That was when it hit you.

Not loud hunger, just a slow, creeping craving. The kind that settled in your stomach and refused to be ignored. You sighed softly, already knowing you wouldn’t fall asleep like this. 

You slipped out of your room quietly, phone in hand, flashlight on low as you tiptoed downstairs. The house was dark, quiet enough that every step felt louder than it actually was.

You kept the lights off, opening cabinets carefully until you found what you wanted, cereal, and saw it shoved all the way on the top shelf like it always was.

Of course.

You rose onto your tiptoes, stretching your arm, fingers grazing the edge of the box but not quite catching it. You tried again, leaning forward, balance tipping just slightly as you reached higher.

Then—

A presence.

A shadow moved close behind you.

Before you could react, an arm reached past you and effortlessly grabbed the box from the shelf.

You screamed.

Or yelped. Or something in between, but your feet slipped as you jumped back in pure panic.

Strong hands caught you instantly, steadying you before you could fall.

“Hey—hey—!”

Your heart was hammering as you looked up to see Taehyung again. Was he just following you at this point? 

Shirtless, again. Hair dry, slightly messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. Bare skin, warm and solid where his hands still held your arms.

Your eyes flicked, unwanted but automatically, to his forearms, veins faintly visible beneath your fingers where you were gripping him without realizing it.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “I thought you were— I thought no one was—”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, easing back once you were steady. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, still trying to get your pulse under control.

'Water." He lifted the glass in his hand slightly. " I could ask you the same, though.”

“Snack,” you said, shaking the box once. “Obviously.”

“Fair,” he said. “Didn’t expect to end up being a horror movie villain in the kitchen.”

You huffed. “You succeeded.”

He laughed quietly, leaning back against the counter. 

“Well,” he said, nodding toward the cereal, “at least the mission was successful.”

You hugged the box to your chest. “Next time, announce yourself.”

“I’ll try,” he said, amused.

He shifted the glass in his hand, pushing off the counter. “Uh… sorry. For earlier too. With the bathroom.”

Your face warmed immediately.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “If anything, I’m sorry. I thought you were my brother—I wouldn’t have rushed you like that otherwise.”

That earned a small laugh from him. “Guess I should take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t,” you said, but you were smiling.

He lifted his glass in a lazy little salute. “I’ll let you enjoy your very dramatic late-night snack.”

“Try not to haunt the kitchen again,” you shot back.

“No promises,” he said lightly, turning toward the stairs. “Night.”

“Night.”

You waited until his footsteps faded before letting out the breath you’d been holding, clutching the cereal like it was evidence of a crime.

After your midnight snack escapade, you'd finally made it back to your room. You dropped back onto your bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as you cracked open the cereal box and ate straight from it, handful after handful. You were halfway through chewing when your phone buzzed against the sheets beside you with a message from Rei, the sudden vibration pulling your attention away.

“Camping tomorrow!”

“Since when??” your eyes widened as you typed back.

“Since you told me you were free this weekend.” You rolled your eyes at the thought but and immediately dialed Rei's number.

“Hey! You saw my message?” she asked, laughing.

“Yeah… so, camping tomorrow?” you questioned, still doubtful about the whole thing.

“Yep! Everyone’s coming. It'll be so much fun!” Rei's energy made it hard for you to not want to go. So you ultimately gave in, despite the last minute nature of the plans.

After exchanging the specific details of the trip over the phone, two call between the two of you had finally come to an end. You noticed you’d been added to a group chat minutes after your conversation with Rei, titled, Camping Trip Squad. 

You opened it, scanning through the names as they loaded in. Friends you’d known for years, your brother, and a few familiar faces from his side too. Somewhere along the way, your circles had blended together, so seeing everyone in one place didn’t feel strange.

Yoongi, Seol, Hoseok, Namjoon, Yoona, Seokjin, Yuri, Rei, Jimin...

and...

Your thumb slowed when you spotted Taehyung’s name.

You paused for half a second, then kept scrolling. He was friends with Jimin, of course he’d be there. Simple as that.

You smiled to yourself, nervous and excited, and finally locked your phone and set it down. Not long after, you drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow was going to be… something.

By mid-morning, you’d packed everything you thought you’d need: clothes, toiletries, a hoodie, snacks. You pulled your bag over your shoulder, hurrying outside to meet the others. Outside, two cars were already parked in the driveway, everyone bustling around loading luggage, folding sleeping bags, and juggling coolers. The air was full of chatter and the faint scent of coffee drifting from a thermos someone had brought.

You made your way over to the car you’d be in. Jimin was already in the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and humming along to a song playing on the radio. Taehyung lounged in the front passenger seat, sunglasses pushed up on his head, casually scrolling on his phone.

Sliding into the back, you found yourself wedged between Rei and Seol, one of Jimin's close friends.

Jimin glanced at the three of you through the rearview mirror. “Everyone good back there?”

You shifted in your seat, adjusting your bag on your lap. “A little cramped,” you admitted, but tried to reassure him. “But not too bad.”

Taehyung turned around, raising an eyebrow to you. “If you want, you can switch seats with me,” he offered casually.

Before you could answer, Seol piped up, eyes bright. “I’ll take it!” she said, shooting a playful look toward Jimin, who grinned. You let her have it—Seol and Jimin sort of had a thing going on and it wasn’t really worth arguing. 

So there you were, in the middle seat between Rei and now, Taehyung. The space was tight, but fine. You tried to settle in, adjusting your bag on your lap to create more space.

The car pulled onto the road, and soon the chatter from the front quieted into music playing softly from the car radio.

Exhaustion hit you halfway through the drive. You shifted slightly to get more comfortable, and before you realized it, your head had drifted sideways onto Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Ah—sorry,” you whispered, snapping upright, cheeks heating.

He gave a small, warm smile and gently patted his shoulder. “I don’t mind,” he said softly, his voice low, carrying just the faintest teasing note, enough to make you flustered but not embarrassed.

You tried to sit normally, but after a minute, your head slowly drifted back against him again. Each time it happened, you flinched upright, heart racing. Each time, he just offered the same soft smile and light pat, like a silent, comforting nudge that you could relax.

Finally, you let yourself take him up on his unspoken offer. You leaned lightly against him, and he rested his head against the window, eyes half-closed. The two of you drifted into a quiet rhythm, dozing side by side.

The hum of the road and the occasional conversation from the front seat faded around you. By the time the trees thickened and the smell of pine filled the air, the ride had settled into a calm ride with a gentle warmth lingering between the two of you.

After a few hours of driving, the car finally rolled up to the campsite, and the first thing that hit you was the scent of pine and damp earth, mixed with the faint smoke of distant campfires. Sunlight streamed through the trees, dappling the ground with golden patches. The air was crisp, with a slight chill hinting at the evening to come.

Everyone spilled out of the cars, stretching limbs, hauling bags, and joking loudly. The space was bigger than you’d expected. It was an open clearing surrounded by tall pines, with a small creek gurgling nearby.

You grabbed your bag and followed the group toward the designated camping area. You spotted Taehyung and Jimin unloading supplies together, moving with that easy coordination that only longtime friends seemed to have.

“Looks like a lot of tents are going up,” Rei murmured beside you, scanning the clearing.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath. “It’s actually quite perfect.” 

While everyone started setting up, you found yourself helping lay out sleeping bags and stakes. Taehyung was nearby, hammering tent poles into the ground, and every so often your hands brushed against his as you handed him something. You tried to pretend it didn’t make your chest flutter.

Finally, the tent assignments were sorted. You and Rei were sharing one, Seol and a couple others had theirs, and the rest of the group fanned out among the remaining spaces. 

As you rolled out your sleeping bag inside your tent, the soft rustle of canvas around you and the faint laughter from the others outside made everything feel cozy. 

A few moments later, you emerged to help secure the last stakes, and Taehyung caught your eye as he finished hammering one. “Need a hand?” he asked casually, offering a small smile.

“Thanks,” you replied, brushing your hair back. “I’ve got it.”

He leaned against the tent, relaxed, watching you for a beat longer than necessary. You felt that subtle heat again, the same one from the car ride, but kept yourself busy, pretending to focus entirely on the task at hand. And not your very hot brother’s best friend who was examining your every move. 

By the time the tents were all up and the group had gathered to admire their handiwork, the sun had started to dip. The air had grown slightly cooler, and you pulled your hoodie tighter. 

Not long after, Yoona suggested a game. Then another voice chimed in, louder, more excited. A race through the spring in teams of two, one person piggy-backing the other. Groans and cheers mixed together as the idea took shape, competitiveness sparking almost instantly.

People paired off quickly, like it had all been silently decided beforehand. Rei was already laughing with Hoseok. Jimin and Jungkook arguing about rules that didn’t exist yet. You lingered near the edge, pretending to fix your sleeve until you realized there was only one person left doing the same.

Taehyung glanced over at you, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again with a soft smile.

“Looks like it’s us.”

You changed into your swimsuit along everyone else, deciding on a floral two piece you'd brought. When you came back out, Taehyung was already there in tropical swim trunks, shirt nowhere to be seen.

“Hop on,” he said easily, ducking lower for you to easily mount yourself on.

You hesitated for half a second before stepping closer. His hands found your thighs as you climbed onto his back, fingers firm, grounding. The contact sent a quiet jolt through you, heat against bare skin, his grip confident like he’d done this before. Your arms looped around his shoulders, closer than you meant to be.

“You good?” he asked, voice lower now, almost amused.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to sound steady. “Just, don’t drop me.”

He laughed, adjusting his hold slightly, pulling you in. “Lean back too much and we’re both going down,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, but leaned closer anyway, your cheek near his shoulder.

“Try not to show off,” you muttered.

“No promises.”

Namjoon shouted for everyone to get into position. The chatter grew louder, tension building as feet splashed into the shallow spring. Taehyung shifted beneath you, muscles tightening, ready.

And then—

“Go!”

The race exploded into motion.

The race was chaos from the start. You had to sprint through the shallow spring, dodging rocks and roots, all while trying to keep your balance on Taehyung’s back. He grinned, clearly enjoying the challenge as he led you by shouting out specific directions.

You were amazed by his agility and speed, and couldn’t help but take in the view of his broad shoulders your hands were wrapped around.

At some point, a sharp sting flared along your leg, probably from a hidden rock or something, but you ignored it. Nothing could slow you down, not now. 

You could hear Rei and Hoseok laughing as they splashed through the water, Seol and Jimin not far behind, and even Yoongi and Yuri making grunting, exaggerated faces as they struggled to keep pace.

Finally, the finish line, a flat patch of grass by the water’s edge, came into view. Taehyung surged forward with a final push, and you crossed it, panting, laughing, and soaked from head to toe. He slowed to a stop, gently lowering you to the bank.

You stepped off, feeling the sting in your leg more clearly now. Taehyung’s eyes flicked down instantly.

“Hey, wait. Sit down,” he said, crouching in front of you, concern breaking through his easygoing tone. He held your leg gently, inspecting the scrape. “Uh… this is deeper than I thought.”

You winced, realizing it really was more than just a scratch. “It’s fine, trust me,” you murmured, but he wasn’t having it.

“Yeah, fine isn’t what this looks like,” he said, voice soft but firm. “Stay still, okay?”

You let him help you sit on a nearby rock, careful not to lean too much on your injured leg. Before you could say anything else, hurried footsteps splashed through the water.

“What happened?” Jimin asked, already crouching beside you, eyes flicking between your leg and Taehyung. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “Just scraped it on a rock.” 

Jimin squinted at the wound, then slowly looked at Taehyung. “You had one job.” 

Taehyung lifted his hands in surrender, a guilty smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I didn’t push her into the river.” 

“Debatable,” Jimin muttered, though the edge of a grin gave him away. “If she ends up limping all weekend, I’m blaming you.”

Rei hovered nearby, frowning. “It looks like it stings.”

“Only a teeny bit,” you admitted, then waved them off. “But really, I’m okay.”

Taehyung focused again, cleaning the scrape with careful fingers, his touch gentler than you expected. “Still,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on your leg. “I’m sorry.”

You met his gaze and shrugged lightly, a small smile forming despite yourself. “Occupational hazard of agreeing to a race like that.”

He stayed crouched in front of you, focused on your leg as he worked, shoulders rolling subtly each time he shifted. Shirtless, still damp from the spring, 

Your gaze dropped without permission, tracing the lines of his stomach, the way his abs tensed when he leaned closer. You stared a second too long. Long enough to feel the heat crawl back up your neck, long enough to forget where you were, who else was around.

He adjusted his grip, thumb steadying your leg, and you became acutely aware of how close he was, how his hands felt grounding and dangerous all at once.

You forced your eyes away, suddenly very interested in literally anything else.

Too late.

He glanced up, catching the way you froze, the way your attention snapped back to your face just a beat too slow. One corner of his mouth tugged upward, amusement flickering through his eyes.

“At least someone’s distracted,” he said lightly, tone playful, almost teasing.

Your heart stuttered.

“Focus,” you shot back, trying for casual and landing somewhere shaky instead.

He chuckled softly and returned his attention to your leg, but the air had shifted. The atmosphere between you started feeling far heavier, every small movement louder than it should’ve been. And even with his eyes down, you had the distinct, unnerving feeling that he was very aware of exactly what he’d just done to you.

And worse — that he liked it.

By the time the bandage was secured, your leg throbbed but the pain was manageable. You stood carefully, testing it. “All good,” you said, more to reassure yourself than anyone else.

“Good,” he said, standing as well, brushing off his hands. “And no more random rock attacks from me, promise.”

You smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Alright, alright,” Jimin called out, stepping between the two of you. “First aid is done. You can stop flirting with my sister now.” Taehyung rolled his eyes at the comment, arms crossed.

You couldn’t help but grin at the exchange, shaking your head. The scrape went forgotten for the moment and the playful energy between everyone made the campsite feel lighter again.

The fire had burned down to a steady glow by the time everyone finally settled into a loose circle, marshmallows skewered on sticks, jackets shrugged on against the night chill. The forest felt quieter now, no whistles, no shouts, just crackling wood and low laughter.

Blankets were spread unevenly in the dirt, some people sitting cross-legged, others stretched out on logs or leaning back on their hands. Someone passed around a small cooler, beer bottles clinking quietly as drinks were handed out, nothing fancy, just enough to warm everyone from the inside. The smell of smoke clung to clothes and hair, mixing with the smell of toasted sugar from half-melted marshmallows.

You noticed Taehyung sat across the fire, one knee pulled up, drink resting loosely in his hand. Seokjin and Yoona were close enough to share a blanket, murmuring to each other. Hoseok sprawled comfortably near the firelight, already grinning like he knew trouble was coming. Jimin dropped down beside you with a dramatic sigh, nudging your knee with his own as he reached for his drink.

It was then that Namjoon, who had somehow become the unofficial leader of your friend group over the years, shifted where he sat and stood up, lifting his bottle to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, everyone! It’s time for some truth or dare.” He tipped the bottle slightly as a chorus of reactions followed. “No truth? You drink. You back out of a dare?” He shrugged. “Also drink. And yes, people are allowed to be evil, but not that evil.”

Hoseok perked up instantly. “So chaos. But, like, safe chaos.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said, lowering himself back down to place a bottle near the center of everyone. “Alright. Who’s starting?”

With the flick of Namjoon’s hand, the bottle spun, glass catching firelight as it circled, before landing on Yoona. 

“Okay, truth or dare,” He announced, fidgeting with the empty bottle in the dirt. 

She groaned, already smiling. “Dare. I’m not emotionally strong enough for truth right now.”

Light laughter rippled around the circle.

Namjoon leaned back on his hands, eyes glinting. “Okay,” he said thoughtfully, like he was choosing a dessert. “I dare you to kiss someone who you think is the hottest person here.” 

A beat of silence.

Yoona blinked. “That’s evil.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon replied, proud.

Her gaze flicked around the circle once, quick, almost shy, before landing on Seokjin. His brows lifted in surprise just as she scooted closer, closing the distance with a confidence that made a few people whistle.

Her lips met his in a quick, teasing brush at first, soft and deliberate, making Seokjin blink in mild shock. Everyone was leaning forward, eyes wide, whispering and nudging each other, clearly thrilled to witness the bold moment.

You glanced over at Taehyung who was watching it all quietly from across the fire, the glow reflecting in his eyes. He looked relaxed, but his attention drifted, lingering on you longer than necessary before glancing away again.

The game continued innocently enough. Hoseok dared Seol to feed Jimin a marshmallow using only her mouth. Yoongi dared Yuri to sing a cheesy love song in a dramatic voice, prompting giggles and mock groans. Hoseok ended up kissing Rei on a dare, while Namjoon and Yuri shared a quick, teasing peck. Laughter rippled around the circle as the dares grew bolder and more playful, the firelight glinting off flushed cheeks.

When it was your turn, Seol’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said cautiously.

“Hmm…” Seol said, grinning. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone here?”

You froze internally, heart hammering. Everyone was watching, a few teasing smirks catching your eye. You hesitated, just a fraction too long.

“Looks like someone’s drinking!” Hoseok piped up, pointing at you. You sighed, taking the shot quickly, cheeks burning, muttering under your breath. You could feel Taehyung’s eyes on you but quickly glanced past him, though you immediately knocked yourself over how suspicious it looked. 

A few more turns passed, each dare playful and flirty. Until the bottle spun again, slower this time, shaking around before finally stopping.

Pointing straight at Taehyung.

The reaction was immediate, low whistles, laughter, someone muttering, “Oh, this should be good.”

Taehyung glanced down at the bottle, then up at Yuri, who was already amused upon the selection of her victim. “Truth or dare.” 

Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think. “Dare.”

Yuri leaned forward, elbows on her knees, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Okay,” she said. “Ten-second makeout session. Your choice, with one of the girls here.”

The fire cracked loudly, embers flaring as the words settled over the circle.

Taehyung’s facial expression has a subtle sense of surprise, but he stood anyway.

His gaze swept the group once, unhurried, almost thoughtful. And then it landed on you, and stayed there.

Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t say your name. He just walked toward you, calm, deliberate, like the decision had been obvious all along.

Jimin sputtered. “I can’t watch this.”

Before he could do anything dramatic, Yoongi reached over and covered Jimin’s eyes with one hand. “For your own health,” he said dryly.

“HEY—” Jimin protested blindly.

Taehyung stopped right in front of you. Up close, the light caught in his eyes, warm and steady. He hesitated just a second, long enough to be sure, before lifting one hand to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw. The gesture pushed your hair back, feeling just the warmth of his hand along your face and nothing else. 

The touch alone made your breaths feel heavy.

His other hand settled at your waist, firm but careful, anchoring you as he leaned in.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed.

It was slow and confident, his mouth warm against yours, the kiss deepening almost immediately. You could feel the heat of him everywhere, the hand at your waist pulling you closer, the way his thumb pressed gently at your cheek as if he didn’t want to let go.

Someone started counting.

“One… two… three…”

You barely heard it.

The kiss grew more intense, unhurried and sure. When you shifted closer without thinking, he adjusted easily, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist.

“…eight… nine… ten—”

“Time!” Hoseok called.

Taehyung didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

The count stretched. Laughter rose, someone shouting, “HEY—THAT’S PAST TEN.”

Only then did Taehyung finally break the kiss, forehead resting briefly against yours as he breathed out a quiet laugh. His hands lingered, one last squeeze at your waist, one last brush of his thumb along your cheek, before he stepped back, licking his lips. 

Your lips were tingling. Your heart was racing.

The circle erupted.

“FIFTEEN SECONDS,” one of the boys yelled, yet you couldn’t tell who. 

“Easily twenty,” Yoona added.

Yoongi uncovered Jimin’s eyes.

Jimin blinked, looked between you and Taehyung, then groaned. “I leave you alone for five minutes.”

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered now that the moment was over, ears faintly pink. “Hey, it was just a dare,” he said again, but this time it sounded less convincing.

The looks around the fire said everything.

And when Taehyung finally met your eyes again, his smile was softer, still teasing, still warm, but unmistakably real.

Many drinks later, the game slowly dissolved into something looser and less structured. The bottle was forgotten somewhere in the dirt, abandoned in favor of laughter that came too easily and conversations that drifted wherever they wanted.

Someone had pulled out skewers of meat and vegetables, passing them around the fire. Pieces of marinated beef sizzled over the flames, the smell rich and smoky, making everyone groan with hunger all over again. Grease crackled as it dripped into the fire, sparks jumping and drawing half-drunken cheers.

People sat closer now without realizing it—shoulders touching, knees brushing, blankets shared without question. Seokjin insisted on “supervising” the cooking, dramatically flipping skewers like he was running a restaurant, while Yoona leaned against him, laughing every time he overdid it. Hoseok was animated as ever, retelling some story with exaggerated gestures, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. Yoongi sat back with Yuri, quietly amused, offering commentary only when it counted.

You, slightly tipsy yourself, noticed Rei wobbling as she tried to stand, clearly far too drunk to manage it on her own. “Here,” you murmured, sliding an arm around her back and using your own weight to steady her. “Let’s get you back to the tent.”

“Alright, alright,” Taehyung said from the side, smirking. “You’re not carrying her all the way to the tent on your own, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I–I’ve got her,” you slurred, arms flailing and hair falling into your face as you tried to assert control. “You u–underestimate… my abilities.” 

“Sure,” he said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “The one who’d probably tumble flat on the ground if I so much as poked you.”

Without thinking, you pressed a finger to his lips as if to shush him. Just one, soft, almost instinctive. The moment you felt the warmth of his lips against your finger, your chest tightened a little. Your hand froze, the small, steady pressure of him there making you instinctively relax against him. His eyes followed your finger, calm and amused, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Fine,” you exhaled slowly, letting your arms drop a fraction, shoulders loosening, letting him guide both you and Rei without protest. You didn’t resist when he subtly steadied you, his presence pressing close in the quiet night.

With a faint chuckle, he stepped closer, supporting both you and Rei as you made your way back to your tents. The night was quiet except for your careful steps and Rei’s occasional mumbles. Once inside your tent, you tucked Rei in, making sure she was settled before pulling the sheets around yourself.

“Thanks… for the, uh, v–very unneeded help,” you said, voice soft but teasing, curling up under the warmth of the sheets.

Part of you wanted to bring up the kiss from earlier, but you turned just in time to see Rei stirring, half-awake and mumbling incoherently. You decided against it, letting the thought slide.

Taehyung gave a small grin, ruffling your hair gently. “Goodnight,” he said, before stepping out of the tent, leaving you to your warmth and thoughts.

You snuggled deeper under the sheets, the warmth of the tent wrapping around you as your thoughts drifted. Taehyung’s presence lingered, from the way he’d teased you earlier to the way he’d silently supported both you and Rei back to the tent. Every brush of his hands against yours, every casual touch, felt amplified now in the quiet of your room.

It was reckless, maybe a little dangerous to let yourself dwell on it, but the memory of his easy grin and the warmth of his presence made it impossible not to.

Your heart thumped a little faster, and you buried your face in your pillow, exhaling softly. He had this way of getting under your skin without even trying, and tonight, with all the closeness and teasing, the feeling was stronger than ever. You couldn’t deny it, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to savor it before falling toward sleep.

The next day, the morning sun filtered softly through the tall trees, painting the campsite in golden streaks that woke you up. The fire from last night had burned down to embers and the faint smell of smoke was still lingering in the crisp air.

You yawned, stretching, and rubbed your eyes as Rei bounced up beside you, bright-eyed and slightly mischievous. “We have to talk,” she whispered, tugging at your arm.

“About what?” you asked groggily, trying to keep your voice calm.

“That kiss, duh,” she said bluntly, rolling her eyes. “Last night. Come on—you can’t just brush it off.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It was just a dare. He’s confident; that’s just how he is.”

Rei smirked, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Yeah, a kiss with your brother’s hot best friend. What did I tell you? This is your chance.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, though your cheeks heated. “Rei, you’re terrible.”

“Terrible? I’m giving you solid advice,” she teased, nudging you. “Don’t blow it!”

You rolled your eyes, still chuckling, but couldn’t help stealing a glance toward where Taehyung and Jimin were doing a quick check of their gear. He caught your eye for a second, giving a small, almost imperceptible smirk before focusing on Jimin again. You felt your heart skip just a beat.

Rei, clearly satisfied she’d made her point, let you go and bounced off to grab a coffee from the cooler. You shook your head, sipping your own, still feeling a little flustered, and tried to focus on breakfast preparations.

The group gathered near the remnants of last night’s fire, blankets and logs rearranged into makeshift seating. Breakfast smelled like toast and sizzling bacon, with mugs of coffee and hot chocolate steaming in the cool morning air.

You sat beside Rei, still catching glimpses of Taehyung across the way. Somehow, even while casually eating, his presence made you feel something. He caught your glance and offered a subtle nod, which made your stomach twist into knots.

Jimin leaned in, nudging your shoulder. “Feeling better this morning?” he asked, voice teasing but kind.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off. Rei snickered beside you.

“You’re so not fine,” she whispered quietly to you. “And yes, he’s making you blush already.”

You shot her a look but couldn’t hide your grin. The moment was interrupted as you heard Namjoon’s voice in the distance. 

After calling everyone together, he stood tall holding a laminated list of items. “Alright, teams!” he announced. “Scavenger hunt time. Each team collects these items from all around the camp and nearby forest. Bonus points for speed and creativity. The first team back with everything wins.”

Everyone groaned and laughed at the thought of racing around in the woods.

Rei grabbed your hand playfully. “Come on, let’s crush them,” she said, already leading the way toward the first checkpoint.

The rest of the hunt was filled with the rustling of leaves and playful competition. You and Rei darted across shallow streams, clambered over rocks, and bent to gather pinecones, twigs, and other items on the checklist.

After a long morning of searching, running, and scrambling over rocks and roots, you and Rei finally reached the final checkpoint, breathless and laughing. You looked around, realizing you were the first to arrive.

“We made it!” Rei cheered, throwing her arms up in triumph. You mirrored her excitement, grinning widely as the thrill of winning washed over you. A victorious high-five connected, and the forest seemed to echo with your laughter, the mix of exhaustion and exhilaration buzzing through your veins.

By the time the rest of the teams trickled back, the sun had fully set, leaving the clearing bathed in the dusky glow of twilight. The others were already snacking, some chatting and laughing as they settled in for the evening. A few of the boys had started a fire, but the pile of logs was sparse, and the flames barely reached high enough to warm everyone.

Jimin called out, his voice carrying over the chatter. “We need more sticks!”

Without hesitation, you raised your hand. “I can go get some.” 

“Hey, don’t go out there alone, it’s getting pretty dark already.” Jimin warned, glancing toward the darkening trees.

Yoongi, sitting nearby, nudged Taehyung lightly with his elbow. “Go with her, man.” Taehyung obliged with a nod before strolling over to your side. 

You hesitated, suddenly aware of the situation, but the unspoken tension made it feel impossible to back out. “Uh… yeah, sure,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, and followed him toward the tree line, your steps crunching on the fallen leaves.

The forest seemed quieter now, the sounds of the camp fading behind you. Your heart raced slightly, part from the exertion and part from the awareness of walking beside him in the dim light.

“About last night…” he started. “Sorry if I went too far with the dare.”

You turned, brushing your hair back, smiling lightly. “No problem. You were… very committed, I’ll give you that.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened, and he stepped a fraction closer. “You didn’t seem like you hated it.”

“I didn’t,” you admitted, quietly, but shyly. You could tell he was seeking your gaze, but you didn’t have it in you to meet his. 

“Good… wasn’t sure if you’d go along with it,” he teased.

“You’re lucky I’m… compliant,” you quipped, letting the words slip out with a playful edge.

“Compliant, huh? That sounds suspicious,” he said, stepping closer, closing the gap just enough to make your skin tingle.

You both paused, setting the sticks carefully against a nearby tree, taking a moment to catch your breath after bending and lifting. The quiet of the forest suddenly felt louder and you could almost hear the sound of your heartbeat in your chest. He shifted slightly, brushing lightly against your side as he guided you toward a sturdier tree. “I’m curious,” he murmured, low and teasing, “just how compliant you really are.”

You tilted your head, lips quirking, letting the pause stretch. “Depends…” you drawled, letting the words hang in the air, “…on how convincing you can be.” The playful tone in your voice couldn’t mask the heat that pooled between your legs.

His smirk deepened, eyes darkening slightly as he stepped closer, closing the distance entirely. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe it is,” you whispered, leaning back lightly against the tree, daring him to come closer.

His hand drifted along your waist, firm but teasing, and your pulse spiked at the contact. He leaned in slowly, and this time, hesitation melted away. When his lips met yours, it was soft at first, deliberate, teasing, the kind of kiss that made the world narrow down to just the two of you. His other hand shifted slightly, fingers brushing along your back as if he was memorizing your every curve.

Your hands went instinctively to his shoulders, holding on as the kiss deepened. His lips parted slightly, and when your lips parted in response, his tongue teased at yours, slipping in a little, testing. Your knees weakened, chest tightening as the heat between you flared, your thoughts melting into the sensation.

Time seemed to stretch. Your heartbeat continued drumming in your ears, the cool night air forgotten. You hadn’t even noticed how long you’d been pressed together until a voice called out suddenly from the clearing:

“Oh! I think that’s Taehyung! They’re back!”

You both jolted apart, eyes wide, fumbling for composure.

A few of the others, who’d wandered over from the fire, appeared. “It’s freezing out without the firewood,” Yuri said cheerfully. “Thought you guys might’ve gotten lost or something.” 

You quickly shoved your hair back, trying to appear casual. Taehyung nodded at you, his smirk playful but restrained. He stepped back slightly, brushing ash from his hands. Then, smoothly, he turned to help Jimin with the fire, giving you a brief, teasing glance as if to say this isn’t over.

You exhaled, joining Rei and some of the other girls, laughing and chatting just enough to mask the way your heart was still racing. Taehyung settled beside Jimin near the fire, the two of them working together like nothing had happened at all. Still, the spark from earlier stayed present, warm and insistent in your chest.

As the night settled in, the group drifted into their own little pockets. Some people were focused on making s’mores, arguing over who’d burned theirs and who hadn’t. Others were deep in conversation while a few disappeared toward their tents entirely. The fire crackled steadily, casting a soft light over everything.

You stayed where you were, legs tucked in, simply soaking it all in. The warmth of the fire, the murmur of voices, the quiet hum of the forest around you. For a moment, it was easy to forget everything else.

A gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts.

You turned, and there he was.

“Hey,” Taehyung said quietly, thumb hooking into his pocket like he wasn’t entirely sure how casual he wanted to be. “Can I steal you for a second?”

Your pulse skipped. “Steal me?” you echoed, eyebrow lifting.

“Borrow, then,” he corrected with a faint smile. “Promise I’ll bring you back.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding, standing and following him as he led you away from the firelight. His tent wasn’t far, tucked just enough out of view to feel private without being suspicious. He ducked inside first, holding the flap open for you.

Inside, it was dim and close, the air warmer somehow. You both sat, knees nearly touching, the quiet suddenly louder than the laughter outside.

“So,” you said softly, trying to sound unaffected. “This is where you tell me why I was stolen?”

He leaned back on one arm, studying you like he was taking his time. “I just… wanted to talk. Without an audience.”

“Dangerous,” you murmured, somewhat playful, though you knew there was some truth to your words. “You and me alone.”

His lips curved. “You didn’t seem too scared earlier.”

You shrugged lightly, eyes flicking to his mouth before you could stop yourself. “Maybe I like danger.”

That earned a low chuckle. He leaned forward just slightly, close enough now that you could really feel the warmth of him, his voice dropping awfully low. “You have no idea how hard you make it to behave.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Then don’t.”

The word lingered between you, soft but deliberate. His smile shifted, something slower and more intent as his gaze flicked to your lips and back.

“Careful,” he murmured. “When you say things like that…”

The space between you shrank, not all at once, but inch by inch. His hand brushed yours, not quite holding it, just enough to make your skin buzz.

“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly, eyes searching yours.

You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in the rest of the way.

His lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, unhurried, like he was savoring the moment. It deepened naturally, warmth building as you shifted closer, hands finding familiar places without thinking. 

“You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with desire. 

Before you could respond, he was tugging your top upward, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head. The cool tent air hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as his eyes roamed over you, taking in the lacy bra that barely contained your breasts.

"Fuck," he breathed, his thumbs brushing along the underside of your breasts. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

He lowered his head, pressing soft kisses along your stomach, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. Each touch sent sparks through your body, making you arch against him. When his lips reached the edge of your bra, he paused, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

But he didn't remove it. Instead, a wicked, knowing smirk played on his lips as he deliberately traced the lacy edge with his tongue, a slow, agonizing circle that had you squirming. He was intentionally teasing you, kissing all around the fabric, along the sensitive skin of your cleavage and the curve of your breast, pointedly avoiding where you needed him most. He knew exactly how badly you wanted him to just suck your tits, and he was savoring your desperation.

"Taehyung," you whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair, trying to guide him to your aching nipple. "Please..."

"Please what?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. He nipped gently at the swell of your breast, his breath hot through the lace. "Tell me what you want."

"You know what I want," you breathed, your hips rocking against him in frustration.

"I want to hear you say it," he insisted, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right beside your straining nipple, so close yet so far away. "I want to hear how badly you need it."

The deliberate torture was unbearable. Every fiber of your being was screaming for his mouth on you. "I want you to suck my tits," you finally gasped, the words torn from your throat. "God, Taehyung, please, just suck them." Your hands moved to your back to unclasp your bra but he swatted your hands away, his fingers expertly undoing the clasp himself. 

"Good girl," he praised as he tossed the bra aside before taking your nipple into his mouth.

As his mouth continued its course on your breasts, his hand slid down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. You were already wet, your body ready for him, and he groaned when his fingers brushed against your slick folds.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "All this from a few kisses?"

You could only moan in response, arching your back and pushing your hips up to meet his hand. He rubbed slow circles around your clit, teasing you until you were squirming beneath him. He grinned widely at the sight, biting his lips. 

Taehyung’s fingers slid into your wetness with intentional slowness, his touch both teasing and possessive. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling it in slow, maddening motions that made you pant at the mere feeling. His other hand cupped your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple just hard enough to send a strike of pleasure straight to your core. 

At once, his fingers slipped out of you and right back up to his mouth where his tongue licked off the coat of your wetness from them. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

Your breath hitched.

Imagined.

That single word sent a shiver through you. Because Taehyung—your brother’s best friend, the guy who’d been in and out of your house since you were a kid, the one you’d stolen glances at when you thought no one was looking—had imagined this. Had thought about you.

And now here he was, shirtless, his cock straining against his pants, his fingers still glistening with you.

You’d had a crush on him for years. Ever since you were old enough to know what attraction was. The way he’d laugh with Jimin, the way his hands moved when he talked, the way he’d ruffle your hair like you were still a kid even when you weren’t. You’d buried it, ignored it, told yourself it was stupid.

But now?

Now he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

And you wanted him to.

Taehyung didn’t give you time to overthink it. In one smooth motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, along with his pants.  His kicked them aside as his cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening.

Your mouth went dry.

He was big. Bigger than you’d expected. Bigger than you’d ever seen up close.

And he was looking at you like he knew exactly what he was about to do to you.

“Take those off,” he ordered, nodding at your shorts.

You obeyed without hesitation, shimmying out of them and your panties in one go. The cool air hit your wetness, making you gasp, but Taehyung didn’t give you time to feel exposed. He grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his lap, your bare thighs straddling his.

“Ride my thigh,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Show me how bad you want it.”

You hesitated for only a second before pressing your hips down, your slick heat dragging against the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction was incredible, sending feelings of immense pleasure straight to your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Taehyung groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. “That’s it,” he growled. “Grind on me. Show me how wet you are.”

You obeyed, rocking your hips in slow, desperate circles, your clit dragging against his skin with every movement. The sensation was overwhelming—the way his thigh flexed beneath you and the way his cock twitched against your stomach.

“Taehyung,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you felt yourself getting close, but not close enough. You wanted more. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he purred, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good. Look at you, riding my leg like a good girl.”

His words sent a fresh wave of satisfaction through you. You weren’t used to the name. You’d never been looked at like this, like you were something to be consumed, but you basked in the feeling.  

You increased your pace, your hips rolling faster, your breath coming in sharp gasps. Taehyung’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth finding your neck. He kissed you there, slow and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he groaned against your throat. “Soaking my thigh. Is this what you’ve been thinking about? Me touching you like this?”

“Y-yes,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“Say it,” he demanded, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

You swallowed hard, your face burning. “I—I’ve thought about this,” you confessed. “About you. About you touching me. About—about this.”

Though you felt embarrassed to admit it, you definitely have. Only ever in fleeting thoughts, ones you tried your hardest to brush off, but you couldn’t deny that you did. 

His mouth crashed onto yours as if to respond, his kiss hungry and desperate. You moaned into it, your hips still rolling against his thigh, your body trembling with need.

But it still wasn’t enough.

You broke the kiss, your breath coming in sharp gasps. “Taehyung,” you begged, your voice trembling. “I—I need your cock in me already. Please.”

His eyes darkened, his grip on your hips tightening. “You sure?” he murmured, his voice rough. 

You nodded frantically. “I’m sure. Please, Taehyung. Fuck me.

Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice.

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body covering yours. His cock pressed against your entrance, the tip sliding through your wetness, teasing you.

“Please,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back.

He groaned, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he growled.

Then, with one hard thrust, he buried himself inside you.

You cried out, your back arching off the tent floor as he filled you completely. He was big, stretching you in ways you’d never felt before, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe.

Taehyung stilled, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice strained.

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Y-yes,” you gasped. “Just—just move.”

He groaned, his hips pulling back before slamming into you again. The sensation was overwhelming, the way his cock hit just the right spot inside you.

You moaned, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. “Taehyung,” you gasped. “Harder. Please, harder.”

He obeyed, his hips snapping against yours with a force that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto his cock with every thrust, his body slamming into yours with a roughness that sent you spiraling.

You were close. So close. Your body was trembling, your breath coming out sharply.

“Taehyung,” you whimpered. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Come on my cock.”

The mere command sent you over the edge.

You moaned out, your body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him, pulling him deeper.

Taehyung groaned, his own release following close behind. He thrusted into you one final time, his cock pulsing as he came, filling you with his warmth.

You both collapsed onto the tent floor, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths being let out as ragged gasps. Taehyung pulled you into his arms, his lips pressing against your forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

“That was incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction.

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. “It was,” you agreed, your voice soft.

You lay there for a while, enjoying the afterglow, the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal. Taehyung's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his touch gentle and soothing.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by voices outside.

"Where's Y/N and Taehyung?" someone called out, the sound getting closer.

Your eyes met his in panic. Without a word, you both scrambled for your clothes, dressing as quickly as possible. You smoothed your hair down with trembling fingers.

You slipped out, trying to appear casual as you rejoined the group.

"There you are!" Jimin exclaimed. "We were wondering where you two disappeared to."

You chuckled, keeping your voice light. "Just needed some fresh air."

Taehyung appeared moments later, looking frustratingly composed despite what had just happened between you.

"And what about you?" Seokjin asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"Same," Taehyung said with a shrug, but his eyes found yours across the room, a secret smile playing on his lips.

As the group resumed their conversation, Rei sidled up beside you.

"So... fresh air, huh?" she whispered, nudging your side gently.

You couldn't help the blush that crept up your cheeks. "Something like that."

She studied your face for a moment before her eyes widened in realization. "Oh my god," she whispered, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Finally!"

Later, as the group dispersed into smaller conversations, Taehyung managed to pass by you. His fingers gently brushed against yours, a touch so brief anyone else would have missed it.

"We should get lost together more often." he joked. His eyes met yours, warm and tender with just a hint of mischief. "Next time, I want to take my time with you. No interruptions, okay?"

You felt your lips curve into a smile that mirrored his own, a silent agreement passing between you.

a/n: yay you made it! lmk what you think of this one and check out my other stuff <3

masterlist

[starsforv]

paris loverboy

taehyung x reader

you both are tipsy. like the wine drunk, in-love kind of tipsy.

earlier that night, you both decided to go on a date to explore the wine bars of paris' latin quarter. you prefer saint german, but it's so easy to forget when you have taehyung guiding you.

now past midnight, the wine has caught up to both of you. so has the flirting.

taehyung gets so flirty when he’s wine drunk, it’s the cutest thing ever to you. he is already so full of love, but the wine is making him literally burst at the seams.

maybe it’s because you’re walking hand in hand, or being in paris, or maybe it’s you— yeah definitely you. he feels perfectly content, his arm securely wrapped around your shoulders as you both stumble through the streets.

the scenic route, he had said.

there have been very minimal moments tonight where he hasn't been connected to you. physically and emotionally.

holding your hand whenever he can. leaving soft open-mouthed kisses on your neck while you had dinner. flirting with you, always.

he presses a few soft kisses to your head as your steps slow.

"i love wandering with you," you say softly. "like this."

"yeah, same."

"I could walk around forever with you. still so... so much of the city to explore," you sigh dreamily.

he laughs, pulling you in even closer. your other arm naturally finds its way around taehyung's side. fit together like two puzzle pieces.

nearing the end of the street, Notre Dame and the river greets you.

"wow." you admire how the street lights have made everything look even more dreamlike. "this is just insanely beautiful, god."

taehyung hums. "definitely my favorite view of the trip so far."

you shoot him a playful look. "you already said that about the museum earlier today!"

he turns so you face each other fully, hands settling on your hips. looking down at you, taehyung can't help the soft smile growing on his face. "yeah. but i'll keep saying it."

"and why is that, hm?"

"because it's you." taehyung brushes his lips over yours. "it's always you, my love."

you don't even stop yourself from melting into the kiss.

it's the type of kiss where everything around you pauses. the warmth from one another lingers around for just a moment longer.

pulling away, you let out a laugh. "you're... such a lover boy when you're tipsy."

taehyung whines softly. "i'm not that tipsy m'love... but if you say so."

he takes your hand once again, fingers intertwining. there’s no rush to get back to your hotel. content with the others' presence as you wander the streets.

yeah, he’s definitely a lover boy in paris.

[kooksbunnnn]

HOW WAS YOUR DAY: NAMJOON

Summary: Just namjoon fingering you in his studio as he asks you about your day.

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: idol!Namjoon×reader. fingering, squirting, namjoons lap (it's a warning, yes), kissing.

Authors note: I want him. SO BAD. ___________________________________________

"I was uh..I was walking by her when I c-came and she g-gave me such looks-" you try talking as Namjoon’s fingers abuse your clit. He had you sat on his lap, your hands around his shoulders, your hips sat on his left thigh as he spread your legs slightly to fit his hand under your skirt.

"She did?" He asks, you nod whining. His hands work slowly as if he had all the time in the world.

You had visited him at his studio because you missed him. It had been days since you saw him, so you came bearing coffee and food. But as soon as you entered the building, the new recruit in his managing team gave you a dirty look.

You were his girlfriend for fucks sake!

"I wanted to smack her so bad, ohhh my-" you trail as he dips his fingers inside you to gather some wetness getting back to your clit again, rubbing it in faster more precise circles.

You gasp, squirming as he lazily sucks a hickey on your neck while making you see stars.

"So good joon fuck I love your fingers." He hums against your skin, squeezing your waist with his other hand resting against your back while his fingers tortured you back and forth from your climax.

"Did you eat something, love?" You nod, feeling the knot inside you, forming slowly and very gradually. His hands slow down his ministrations, and you whine as you feel your legs shake out of sensitivity.

"Joon-" you breathe out as he smiles proudly at the purple mark he gave you on your neck, marking you as his.

"What did you eat?" He asks with hooded eyes admiring the mark he left while you try to make phrases inside your dizzied head.

"I- some- ah fuck- I had a gimbap with my colleagues, mm-" You words stop with a hitch in your breath as he slides two fingers slowly inside you. You try holding his wrists, but then your hands end up clutching your hair because you feel so good.

"Colleagues, huh?" He says, curling the tip of his fingers slightly to tickle that spot.

"Oh shit right there!" Your head falls back as you feel that spot being rubbed in a way that makes your eyes roll.

"Was Mark there too?" You just gasp as his fingers rub your insides and his thumb rubs your clit from the outside. Your brain short circuiting at the amount of pleasure you're receiving.

You squirm in his hold as his other hand makes you stay still. His tongue licking around your earlobe while his fingers abused the little spongy spot inside you.

"I asked you something, love." his voice was so gentle yet firm, making your mind search for the question he asked. Your brain was too dizzy to think with his thick thighs underneath you along with the hard on he had, so you just moaned, clenching hard around his fingers.

He pulls his hand out and smacks your swollen cunt, shoving his fingers once again. Asking you again, silently.

Was he?

"I dont know, I dont know-" you repeat with a high-pitched whine, your voice echoing and bouncing against his studio walls. You're glad the studio was soundproof, or people might think Namjoon was killing someone in there.

He chuckles mocking your thoughtless face, "so dumb, my baby, look at you, my baby can't answer coz I fuck her open with my fingers huh? My perfect little cocksleeve." You clench hard as he makes you feel smaller by each syllable. You squirm in his hold, making him bite your skin underneath your ear.

"I'm close so close oh-so cl-so-" he chuckles as you babble dumbly, breathing heavily against your ears that it makes your mind wander to how hard he must be right now.

The moment your mind travels to his dick you miss it inside you, you want to feel him inside you, the stretch of his fingers making you miss the way his cock split you open 3 days ago.

3 fucking days.

You think you might die if you dont get fucked by him today.

Your eyes water as you feel your orgasm coming closer, his hard on pressing against the back of your thigh, making your mind swirl with dirty thoughts.

Your fucked out brain getting reminded of the way he pounds you against the mattress, the way he fucked you in his balcony 35 floor above the city. How he fucked you open with his cock in front of his mirror, fingers inside your mouth as he pumped himself dry inside you filling with his warm cum.

His warm cum. Oh god.

"Jesus, you're crushing my hand so hard." He says through his teeth as he feels your thighs tightening around his hand, your face buried in his chest.

He keeps you open to the cold air in the room while his warm fingers plunge deep inside you. Squelching so loudly you wanna hide of embarassment, but you're so close you think you'll go crazy.

When he fastens his pace, he pulls your legs apart by his other free hand, making you spread open for him on his lap. Your other leg now in his hold from under your knee, resting on the table in front of him.

"Oh god--" you breathe out as he picks up his pace, his stimulation on your clit and the spot inside you constant. You legs shake in his hold and your eyes start tearing up.

"Oh make me cum make me cum please? Please? Oh god please!" You mumble mindlessly, pleading him, requesting him, begging him to make you cum as he coos, his fingers never faltering. Your fingers clutch his hair desperately as you look into his eyes, begging, your eyebrows furrowed as he smiles almost mocking you.

Evil.

"Cum baby, cum whenever you want, make a mess, go on" he says, his breathe heaving in your ears. It's as if he had turned a switch inside you that made you arch your back in his hold. Your cunt squeezing around his fingers as your cum sprays all over his lap. He groans as he feels your walls pushing his fingers out, making him fill you up with his fingers again, making them squelch loudly.

He holds your hips chuckling darkly as you squirt all over his joggers, his fingers fucking you through your high but he needed more so he pulls his fingers out to rub your clit sloppily and you sob.

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you feel your teeth clash as you breathe hard against him. Your body vibrating and thrashing in his hold as he growls against your lips.

"Yeah, good girl," he groans against your lips as you gasp, twitching.

His tongue plunges inside your mouth, and you squeal against his lips, your lips not even moving as you just gasp. Your eyes roll back, your hand clutching onto his neck desperately as his fingers rub your folds, making sure you spill everything you have inside you.

"Thats it thats it, my perfect girl." He coos against your lips, you breathe heavily, tears flowing down your eyes.

You whine, holding his wrists out of oversensitivity, smiling, feeling light-headed.

He smiles looking at you and teases your clit, flicking his index against it. Your body twitches as he does so, just to laugh at how pathetically your body squirms in sensitivity.

"Tch-tch-tch" he mocks you, grinning as your head falls back, his hand cupping your pussy making your eyes roll back. He squeezes, massaging your folds to calm you down.

"You did so good, my baby." He kisses your forehead, caressing your hair. "You okay?" He asks, his voice calming and deep. You nod tiredly.

"Good," he kisses your cheek, "because you're gonna do that again, but on my dick this time," he says, kissing your cheek again, tenderly.

Well, fuck.

___________________________________________

I WRITE REQUEST DRABBLES TOO! SEND ME AN ASK OR A REQUEST!

[kanghaneullefttoe]

ᯓ FINDING the location of the gaming island is hard enough, but finding your girlfriend's sweet spot is easier.(first-person reading)

cw : my first post omg im nervous but thats fine also eng isnt my first language since its portuguese but i try my best to improve it.

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the stress of spending days inside that cubicle with the people searching for the gaming island was setting in, and so was exhaustion. i didn't know what i was thinking when i agreed to accompany jun-ho on this tedious journey. seeing water everywhere was already making me sick and bored, too.

"Tired, sweetie?" he still had the nerve to ask me something so banal, seeing that the dark circles under my eyes were getting darker and darker? "You're a plus for us, and you've helped us more than the boss in many ways."

he ain't lying, after all. being the only person they know who can actually fly a drone, i was practically summoned to that ship to cooperate in the investigation. i felt a little awkward among so many big and strong men, but jun-ho assured me for a long time that nothing bad would happen.

it was already night, and everyone was already settled down to sleep, except my boyfriend and me. he was analyzing the map, while i was watching some drone footage on my tablet, trying to find something from the last check of the day. but it was in vain, again. three days had passed since then.

"Aww, I wanna go home" hwang shook his head frantically, coming closer and placing his hands on my shoulders.

"We're not giving up that easily... you're tired, and I agree it's really hard."

ㅤㅤ

they've already traveled several areas and islands in this water world and haven't found a single living soul. i just wanted to go home and rest in my bed, just me.

ㅤ

i got a few little kisses that cheered me up for a moment, and i returned them with a smile.

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"You have to relax. Just wait a little longer, I'm just going to analyze a few more things here."

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he patted the ground, inviting me to sit next to him, but i sat on his lap. ㅤ

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"Honey, I'm busy, I promise to pay attention to you later,"

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i cut him off by giving him a long kiss. he still insisted on looking at that paper full of useless information and more disposable islands to explore, but i knew he liked it.

ㅤ

"Leave that island for later... the captain is already asleep." i looked towards the bridge, making sure it was truly empty. "Don't worry. There are things so much easier to find..."

ㅤ

jun-ho tried to contain, but his mischievous smile grew stronger.

ㅤ

holding me in his arms, he got up and headed outside the ship, to a hidden corner where there was zero chance of anyone coming near so late at night. ㅤ

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"You want me to relax, don't you?"

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i placed my feet on the floor and drew invisible lines on his chest, still over his dark blue sweater. i looked down, hoping he would understand what i really wanted;

ㅤ

"If you promise to be quiet..." he forced me to tilt my head, meeting his gaze, and captured my lips.

ㅤ

something about him is special. we've been together for over four years, and every time we kiss so abruptly, i always feel vulnerable as if it were the first time. it's hard not to feel so sensitive around him.

ㅤ

caressing my cheeks, his tongue roamed every corner of my mouth. he pressed against me to tease his erection until i could feel it through my clothes. the atmosphere was heating up, but footsteps were approaching. jun-ho pressed me into the corner, and we held our breath, watching a shadow approach.

"Is anyone there?"

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i was anxious, but i enjoy danger and taking risks while experiencing such an erotic situation.

ㅤ

it was woo-seok. it's past this idiot's bedtime, and they're so quiet over there.

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"He's gone." he slowly took steps back, so light as not to make a sound, but a loose piece of wood creaked, catching choi's attention again, who quickly returned. my legs were already shaking, and hwang pressed me against the wall once more.

ㅤ

luckily, we were wearing black clothes, and i was behind him, which hid my bare legs. i threw my hair around his neck and froze. the place was dark, and the moonlight was on the other side.

we waited for a while, and nothing.

the idiot didn't even bother to grab a flashlight and make sure no one was there, and he ran back inside. i held back all the demons who were trying to make me laugh.

detective hwang stepped back again and looked both ways, telling me he would walk around to see if anyone was still outside. he circled the entire ship and looked through the windows inside.

ㅤ

"Everyone's asleep... if we're careful, it won't come to anything."

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we didn't had time. he lifted my skirt and massaged my most intimate area, gently sucking on the skin of my neck. his digit grew wetter by the minute, and he pushed my panties aside, collecting some of the sticky liquid it expelled and putting it on his tongue with his darky eyes on mine.

ㅤ

we took off our shoes slowly so as not to make a sound loud enough to attract the others, leaving them on a nearby box. i took off his sweater, and he still had a white tank top underneath. his abs were so defined that i went into a trance, not taking my eyes off them.

ㅤ

"You're going to drool." he ran his finger over the corner of my mouth, pretending to wipe away some saliva. i rolled my eyes, patting his shoulder. little did he know where i wanted to drool, after all.

it was just a quickie, so there was no point in taking it all off. i lifted my blouse until my breasts were visible, and he was the one about to drool now. (😩 THIS MAN LOVES TITS BIG SMALL MEDIUM ALL OF EM)

his gray sweatpants already had some clear wet spots on them, and i couldn't help but chuckle.

"Silly." pulling them down, he revealed his hard and fat cock, enough to make me shut up.

we've had sex so many times, and i never got used to his size. even tho, i never complained. quite the opposite. gag on ts is something that makes my whole day.

he took one last look around and came close to me, his face in my neck, rubbing his tip against my entrance, which throbbed after a while of friction. i was craving penetration. he trailed wet kisses along my shoulders and the area between my collarbone and breasts, sending shivers down my spine, knowing i was about to explode, keeping my whispers to myself.

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"You are annoying me... can you just go and,"

ㅤ

with restless little toes, his index finger slid across my stomach until it reached my panties. he dragged it to the side and slid his cock inside without any difficulty, thanks to the lubrication already present. he put his hand over my mouth.

ㅤ

he thrust as slowly as possible, but the torture was immense. i started to move my hips to feel more, and he hugged me, lifting one of my legs.

ㅤ

he told me i was too greedy, while at the moment i could only have the minimum. i understood, but everyone was asleep, damn it. don't act like a dom right now.

like the good opportunist he is, he pushed deeper, rubbing his glans against my sanctuary of pleasure. that bastard had me in his hands, and he knew it. i gripped his bicep tightly, holding back as much as possible, and jun-ho grinned like an idiot.

ㅤ

we left the corner, and i leaned against the edge of the ship, and he fucked me from behind a little faster, the sounds growing louder. we decided to not gaf, especially since they wouldn't hear us inside. it was all so enclosed, and they seemed to be in a deep sleep.

ㅤ

my insides throbbed, squeezing his member inside in an involuntary impulse of pleasure. it took only that for me to be filled with his semen, earning a burning slap as soon as it began to leak. i spasmed a few times, and he realized i would hit climax soon; he didn't wait long before he got on his knees behind me. he sucked that pussy until i released, weakening my legs and kneeling down as well. i did everything i could, but i couldn't hold back a moan that ended up being too loud. what could i do, if he's so good at what he does?

ㅤ

"Dumb slut." cussing, he pulled me into the darkness again. he slapped my face. not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a light mark. i'm not complaining.

ㅤ

"I told you to be quiet." as soon as he finished the sentence, we heard quick footsteps again.

we turned our heads in the direction the sound was coming from and came face to face with choi woo-seok.

"What are you guys doing there?"

since it was very dark, he couldn't see that my shirt were still up. but my body was pressed against hwang's; and his member, which was still exposed, pressed against me.

"Shit." we looked at each other in distress, and gave a weak smile to the man standing there, worried about how we would escape that embarrassing situation with a blatant lie.

ㅤ

ㅤ

[munsonseddieee]

needy

character: hwang junho x reader

summary: you had a wet dream about junho while he was at work, so you decide to pay him a visit.

warnings: swearing, fingering, oral (f receiving), smut.

a/n: this is my first time posting here, please let me know if there’s any spelling errors and please send requests! <333

wc: 2k

walking into the police station, you couldn't help but feel nervous.

you were going to your boyfriend, junho's, office. he had no idea you were coming, and to be honest, you weren't quite sure why you were there.

stopping in front of his office, you take a deep breath before knocking on the door.

"come in." the sound of your boyfriend's voice came from behind the door.

you opened the door, slowly stepping in. he looked up from his desk, shock written all over his face.

"what are you doing here, baby?" he questioned as he stood up from his chair, walking over to you.

clearing your throat, you pulled out a plastic bag from your purse.

"i came by to bring you some lunch." you told him, through your voice was shaky.

he took the bag from you and looked inside, smiling. "ramen. my favorite. thanks, babe."

he said as he set the food down on his desk before embracing you in a hug.

you hesitantly hugged him back, the pool between your legs making you uncomfortable.

you figured he caught on to your nervous energy as he pulled away, gazing at you with a confused look.

"what's wrong? you seem nervous." he says as he studies your face, trying to see if he can read your face.

you sigh, knowing damn well you're not leaving until you get what you want.

you turn towards the door, shutting it and locking it. "i didn't come here because i wanted to bring you lunch," you started, turning around to look at him.

he cocked a brow, tilting his head to the side. you walked towards him, putting your hands on his chest and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"i came because i'm horny and i want you to take care of me." you told him, nibbling on his earlobe.

you felt him shudder under your touch, feeling his hands snake around your waist. 

your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down and attaching your lips with his for a passionate kiss. 

the kiss soon turned heated, his hands trailing down to squeeze your ass as yours tug on the little hairs on the back of his neck. 

he groans into your mouth as you do so, the sound causing you to become even more wet. 

he kisses down your jawline, to your neck, sucking and biting on it, surely leaving marks. 

you moan out, tugging on his hair and shutting your eyes tightly.  you feel him smirk against your neck, loving the effect he has on you. 

he pulls back, turning towards his desk and throwing everything off it before turning around, picking you up, and placing you up on his desk. 

he stands in between your legs, running his hands up and down your thighs.

he slams his lips on yours, licking the bottom of your tongue, asking for entrance.

you obey, opening your mouth, his tongue immediately starting to explore every inch of your mouth. 

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and grinding against him. 

you moan into his mouth, running your hands up and down his chest. 

you pull back, both of you panting heavily. you look deep into his brown eye, seeing they are full with lust. 

he lifts your skirt up, chuckling lightly at the sight of your soaked panties. 

he runs his index finger up and down your clothed cunt at an agonizingly slow pace.  

you grind your bottom against his finger, hoping to feel more pleasure. 

he pulls his hand away from your clothed cunt, causing you to whine. 

"please," you whimper, getting wetter by the second. 

"so needy," he groans, starting to attack your chest with kisses. "if you want me so bad, beg." 

he dips his hand back down, only massaging your inner thighs, teasing you. 

"please. i need you. i want you inside of me, fucking me senseless. i need your big cock. please, junho." you beg, your voice shaky. 

he smirks, clearly happy with your response. he lifts your hips up, pulling your panties down and discarding them somewhere in the room. 

he dips his head down, licking his lips as he comes face to face with your core. he looks up at you, making eye contact, licking a stripe up your slip. 

you gasp out in satisfaction, maintaining eye contact with him. 

he then starts sucking on your clit violently, wasting no time in starting to devour you.

you moan out, throwing your head back, your hand going down and tugging on his hair, pushing him into your core.

series of moans and profanities escape your lips as he so pleasantly eats you out. 

continuously sucking on your clit, he inserts his index finger inside your wet core. 

he then starts pumping it in and out of you slowly, while still sucking harshly on your clit. 

he then adds two more fingers, picking up his pace. "oh, fuck!" you shout, immediately clamping your hand over your mouth as you remember where you are.

he hooks his fingers up, pumping in and out at an unbelievably fast pace. 

you throw your head back, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach starting to build. 

"you like that, baby?" his deep voice asks, looking up at you. you could only nod, knowing that if you open your mouth, you'd be too loud.

he admired you, loving the sight of you laying on his desk, legs spread wide open for him. 

not to mention, he loved hearing the sinful noises coming out of your mouth, the soft moans, the whimpers, the way his name rolls of your tongue as he finger fucks you. he loved knowing that he was the one making you feel this good. 

"i'm gonna," you started, but was cut off with a loud moan as his fingers hit your g-spot over and over again. 

he smirked, going faster, if humanly possible. "you gonna cum for me, baby? come on, cum all over my fingers like the dirty whore you are." he urged you in his deep voice that always gave you butterflies, before going back and sucking violently on your clit, while still finger-fucking you into oblivion. 

that was all it took to drive you over the edge. with a moan of his name, you felt the knot in your stomach explode. your legs shaking violently, your eyes roll to the back of your head as junho rides out your high. 

panting heavily, you finally calm down, trying to catch your breath. you look down, seeing junho's face and shirt soaked.

you were confused, until it clicked. you had squirted. you'd never done it before. feeling embarrassed, you jump up, taking your shirt off and lifting him up, starting to clean his face with the towel. 

"i'm so sorry," you repeated over and over, unaware of the smirk on his face.

he grabbed both of your wrists to stop you, looking into your eyes. 

"don't be sorry. that was so fucking hot." he breathed out, before smashing his lips onto yours again. 

you could taste yourself on his lips, and god, how you were turned on still was crazy.

you started un-buttoning his shirt, pulling it off him, before moving down his pats, but stopping.

you looked down, noticing the tent in his pants, and oh my, did it look painful. 

you smirked, putting your hand on his clothed croch, palming him. 

he groaned, biting his lip and shutting his eyes. "please, don't be a tease." he muttered.

you chuckled, unbuckling his pants, letting them fall just below his knees.

his cock sprang up, pre-cum leaking from the tip. you gripped his dick, swiping your thumb on the tip, spreading the cum round it.

he twitched, putting both hands behind you on the desk and gripping it. you then started slowly pumping it, not taking your eyes off of him. 

you decided to pick up the pace since he pleased you so well, your hand moving up and down his dick so fast it caught him off guard. 

"fuck," he breathed, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting into your hand. 

you chuckled lightly at the sight of your boyfriend like this. you loved hearing his little grunts and groans.

he grabbed your hand, stopping you. you looked at him with confusion written on your face. 

"i'd rather finish inside of you." he said, causing your eyes to widen, before you smirked, spreading your legs open as an invitation. 

he chuckled, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance. he slowly put his tip in, enjoying the feeling of your cunt stretch to take his size. 

you both gasped as he entered you, pushing his cock all the way in, pulling it out, then slamming it back in. 

"oh, god," you moaned out, throwing your head back. he smirked, starting to pick up his pace. 

you wrapped your arms around his neck tightly, as his hands gripped your thighs roughly. 

you always loved the way he fucked the shit out of you, pounding you until it was difficult to walk, even to the point where you were overstimulated. 

he loved when he overstimulated you, seeing how your legs shook violently always turned him on. .

one hand came up to your throat, lightly chocking you. your eyes were tightly shut, your mouth forming an "o" shape as he fucked you senseless.

"look at me while i fuck you." he grunted, lightly slapping you. you opened your eyes, looking into his beautiful brown ones. 

he laughed, picking up the pace. "such a pretty slut," he muttered, sweat dripping down his forehead.

all that was heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping skin, your moans and whimpers, his groans and grunts, and the series of profanities that kept slipping out of both you mouths. 

"fuck, y/n, your pussy feels so good against my cock." he says, followed by a groan. all you could do was moan in response, not having the ability to talk. 

you started to clench around him, and knowing that you were close, he picked up the pace, going faster and rougher. 

"you wanna cum?" he asked you, lowering one of his hands and making figure 8's with his thumb on your clit. 

the increase of pleasure caused you to yell out, rapidly nodding.

"come on. use your words, baby." he told you, smirking as he watched tears start pooling out of your eyes due to the max amount of pleasure. 

"yes, jun. please, let me cum." you begged, sounding oh so pathetic. 

"cum for me. cream my fucking cock." he encouraged you, continuing to pound into you at a rapid pace. 

with one last shout of his name you came undone around his cock, your whole body shaking.

he praised you as you came, muttering things like; "such a good girl," "you take my cock so well," and "what a good slut for me."

he didn't slow down, chasing his own high as he felt it grow nearer. 

you felt his cock twitch inside of you, signaling that he was about to cum. 

"you want me to cum inside you, you dirty slut?" he asked, biting his lip. you nodded, clenching around him.

"fuck!" he moaned as he came inside you, muttering your name and riding out his high.

he pulled out, both of you panting heavily. both of his hands were on either side of your thighs, trying to hold himself up. 

after a few moments, you both calmed down, looking into each others eyes and smiling. 

he leaned in and kissed you softly, something he always does when you guys finish. 

he handed you your shirt and your panties, both of you getting dressed.

you then helped him put all the stuff back on his desk, before sitting down and eating the lunch you brought in a comfortable silence. 

"so, why were you so horny?" he asked, before shoving some ramen in his mouth.

you felt your face heat up, feeling embarrassed. 

"well, uhm, you know how i always go back to bed after you leave for work?" you questioned him.

he nodded, motioning for you to continue. 

"well, when i did, i had a, uh, dream." you said, looking down in embarrassment. 

he smirked. "a dream, huh? so, that's why you were so horny?" 

you nodded, shoving ramen in your mouth. 

he set his food down, leaning back in his chair. 

"tell me about it."

——————————————————————————

i hope you enjoyed, and please let me know if you have any requests!

[echoes-ofmoonlight]

passing ships

passing ships — part one

✸synopsis: in a world where soulmates can see the red string that attaches their pinkies to their soulmates, you and kyung-jun have known yours were linked since you met in middle school. however, any attempts from you to form any sort of bond, much less a soulmate bond, were rebuffed. disheartened, you grow distant until a school field trip goes horribly wrong. [part of the soulmate series]

✸genre: canon compliant, soulmate!au, enemies to lovers, angst with little comfort

✸pairing: go kyung-jun x reader

✸warnings: profanity, bullying, death, descriptions of violence, self-harm, injury, underage drinking and smoking, emotional manipulation

✸wc: 8.1k

✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, fem!reader, low-key a little jang hyun-ho x reader if you squint, but i see them as platonic as hell / guys i have such a problem— this was only supposed to be 10k words at most, but now it’s a whole ass novel, so eat up ig lol

[now playing: our night is more beautiful than your day — newjeans]

m.list | soulmate m.list

next

─────

it had been just over a month since you’d moved to your new town. it seemed like the weeks of unpacking and finding more possessions in the sea of boxes were endless as you spent the days cleaning, organizing, and keeping your younger siblings in line while they complained about the boring tasks. for the first time since your move, you were given the chance to step outside on an errand to retrieve the short beef ribs from the nearby restaurant, and that fleeting moment of freedom felt like pure bliss.

taking a deep breath, the invigorating freshness of the air filled your lungs. without the chaos of toddlers pulling at your legs and the frantic shouts for lost items behind you, you set off southward toward the entrance of nam-ra’s eatery. the sound of your shoes scuffing against the cement echoed in the nearly deserted alley, when suddenly, you felt a tug on the delicate red string that was tied snugly around your pinky.

​

you halted, extending your right hand to inspect the delicate string that emerged from it, as it tightened once more, prompting you to step forward without realizing it. deep in your stomach, butterflies emerged from their cocoons and fluttered with nervous excitement. you’d heard the stories of others feeling the pull of their pinky fingers. of how they’d finally met the one with whom the universe had intertwined their fates. now it seemed it was your turn.

​

in your eagerness to follow the taut string, you lost sight of your errand, noticing how the slack diminished as you turned the corner and collided directly with someone's chest. a groan escaped you as the impact knocked the breath from your lungs, causing you to stagger back and nearly lose your footing. before you could even let out a sound, a hand grasped your forearm, halting your backward fall and leaving you momentarily suspended in the air.

​

with a sharp tug from the stranger, you’re upright in an instant, but not before you see the now, inches-long red thread that attaches itself to his pinky and back to yours. shocked, your hand raises to cover your adjacent mouth, and a shocked, “oh, my,” escapes your mouth before you close it.

​

the stranger responds with a grunt, releasing your arm from his grip and turning his head to silently observe you. he’s a handsome teenager around your age with sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes. the shock of seeing your soulmate for the first time is short-lived as he opens his mouth to bark, “are you going to thank me, or just gawk at me all night?”

​

you choke on air, as you try to recover, bowing profusely. “thank you,” you blurt breathlessly. the boy only exhales and begins to turn away. “wait!”

​

“what?” he snarks, turning back to you sharply, and again his tone takes you aback.

​

before you could lose your confidence, though, you offer a smile and say shyly, “i think we’re soulmates.” you point at the obvious bright red thread that passes between you two as though he might have missed it.

​

“and?” the boy asks, shrugging his shoulders, and begins to walk away again. rebuffed, you stand there dejected and in shock. it seemed that the world was playing a cruel joke on you, and the trees' laughter was practically echoing in your ears as you brushed the tears that had formed away from your eyes. you suddenly wished you hadn’t left your house as you watched red string, neatly tied to your pinky, begin to tighten again as the boy’s figure became smaller.

​

turning away, you miss the second glance he gives you, suddenly realizing the weight of his rejection in his hasty anger. now he was even more pissed off that the universe seemed to be against even his one promised source of happiness. in fact, he was shocked that he even had a soulmate. whenever the topic of them had been brought up among his peers, they’d all decided that he didn’t have, and he couldn’t help but agree. so, what was his red string doing, tightening and leading him directly into a strange girl like you? he didn’t understand.

​

the cruel joke about destiny continues when you are seated next to your soulmate on the first day of school. you learn his name is go kyung-jun, and he discovers what yours is. you clench your skirt in your fists as you stare at the board and try to ignore the firestorm next to you, glaring daggers in your general direction. you’re appreciative of being in class as a reason to avoid him, yet when he hands you a note questioning if you're now stalking him, your frustration intensifies.

​

carefully penning out your thoughts, you nod in triumph before turning and throwing the piece of paper at kyung-jun, satisfied when it hits the side of his face and falls onto his desk. you pick up your pencil and focus back on the board when you hear a scoff from beside you.

​

you quietly smile, glad your words irritated him. if he wanted to be an immature douche, then you could be, too. you hoped that was the end of your feud, and you could coexist, but it seems the cards were never in your favor, as your first friend you make, jang hyun-ho, is public enemy number one according to go kyung-jun.

​

you and hyun-ho were neighbors, and your mothers had agreed with each other that hyun-ho would walk with you to school every morning, and thus your friendship bloomed from there.

​

it was an odd pairing. hyun-ho was a type a— tall and talented, athletic kid, whose goals were to go professional and thus didn’t mess around too much. you, on the other hand, did not like walking, much less any sort of athletics, and were a bit of a carefree spirit who tried to see the fun in any sort of situation. your parents agreed that you helped balance one another out. being in the same class made an even easier excuse to spend your time together, and many school nights you’d find yourselves watching a movie after studying, even if you’d have to drag hyun-ho along every time.

​

eventually, you learned what made hyun-ho him, and he learned what made you, you. and thus, you told him your secret, about two years after you’d first learned it yourself. since that fateful night, you’d spoken only a handful of words to kyung-jun since your note shut him up back in middle school.

​

“no way. no actual way!” hyun-ho exclaims, his mouth falling open and eyebrows raising in pure disbelief at the news.

​

you grunt, taking another piece of the tangerine your mother had made the two of you. you nod, a deliberate tone in your voice when you lower your voice and hold out your pinky. “you have to promise not to tell anyone,” you tell him.

​

he shakes his head up and down, saying your name like it’s a promise in itself. “of course.”

​

you swallow the juicy fruit and point a stern finger at the taller boy, “i mean it. not even our mothers or your basketball besties, or i’ll tear your balls off and call you dickless hyun-ho the rest of your life.”

​

hyun-ho laughs heartily, throwing his head back. when he faces you again, his laughter is gone, and a somber look has overcome him.

​

“i was only kidding—” you start, nervous at the shift in the air.

​

hyun-ho just hangs his head. he sighs, “i am sorry, though, that kyung-jun is your soulmate, and clearly he must want nothing to do with you. could he be any more of a dick?”

​

you laugh, and proceed to disagree. “i think he could be more of one, to be honest. who knows why he decided what he did? he’s never tried to talk to me about it, but i also doubt he’s talked to anyone else about it either,” you ponder aloud before shaking your head of those thoughts. turning, you smile at hyun-ho, and hold out the remote. “anyway, not really my problem. now, which adam sandler movie should we watch? and if you say any one other than happy gilmore, you’re wrong.”

​

─────

by the time you entered your second year of high school, you’d mastered how to ignore kyung-jun’s presence, despite your teachers constantly placing you together in the seating arrangements as if they knew more than they let on. your homeroom teacher always said it was because kyung-jun appeared to behave better when you were next to him, but you didn't think that was correct either.

​

for the most part, it was a peaceful time at school. having shared your secret with hyun-ho, he seemed to avoid kyung-jun even more than before, and made sure you did as well. it was easy to do, seeing as hyun-ho was constantly hovering around you, chasing away the boy and his two friends to the abandoned parts of the school to let loose. that is, until hyun-ho came down with the flu for a week, and for the first time since moving, you had to endure the walk home alone.

​

it was raining after school, and the temperature was chilly on the heels of the shortening summer nights. you shivered as you opened your umbrella and began to carefully descend the slippery stone steps outside your school. you noticed most of the student body had stayed inside to self-study, but without hyun-ho, you weren’t sure you’d have the motivation to sit still and learn. you slipped out the school gates alone, set on an early day and a rare break from everything as you walked home.

​

as you proceeded down the dark alley, you could clearly hear sets of footsteps echoing behind you. not one to overthink things, you made every effort to ignore the people behind you, but as they accelerated, you paused and looked in the direction of what you couldn't see.

​

it was kim jin-ha and park seung-bin, go kyung-jun’s usual posse, with sarcastic smirks on their faces as you gaze back at them without humor. your eyes twitched, a crack appearing in your nonchalant facade, as you scoff and turn back to keep walking home. you feel a sharp pull from your backpack’s shoulders and stumble back a step at the sudden movement. whipping back around, your brows furrow as you yell at the duo. “yah!”

​

the two snicker as jin-ha asks you, “aren’t you that loser that keeps hyun-ho around for protection?”

​

before you can respond and refute the assertion, seung-bin lunges for your backpack once more, causing you to drop your umbrella to the ground and fall back again, this time striking the concrete alleyway walls. the rain bets down on your head, streaming down through your hair and into your eyes. 

​

“you got any money?” seung-bin smiles, still attached to your backpack strap as you struggle to keep it pressed behind your back. “aw, c’mon. you don’t want to go home with a black eye over some petty cash, do you?”

​

you wince internally at the threat, but jut your chin out in defiance nonetheless. “fuck off,” you tell them shortly, swatting away seung-bin’s hand from your backpack. the playful tone from the two boys slips away to something sinister as their faces morph into actual anger.

​

before you can react, one of the two slaps you across the face, causing you to gasp and clutch at your flaming cheek. you gaze, unsure, at the duo in front of you, but before they can make another grab at you, a voice booms out from the other end of the alleyway.

​

“what the fuck are you two doing?”​

as you turn your head, you are taken aback by the sight of a visibly angry kyung-jun striding toward the three of you, his expression cold and unyielding. instinctively, you find yourself backing away alongside seung-bin and jin-ha, feeling the weight of kyung-jun's presence as he towers over you, his piercing gaze shifting between each of you.

​

“kyung-jun,” jin-ha stutters, moving away from your shuddering form. “we just thought—”

​

“well, you thought wrong,” kyung-jun barks, forcing his way between yourself and your classmates, successfully moving you away from the wall. you shuffle along with the force, disarray pouring out of every pore. suddenly behind him, you tilt your head to watch the two being scolded from behind kyung-jun’s broad back. “who told you to fuck with my soulmate?”

​

the question is rhetorical, but based on the expressions on seung-bin and jin-ha’s faces, the statement was news to them. they seemed to have not been told that your red string was indeed attached to kyung-jun’s. flustered, you watched as jin-ha stutters out an excuse, “c’mon, kyung-jun, how could we know that dork is your—”

​

“i said: who told you to do that?” repeats kyung-jun, his voice chilly as the damp atmosphere clings to your skin. an unmistakable aura of authority radiates from the tall boy, enveloping the surrounding space. the tall boy. “now screw off.”

​

seung-bin nudges jin-ha and begins to apologize to kyung-jun, but upon realizing that he wasn’t joking, they retreat the way they came— back down the alley and onto the bustling city streets, traveling out from your sight. you shyly look up at kyung-jun, who has yet to face you.

​

before you can be scolded for not thanking him like the first time you met, you find yourself expressing your gratitude. “thank you, kyung-jun. i—”

​

“whatever,” comes the short reply, and you inhale sharply with irritation. huffing, you step aside him to pick up your overturned umbrella and shake out the excess water that had pooled. you begin to move around him, adding a small bow, before you turn the way you’d been walking. you stop when you feel a tug on your sleeve. “give me your number.”

​

startled, you gaze at him with uncertainty, eyes searching his for any sort of explanation. “what?”

“are you deaf?” kyung-jun rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, shoving it into your hands. “give me your number, so if anyone else messes with you, you’ll be able to ask me for help.”

​

you bite your lip, looking down at the cellphone. “i’m not helpless—”

​

you’re cut off by a loud groan from the male student, his hand coming up to rub his face in frustration. he says your name in irritation. “yah, just do it.”

finally, you obediently do as you're asked, typing in your digits before passing the phone back to kyung-jun. the two of you stare at each other a moment, rain-soaked and silent. then, the boy turns away and begins to walk away, and you do the same.

─────

the upcoming weekend was set aside for the annual year two school trips, and class three of yooil high school was eagerly anticipating the early saturday morning when the charter buses would arrive to transport the excited students. the last class period on the friday before was bursting with energy, students ignoring lessons and messing around, as the weekend and the class trip lay just beyond the school bell.

​

kyung-jun had continued his silence towards you, despite having your number, and you weren’t at all surprised. yet again, you found yourself wondering what you had done to deserve to have your red thread attached to the one beside you.

​

hyun-ho’s fingers drummed against the surface of your desk, a rapid staccato echoing the restless energy humming through him. his backpack was slumped beside him, half-unzipped, revealing crumbled worksheets and a dented water bottle. he leaned towards you, his voice dropping conspicuously.

​

“okay, listen,” hyun-ho tells from where he sits in front of you, having turned around to face you. “you’ve got to pack light, but smart. the retreat center is ancient, even though they just redid the interior. i heard the heating dies after midnight. layers. like thermal underwear under your hoodie. and extra socks. seriously.”

​

you laugh, finding his suggestions as ridiculous as him, but he’s already mentally ticking off his own packing list, and it contains every tip he’d just shared with you. you hear a scoff next to you, and you roll your eyes, your pretense of ignoring your soulmate faltering. hyun-ho’s jaw clicks as he clenches it.

​

“whatever, hyun-ho,” you tell him. “you’re just going to be off playing basketball all day anyway. i’m sure your body heat will be just fine with your thermal sleeping bag you’re bringing.” he’d already told you all about his most recent purchase, stressing how needed it was for your weekend retreat trip.

​

you hear a mocking chuckle beside you, and you turn your foot subtly underneath your desk to hit kyung-jun’s leg with the toe of your shoe. you don’t acknowledge the glare you receive in return, but when your phone vibrates, you reach into your bag to see who it is.

​

from unknown number: thermal underwear? seriously?

​

you frown down at your phone, but quickly realize it must be the annoying boy beside you who sent it.

​

to ass-hat: you know it’s rude to eavesdrop on people?

from ass-hat: even if it’s my soulmate, so, therefore it is my business?

​

you inhale sharply and kick kyung-jun again, this time harder than before. you smile at hyun-ho. “i’m hungry, let’s go get a snack from the vending machine before last class starts,” you tell him, standing from your desk and moving towards the classroom door.

​

you wanted to get as far as possible from kyung-jun at the moment. him bringing up your soulmate situation lately was making you uneasy, and you began to wonder if he needed a favor of some kind.

​

the next morning, you felt utterly exhausted, having been stirred from sleep by your cheerful and energetic neighbor, who brought you two cups of iced americanos. how he managed to find those so early was beyond you, but you were too sleepy to inquire and gratefully accepted them from the boy, appreciating your friend's kindness.

​

you cared for the two chilly cups of coffee while hyun-ho swung both of your bags over his shoulders as you headed down the sidewalk. the morning was dark and cool, and the street lanterns were the only source of light as you walked the few blocks to school.

​

when you entered the school’s front gates, you found you were far from the first to arrive here and far from the last, based on the stream of students that continued into the courtyard. you spotted your homeroom teacher and pointed him out to hyun-ho while he brought the luggage to where a few of your classmates had gathered. most were dressed in neutral tones that faded into the shadows, but mi-na’s oversized coat was a bright pastel pink, almost glowing in the lowlights.

​

hyun-ho placed your bag next to your feet, and you handed him his coffee, taking a sip of yours. you were grateful for the caffeine as it worked its way through your veins. you scanned the crowd and found that more than half of your class was already here, twenty minutes before the bus was scheduled to come. kyung-jun was not one of the ones gathered.

​

you shook your head and reminded yourself to forget about him, turning away from the school gate, and gripping your coat tighter to your torso.

​

“are you cold already?” hyun-ho laughs, and you turn to glare at him.

​

“i am not wearing thermal underwear,” you hiss, turning up your nose in displeasure.

​

“aw, why not? i think it’d look sexy on you.” kyung-jun’s voice is an unwelcome one, as he paces over to where you stand, his bag in hand, signature smirk wide across his face.

​

“do you have a death wish?” you ask harshly, taking a step forward before hyun-ho raises a hand to stop you. you turn your head and take another sip of your drink to keep from huffing at the boy. it was precisely four thirty in the morning— far too early for you to engage in a confrontation, let alone one with your soulmate.

​

luckily, the charter buses begin to fill the open courtyard, lining up behind each other. your homeroom teacher tells the crowd the assigned bus number. some of your classmates ran towards the bus, hoping for a seat in the back, but you and hyun-ho walked over slowly. he took hold of your luggage again as you took the drinks. having an athlete best friend wasn’t all too bad at times like these.

​

once situated, you pull out your earbuds, connecting them to your phone and offering the other end to hyun-ho. he declines the offer, and you shrug in return, putting them into your ears and leaning your head back against the window. you’d been warned previously that the drive was a long one, and you weren’t planning on being awake for most of it.

​

you close your eyes, but are startled by something soft hitting your face. opening your eyes, you find kyung-jun’s neck pillow in your lap. you look up as he’s passing you by, and he jeers at you, “better use this, dummy, or your neck will get twisted like a halmeoni.”

​

your lip curls in annoyance, and you mock the action of spitting at the boy. kyung-jun only shakes his head, hiding a smile, and continues down the aisle towards the back of the bus. hyun-ho turns to you with his eyebrows raised, and you sigh.

​

“remember that day you had the flu a couple of weeks ago…” you begin to explain your encounter with kyung-jun the other night, and how he had been talking about the soulmate aspect of your bond quite a bit more often.

​

hyun-ho disagrees, ever kyung-jun’s public enemy number one, and remarks to you, “maybe he thinks you’re his property or something. in fact, it’s just cruel that the universe lets him meet his soulmate so early in life, and he acts this way.”

​

you shook your head. “it’s how he’s always been. it’s not like the soulmate bond is so you can change them. it seems like there are things that the universe knows that we are not privy to,” you speculate.

​

hyun-ho gives you a snort and lightly pushes the pillow against the side of your head. “okay, just go to sleep, you lovesick fool.”

​

you reclaim the pillow from him with a playful pout, yet drape it around your neck and continue your quest for a nap. as you slowly fell into unconsciousness, you couldn't help but notice that the pillow smelled like kyung-jun—fresh and woody.

​

as you finally stirred awake, the sky had turned a deep shade of night, and the bus stood still, parked in the quiet. you stretched your arms, a yawn escaping your lips, and felt a moment of confusion as you lifted the pillow from your neck, only to be reminded of its comforting presence and the reason it had been there in the first place.

​

hyun-ho smiled at you, before you were interrupted by kyung-jun coming up the aisle with his arm extended. you hand the pillow over with a quiet, “thank you,” avoiding eye contact with the boy as he snorts, and moves along without a word. you and hyun-ho join the line and exit the bus one at a time.

​

outside, the darkness presses in, broken only by the distant pinpricks of starlight. you sigh in a breath of fresh air as kim jun-hee calls hyun-ho over to help unpack the student’s luggage from under the bus. you’re surprised to see that you're the only charter bus to have arrived, leaving behind your other classes. you frown, knowing that you were at least the second bus to leave the school, having followed behind class one’s.

​

you observe as hyun-ho effortlessly lifts the boxes that ahn na-hee had been struggling with, a playful smirk appearing on his face as he notices her blush, her hand nervously running through her hair. it was clear to you that na-hee had a crush on your friend. however, when you had inquired whether hyun-ho had found his soulmate yet, he had replied that he had not. finding your soulmate often takes time, and especially among the younger crowd, casual dating tends to be quite popular.

​

you follow the two inside, where a beautiful white, marble statue of a young girl sits upon a podium. when you get closer, you realize that instead of a description printed beneath the figurine, there is a qr code for the youth center’s wi-fi. pulling out your phone, you frown at the lack of service before scanning the code. you then join the rest of your class in the auditorium to await the rest of your schoolmates.

​

your homeroom teacher is nowhere to be found, probably trying to wi-fi call the other teachers' cellphones. with the lack of supervision, the rest of your classmates were doing whatever they felt like it. lee joo-young and her posse were practicing a team dance to a k-pop song. the band kids were playing instruments in the back. but most were helping unpack the supplies, and joking around with one another. you noticed park woo-ram, recording the scene with his camcorder as usual, and you quickly looked away when it panned over to your direction.

​

“yah, hyun-ho,” you poked his side from where he was having a conversation with his basketball teammate, kim dong-hyeon. “where do you think the other buses went?”

​

he shrugs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “who cares, more time for us to mess around, right, dong-hyeon?” your classmate agrees with a laugh. you frown at the two, pulling out your phone to see if your service had gotten better, or the wi-fi had connected yet.

​

upon unlocking your phone, you find yourself puzzled by a newly downloaded app featuring a striking red and black design labeled “mafia.” you recall that you must have installed it, likely as a result of the qr code you scanned earlier. with a slight shrug, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and redirect your attention to the lively discussion between the two boys, who are animatedly debating the details of the latest playoff game they just played.

​

you jump in surprise as the music suddenly stops, glancing over to find kyung-jun has switched off the loudspeaker. his action prompts an immediate outburst from the group of girls, who scold him with loud disapproval. you can’t help but bite your lip, stifling a smile at the sight of your classmate's irritation.

​

at times, you found yourself agreeing with your soulmate's perspective on his actions. for instance, his decision to confront woo-ram and jin da-beom for disseminating deep fake nudes throughout the school seemed justified. while you suspected there were other motivations behind the trio's actions, you believed this was certainly one of them. rumors had circulated that a scandalous photo of you was included in that collection, but thanks to kyung-jun, you never had the opportunity to see it before it was taken down.

​

suddenly, a loud ringing sounded from the building’s speakers, followed by the lights blinking before turning off, leaving you and your classmates in complete darkness. your classmates' phones were brought out to be used as flashlights, aiding the completely pitch-black atmosphere.

​

a girl lets out a startled scream as a figure draped in a white sheet looms in the center of the gym. not one to tolerate nonsense, hyun-ho swiftly hurls his basketball at the figure, which lets out a grunt and collapses to the floor. you can't help but let out a laugh that bubbles up from your chest. just then, the backup lights flicker on, revealing heo yool, the class clown, emerging from beneath the sheet. you shake your head in annoyance; of course, it would be him.

​

“yah!”

​

“stop messing around,” your classmates cry out. “seriously!”

​

heo yool quickly stands, stumbling over the slippery fabric. “hey, listen!” he urges, serious. “a female student committed suicide here. you must not look back in the mirror after midnight, and don’t look if someone grabs your ankle while you sleep. break these rules… and it’s a ghost!”

​

when heo yool rushes at mi-na and joo-young, they scream and retreat in terror, and the boy laughs at his practical joke.

​

you let out an exasperated sigh, knowing he’ll soon claim that if you call bloody mary’s name three times in the mirror, she’ll appear behind you just like that. shaking your head, you turn back to hyun-ho, dismissing your other classmates with a wave of indifference.

​

“are you two sharing a room?” you ask hyun-ho and dong-hyeon. they nod, fist pumping, and you sigh.

​

“i’ll be sharing a room with eun-ha,” you declare with a hint of excitement. “i can only imagine how much alcohol she packed.” hyun-ho shoots you a disapproving glance, but you can’t help but nudge his shoulder playfully, a smile breaking through your feigned frustration.

​

“no need to worry, appa, just a little for me.” you gesture with your fingers to show the small amount, chuckling at his serious demeanor. as you step back from the two, you pick up your bag from the floor. “i should go see my room and greet eun-ha.” you wink at them playfully before skipping away.

​

upon opening your door, you found eun-ha exactly as you imagined she would be: with yeon-woo and eun-chan surrounded by bottles of soju and snacks. you smile at them and wave slyly in greeting.

​

“hey, roomie,” you winked, sitting beside her. she grinned at you and handed you a paper cup, filling it with clear liquid. you brace yourself as you chug the drink and exhale in satisfaction. “i love class trips with you,” you smile, and the three of them laugh at your comment.

​

the four of you pause as all your cellphones vibrate with a notification. taking out the device from your pocket, you frown. it’s the mafia app, inviting you to start the game. you click the icon, and it opens to a blank envelope. you swallow another shot as you read through the rules that appear next. you're nervous as you check your occupation and can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when it reads, citizen. you were horrible at lying and thus always lost whenever you played as a mafia, police, or doctor.

​

from heo yool: hey losers! let the game begin now! isn’t baek eun-ha the mafia?

​

you scoff at the message in the group chat, and then frown. you don’t remember putting in your name into the game, and yet the page appears to have your entire class’s roster already entered into the system.

​

eun-chan scoffs. “he’s enjoying this way too much.”

​

eun-ha nods in agreement, upset to be called out. “hey, this is no good. let’s kill him,” she suggests, her words starting to slur from the alcohol.  “vote for him unanimously? go for it?”

​

you shrug, taking another sip of your drink.

​

“go!” cries eun-chan.

​

from eun-ha: heo yool is the mafia. let’s kill him.

​

“okay,” she declares, tapping away at her phone. you find yourself also tapping yool’s name and are a bit startled when a class photo of his appears on the screen alongside the words, will you vote for heo yool as mafia? before you can overthink, you click yes, grabbing a chip from the bag on the table.

​

“done,” you face the others as they grin back at you. with one more shot of alcohol, you stand up, throwing your bag onto your desk haphazardly, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol on your empty stomach. you turn back to the group and tell them, “i’m going to go find hyun-ho to see who he voted for.” the group groans at you.

​

“why don’t the two of you just date already?” eun-ha groans half-joking, and you gasp in horror.

​

“eun-ha,” you state matter-of-factly. “you know that idiot is like a brother to me.”

​

she pouts. “but he’s cute.”

​

you laugh at her comment. “he is, but he also watches basketball games all day on his phone like an ipad kid,” you shudder. “i would never. bye, guys.”

you wave at the trio before closing the door behind you and heading to the first floor, where you had last seen your friend.

​

as you pass by the gymnasium, you hear voices and wonder who is still around downstairs. it was muffled, but it was clear to be a variety of male tones. perhaps, one of them was hyun-ho or dong-hyeon. if you found one, you’d find the other.

​

however, you’re not surprised when you enter to see kyung-jun accompanied by his sidekicks, seung-bin and jin-ha. nor does it surprise you to see woo-ram, joo-won, and da-beom on the floor littered beside them. they appeared to be covered in fresh bruises, and joo-won sported a nosebleed. what did surprise you was your class president’s presence as he stood toe to toe with your soulmate.

​

“you’re taking your pranks too far,” jun-hee was saying, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. in what ways did assault constitute as a prank?

​

kyung-jun raises his eyebrows in mild amusement. “prank?” he asks, followed by a hand gesture as his face turns cold. “i’m fucking serious right now.”

​

you can’t help but shake your head as jun-hee breaks eye contact, turning his head to the side, and begins to find an excuse for his need for the bullying to stop.

​

“da-beom agreed to help with the event tomorrow,” jun-hee tells kyung-jun. “i can take him with me, right? we’re leaving.”

​

“i—i—” stutters da-beom, resisting your class president’s grip. “i’m okay.”

​

kyung-jun grabs jun-hee’s arm, which is gripped around da-beom’s hand. a mocking smile takes over his lips as he faces jun-hee. “he’s okay, apparently.” he turns and puts a hand on da-beom’s cheek.

​

you’re suddenly aware of a presence behind you. you turn your gaze and meet hyun-ho’s as he comes into the gymnasium. you look back at the scene unfolding before you as your friend paces towards the group. your hands curl in anticipation. hyun-ho raises the basketball he’s carrying in one hand, before launching it directly into the small of seung-bin’s back. the said boy grunts, holding the assaulted spot, as hyun-ho approaches.

​

“shit!” seung-bin grunts. “who was that?” he pulls up short when he sees hyun-ho.

​

“seung-bin,” hyun-ho greets mockingly. “you’ve gotten pretty big. have you been working out?”

​

you snort, but silence yourself when you notice that kyung-jun has spotted you standing near the entrance, and he silently wonders how long you’d been standing there.

​

“shit, jang hyun-ho. you son of a bitch,” snarks back seung-bin, he’s teeth clenched together.

​

“why are you all gathered here and flipping out?” kyung-jun asks, coming up to face hyun-ho and dong-hyeon, turning his back to you.

​

“we wanted to exercise. why?” hyun-ho responds, reminding you of why you’d found your way back to the gym to find him in the first place. “can’t we?”

​

kyung-jun lowers his head, clearly annoyed, and spits on the floor next to hyun-ho. you grimace.

​

“you losers couldn’t even make it into the national team,” kyung-jun digs at them, scoffing at the pair in front of him. you pierce your lips at the comment and pray that hyun-ho keeps a level head.

“fuck. sure, work your asses off, then. let’s go,” he tells seung-bin and jin-ha, patting hyun-ho on the chest before brushing past him and moving towards you. when he passes you by, he latches onto your upper arm, forcing you to stumble after him.

​

you glance over your shoulder and internally thank jun-hee as he holds back hyun-ho from continuing the confrontation, but frown when you turn back to face kyung-jun. what did he want this time?

​

after telling seung-bin and jin-ha to screw off for a few minutes, the two of you find an empty classroom to sit in. it’s quiet, the only sound the ticking of a broken clock over the exit, and you find yourself unsure where to turn your attention.

​

after a moment, he leans forward onto the desk between the two of you and looks into your eyes. you can’t choose where to look — his deep brown eyes, the spray of faint freckles against his tan nose, or his lips as he smirked upon your reaction.

​

he says your name delicately, making you lock gazes with him at the strange softness within his tone. “do i scare you?” he asks, his voice low.

​

despite yourself, you find your answer truthful. “a tiny bit.”

​

kyung-jun scoffs, his lips still curled in amusement. he glances down and then back up at you. “it’s not like i’m going to hurt you.”

​

you shrug, and again your response is the truth when you say, “i know.”

​

“then what?”

​

you inhale, nervous suddenly, the palms of your hands beginning to sweat. “sometimes,” you mull over your words slowly. “sometimes, the power you emit is quite intimidating. it makes me nervous to pay attention to you.” you’re ashamed of your words, cheeks flushing as you worry you just fed his ego with your comment.

​

“it’s not like i’m the one ignoring you,” scoffs kyung-jun, pulling back from you with annoyance. “stop making it seem like it’s my fault.”

​

you frown. “yah, well, it’s not like you wanted anything to do with me, anyway, so i thought that would make us both happy,” you explain harshly, throwing daggers through your sharp gaze.

​

kyung-jun pierced his lips to keep from impulsively lashing out at you. he runs a hand through his hair and scans the room to make sure it’s empty again before he speaks.

​

“listen,” he exhales, a hint of frustration in his voice. “this whole soulmate thing is unfamiliar territory for me. when you approached me for the first time, i honestly thought it was just another cosmic prank. i had just been thrown out by my stepdad, feeling utterly defeated, and then there you were — this radiant, carefree spirit smiling at me when i was at my lowest. i need some time to wrap my head around the fact that we’re meant to be together or whatever. it’s a lot to take in, and i’m sure you can understand that.”

​

you nod thoughtfully, absorbing his words. while it doesn’t erase the years spent in silence, it’s more than you’ve ever received from kyung-jun. wanting to reassure him, you offer a gentle smile. “thank you for sharing this with me, kyung-jun. i truly understand your feelings, and I appreciate you being open to this bond,” you say warmly.

​

your phone buzzes, and you furrow your brows, finding the time to be near midnight already. you stand from the desk and worryingly look at kyung-jun. “maybe we should find everyone else. i’m not sure if our teacher ever came back after he left earlier.”

​

kyung-jun frowns and nods before following you out the door and into the corridor. you discover that most of the other pupils have congregated there already.

​

the now-familiar artificial voice echoes through the room, announcing, “the voting ends in one minute.”

as the clock ticks down towards midnight, marking the conclusion of the first round of the mafia game, you exchange puzzled glances with kyung-jun, both of you anxiously awaiting the timer's end. you hope that once it concludes, you can finally head to bed, as your lengthy nap has left you feeling even more fatigued than usual.

​

everyone in the hallway is glued to their phones, and as the time passes, you noticed your anxiety growing. the same ai voice announces that the voting is over as another tone beeps through the speakers.

​

“i’m sure everyone voted for you,” eun-ha calls out, pointing at yool. “we all know that you created this.”

​

“hey, what are you talking about?” heo yool complains, confused by the statement. “and why did you guys vote for me? why are you making it so boring?”

​

“come on,” insists yeon-woo, pointing at his friend.

​

once again, the voice and the alarm blare. “heo yool, the person who receives the most votes, will be executed.”

​

as everyone playfully waves at the boy, you can't help but frown in confusion when he suddenly bends over, clutching his head in pain. you instinctively grip the bottom of kyung-jun’s jacket, feeling a surge of concern as yool grimaces, his voice rising in shouts before he finally falls silent, slumping over.

​

while his friends shake him, he rises slowly, and looks forward, his eyes pure white. you can’t help the gasp that escapes from your mouth at the sight. the boy kneels to the ground and begins to bash his forehead harshly against the hard floor. you shriek as you see the blood splatter from the open wound on his head, the stream falling over his handsome features and down his chin.

​

when heo yool stands again, his hair is drenched in his blood, clumping over his rolled back eyes, and you gag at the sight. kyung-jun shifts slightly to block the view from you, but your need to know what is happening outweighs your logic. before anyone can stop yool, he turns and smashes his skull into the picture framed against the wall. your classmates shriek in horror as the scene repeats.

​

“yool,” jun-hee pleads in disbelief.

​

heo yool turns towards his classmates and proceeds to bolt towards you. kyung-jun slams you and himself against the wall as the boy flew past you and out the second-story window. the loud thud that follows is sickening, but the silence from your classmates at the shock is even more disturbing.

​

the alarm breaks the quiet, and the announcer reveals that heo yool was a civilian. before you can even bring your hand from your mouth, you collapse as the world goes dim, a peaceful darkness overwhelming your senses.

​

─────

you wake on the floor, your neck stiff from where it landed on kyung-jun’s extended arm. for a brief moment, confusion consumes you before you jolt up in remembrance, and based on your classmates' expressions, you weren’t the only one who did.

​

“what happened?” jeong-won asks no one in particular. water wells in your eyes.

​

“i don’t know,” yoon-seo responds, shaking her head dully.

​

another notification from the mafia game echoes throughout the hallway, and you scramble to find your phone alongside everyone else.

​

“just before the final round concluded, the police officer exercised their authority. choi joo-won was executed by the mafia, revealing that choi joo-won was indeed part of the mafia. participants, please find the mafia and start voting,” the artificial voice conveys to you.

you inhale sharply, a single tear escapes the corner of your eye as you blink, and you wipe it away quickly, but not before kyung-jun notices. you shakily rise to your feet, tucking your hair behind your ears as you hear questions echo from your classmates. you see hyun-ho through the crowd, and despite a bloody nose, he looks otherwise unhurt from the struggle last night.

​

“the announcement…” woo-ram speaks up, pointing to the speakers in the ceiling. “whose making the announcements? why do we keep hearing that right now?”

​

you shudder at his tone, wringing your hands together, shaking your head. your heart felt like it was about to explode, thudding so loudly against your ribs you wouldn’t be surprised if kyung-jun, who stood directly behind you, could hear it.

​

“the broadcasting room is on the second floor,” hyun-ho announces, before rushing towards the stairs. “let’s go over there; come on.”

a handful of your classmates follow him down the hallway, but a yelp sends everyone else in the opposite direction, towards the men’s restroom. upon entering, you gasp and turn away at the sight of joo-won with his skull bashed in.

​

“he’s dead,” jun-hee confirms, “the mafia…”

​

“t—this is because of the mafia game,” da-beom stutters out, glancing nervously between his classmates. “what if we all end up dying?”

​

kyung-jun grips the boy’s collar, growling out, “shut up, you bastard. no one’s fucking dying.”

​

the two are interrupted by yoon-seo as she crouches close to the body.

​

“yah, yoon-seo, what are you doing?” so-mi cries out as the girl reaches her hand towards the blood spilt on the ground.

​

“he was killed recently. the blood isn’t dried yet,” she informs those behind her, before her actions catch up with her brain and she gags.

​

“hey, class president,” kyung-jun rounds on jun-hee, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “what will you do now? huh? what will you do?”

​

“we should…” jun-hee says slowly. “get out of here first. tell everyone that we need to get out of here.”

​

kyung-jun grips your arm again, practically dragging your still frozen body behind him as he makes his way towards the entrance, telling the other students outside the restroom to move that way, too. you stumble over your feet before you regain your bearings and tear away from kyung-jun’s hold. he shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets, and struts behind you out of the building, observing your classmates.

​

as you and your classmates begin to move, the unmistakable blare of the game's alarm pierces the air, signaling that the competition is confined to a specific area. you instinctively gesture towards the stark white lines marking the courtyard's boundaries and lean in to ask kyung-jun if he had witnessed anything unusual the night before. he shakes his head, a clear indication that he, too, is in the dark, and a shiver runs down your spine as uncertainty envelops you.

​

“guys, hold on,” jun-hee turns and faces your class, his voice carrying over the quiet day. “don’t leave just yet.”

​

“why?” wails sang-hwan, fear clearly overtaking his judgment.

​

“something’s strange,” insists jun-hee.

​

irritated, sang-hwan asks him, “do you believe bullshit like this? fuck, whatever, let’s go.” sang-hwan continues forward and passes the white line. everyone yells for him to stop, and his friend hyun-seok follows him over the line in an attempt to halt him.

​

the next series of events occurs in quick succession. first, sang-hwan stops moving and clutches his head the same way that yool did the previous night, followed closely by hyun-seok's own obvious headache pain. the artificial voice declares that the two will be put to death for disobeying the game’s rules. as you watched the two white-eyed boys tensely move their bodies like marionettes and face each other, you noticed that your knees started to wobble. you can hear the sickening sound of their skulls cracking against each other as it reverberates throughout the empty air. you cover your ears quickly and whimper as you turn away to avoid seeing it occur again.

“lee sang-hwan and kim hyun-seok were both civilians.”

​

you find your legs giving out, and before you can completely crumple to the floor, kyung-jun’s hands are under your arms and lifting you up and into his chest. your breath comes fast, as you realize there’s no visible end to the game. no solutions came to your head, and the images of your dead classmates flash across your eyes over again.

​

slowly, you begin to notice kyung-jun softly chanting your name while gently tapping your cheek. his voice is steady, yet there's a slight tremor at the edges. his eyes narrow as they lock onto yours, and you blink at him, tears welling up. with a soft whimper, you bury your head back in his chest, shutting out the surrounding nightmare, creating a cocoon of solitude for just the two of you.

[anxietyproblem]

[catchymemes]

[acheronsociety]

✶ BLOODY CRAWLING BACK TO YOU

in which... you absolutely hate your co-worker, the insufferable Jeon Jungkook. but you're badly hurt, and somehow, your feet led you to his door.

pairing: jungkook x f!reader ✶ ( secret agents au ) word count: 7.7k content warning: smut ( mdni ) ✶ angst ✶ mentions of blood, bruises, fights, sex, and lots of cursing. a/n: although I'm a sucker for the arctic monkeys original version, this one was inspired by hozier's cover of "do I wanna know". hopefully it's not too soft for what I've written, and if it is... well, sorry bout that !

⋆ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒂𝒚...

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 was biblical—like the city itself had decided you were a stain it needed to scrub off the map.

You staggered through alleys slick with city grime, rainwater swirling in neon puddles at your feet. Every step punched a fresh flare of agony through your side, where your coat clung wetly to the blood seeping from beneath. You didn’t know if your ribs were bruised, fractured, or split like kindling—but every breath felt like dragging lightning into your lungs and hoping you didn’t catch fire.

They’d said four men. Maybe five.

They’d lied. It had been closer to eleven—if you were counting the one catapulted through the window. You’d clawed your way through that hell. Fought like an animal in a trap. And you’d gotten what you came for. The hard drive burned cold and hard against your belly, its weight heavier than steel.

But now you were bleeding.

And somehow, your body—battered, burning—had walked you here.

Of all places.

To him.

You stood at his door, water dripping off your soaked clothes to pool at your feet, hand raised in mid-air, suspended in hesitation. The alley behind was too quiet. The storm outside sounded muffled, like the world was pressing in from all sides and this was the eye of it.

You hated him.

You hated him with an intensity that tasted like smoke and felt like lust. Hated his smirk. His arrogance. His voice. His eyes. His mouth. Hated how often you imagined it against your skin, even now.

But you couldn’t walk another block.

And you couldn’t risk what was in your hidden pocket. Couldn’t risk losing yourself out there when you'd already lost too much.

Your fist met the door before your pride could stop it. The knock echoed through the porch. You turned your head, checking behind you out of habit, expecting a shadow to crawl from the storm. Nothing. Another knock, this time louder—sharper, more frantic. Pain bit at your side, sharp as a blade twisting. You doubled slightly, hand pressed harder over the heat blooming beneath your ribs.

And then the door jerked open.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook.

Fucking hell.

His black hair was a mess—still damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower, frowzy strands falling across his forehead. His raven eyes, sharp as always, scanned you in a single, sweeping glance. No flicker of surprise. No warmth. Just that same infuriating coolness that always made your blood boil.

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been? Losing a fight with a sewer?”

His voice was a cold blade, smooth and deadly.

You didn’t reply. You looked past him instead, scanning the dark corners behind his shoulder—checking for threats, anything to distract from his judgment.

“Hi to you too,” you muttered, lips twisting in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. Sarcasm was armor, and you wrapped yourself in it fast.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with his arms crossed like he’d been expecting you—and maybe he had.

That was the thing about Jungkook. He knew your tells like battle scars. And he used them.

"Can I come in?" you asked, the words rasping out before you could steel yourself. Your voice cracked, just slightly, under the weight of everything you were trying not to show. "Please."

That made him pause.

Jungkook wasn’t used to you asking for anything—let alone pleading.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside, eyes never leaving yours.

You passed him like smoke, brushing too close, too fast, but not fast enough to miss the heat radiating off his skin. You didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

“Thank you,” you muttered, half breath, half defeat.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

You and Jungkook had been orbiting the same hell for too long. Tossed together by whatever bastard thought pairing oil with fire was a great tactical move. You worked like wolves. Clashed like storms. And when it mattered, you covered each other’s backs with snarls and bloodstained fists.

Still, you had rules. Self-made. Non-negotiable.

No drinking with him.

No sleeping in the same room.

No letting him see you bleed.

No showing up at his door when you were breaking.

Too late.

The couch called to your bones, but his voice cut through the air like a whip. “You’re soaking wet.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging a hand through your drenched hair. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Your fingers found the back of the sofa, steadying yourself as exhaustion clawed at your spine. Your clothes felt like lead. Your skin itched from the dried blood you knew clinged underneath. If you closed your eyes, you were done for. So you didn’t.

He moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Leaned against the frame, arms folded, every muscle taut beneath the hold of a black shirt. The battered—and quite edgy—fabric hugged his torso like it wanted to be torn off. His sweatpants hung dangerously low, a taunt all on their own.

Your gaze flicked down. Just once.

Big mistake.

"I’m assuming you got it?"

The husky scrape of his voice pulled your head up. You stared for a beat, then moved to the table in the kitchen like your legs weren’t screaming with every step.

"What do you think?" you bit back, reaching into your jacket and yanking out the hard drive. You chucked it at him without ceremony. “Prick.”

He caught it with the kind of lazy precision that always pissed you off. No flinch. No reaction. Just a long look, like he was trying to read past the rain and bruises to what lay underneath.

But your coat was still on. Your secrets still safe—for now.

You slumped into a chair. He moved beside you, sliding his laptop across the table and plugging in the drive.

"‘Kay then, let's just throw the thing around so we lose the leverage we have and money we won’t be paid for."

You allowed yourself to shut your eyes for a second, and leaned your head against the wall behind you. “Dramatic as ever.”

The clicking of his keyboard filled the room. Rhythmic. Familiar. You focused on it like it might keep you conscious.

“What took you so long then? Are you that out of shape?”

A small laugh escaped, tight with pain. “As if.” You shifted in your chair, wincing as fire flared under your ribs. “They lied. There were more of them than their intel promised. A lot more,” you muttered, voice brittle with leftover rage.

The keyboard stopped.

You opened your eyes to find him staring.

“How many?”

You let out a breath. Winced again. “Ten? Maybe twelve? I didn’t exactly count heads while they were trying to break mine open.”

His expression faltered.

Just a crack. A flicker. Barely there—quick enough that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you saw it. The sharp flash of something unspoken that darted through his gaze like a blade—gone just as quickly as it came.

He stood slowly. Like he was bracing for impact. Like he could already taste the blood in the air. His movements were quiet, calculated. An animal not yet sure if it needed to strike or mend.

“You’re hurt.”

The words were low, almost a growl. Not concerned. Not yet. But deadly focused.

“Not really.” You shot back too fast. Too automatic. The deflection barely made it past your lips before another sharp wince cut through you, slicing clean under your ribs like a warning. “I’m just soaked… and sore. Pretty normal after rain and knocking out a few men.”

His gaze sharpened.

Whatever he’d been doing on his laptop no longer mattered. Jungkook stepped closer, leaving the glow of the screen behind like it was nothing. His full attention snapped to you like the click of a safety being released.

His eyes dragged over you—slow, deliberate. Mapping out every flinch, every shiver of pain beneath your soaked jacket. You felt stripped bare, despite the layers you still wore. You hated that look. Hated how closely he could read you. Like his fingers weren’t the only things that could undo you.

You shifted back in your seat instinctively, tension rippling down your spine.

But his voice cut through your retreat like iron.

“Take that off.”

The command didn’t even try to be soft. You saw the way his jaw tensed around it, like he hated how much he wanted to say it—and how badly he meant it.

Your breath stilled. An unholy cocktail of defiance and heat clawed up your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“You're drenched,” he said, cool and precise, but his tone wasn’t nearly as detached as he wanted it to be. “You're shaking. And now I can bet my ass you're bleeding too.”

His eyes dropped—too focused, too dark—and locked onto your side. His voice lowered, rough like gravel. “Just get in the bathroom.”

Oh. Oh. He was fucking serious.

And that made you want to punch him.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed the heat rising in it—rage, maybe. Or something worse. Your fingers curled tight against your thigh, jaw grinding. “You can ready your ass then ‘cause you couldn’t be more wrong!”

But even you didn’t believe that. Your body throbbed in agreement, every nerve screaming betrayal beneath the slick black of your sleeves. You knew how to fake strength. But you were running out of it.

You stood. Slowly. Painfully. If you could just make it to the door—

“You have the package,” you muttered, trying to keep your spine straight, even as your knees threatened to fold. “I already did my part. Now you keep it safe.”

You turned your back to him. The mistake was thinking he’d let you go.

You barely made it four steps before his hand was gripping the collar of your jacket, yanking you to a halt. “Just get in the fucking bathroom, for fuck’s sake!”

"Or what?" You spun, fury lashing in your tone, a snarl curling your lips as your fingers fumbled furiously with the zipper.

You would leave his place with or without the damn jacket. You didn’t care. This was a mistake—coming here, letting him see you like this, giving him even an inch of something he could hold over you.

"Or I'll fucking make you," he growled, yanking the jacket from your shoulders as the zipper finally gave way.

The motion twisted your arms awkwardly, pain lancing through your side with a white-hot burn. You faltered. A sharp breath escaped you as your knees buckled.

He caught you immediately.

And when he steadied you, it wasn’t with roughness. It wasn’t with victory.

“Sorry. Fuck—I'm sorry.” His voice dropped, rough and ragged, hands gently guiding you back upright. “Just… please, let me help you.”

Your head fell forward, forehead brushing the side of his shoulder. Not from affection. From sheer exhaustion. From not having the strength to keep up the fight.

When you finally opened your eyes again, his were already watching you, one hand dragging through his hair in a clear sign of restraint. His chest rose and fell beneath that clinging shirt, his breath a little too uneven.

“Look—you came to me. You’re already here.” His hand returned to your hip, grounding and firm. “Let me just take a look at that.”

You opened your mouth, ready to throw another snarky line just to keep the rhythm of control in your corner, but before you could, he was already steering you—gently, insistently—toward the bathroom.

“Jungkook—”

His hand shot up near your mouth, not touching, just fingers curling in the air like he was this close to losing whatever thread of patience he had left.

“Just—shut your pretty mouth for a second.” He turned to open the bathroom door, not waiting to see if you obeyed. “Get in. Take that off.”

He nodded toward your shirt and gave the smallest push to your lower back. “I’ll be right back. No arguing.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His bathroom was bigger than expected. Clinical. Sterile. Almost too neat for someone in this line of work. But it made sense, in that strange, maddening way Jungkook always did. Controlled chaos in the field—total discipline at home.

The dim light spilled down the tiled walls in long, moody shadows. The floor was freezing under your bare feet as you peeled off your shirt, every movement stiff with pain. Your fingers trembled, but you managed it.

Your cargo pants stuck to your thighs, soaked and heavy. You unfastened them, sliding them low enough to access the damage—only to the curve of your hips. Anything more and your pride would unravel too.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid in just your open pants and a black sports bra, arms bracing hard on the basin. Your breath came shallow, dizzy from blood loss.

The door swung open, startling you.

You jerked, arms flying up to cover your chest. “You could always knock.”

“And miss the show?” His voice was low, shameless—but it didn’t bite. There was no cruelty, only that maddening velvet steel that was his signature.

He stepped in slowly, kneeling before you with a med kit tucked under one arm, movements deliberate and devastatingly calm. The sight of him like that—on his knees, flushed skin and damp hair, inked arm flexing beneath that cursed black shirt—made your stomach twist violently.

Desire, or pain. Maybe both.

“Just give me that—I can manage,” you said, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

But his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding your arm down with a tenderness that disarmed you more than any threat. “No, you can’t.”

He looked at you—really looked—his eyes falling to the crimson trail running from your ribs, jaw tightening as he exhaled. “This’ll sting.”

His hands hovered over your skin, the gauze paused midair. He wasn’t moving. Just staring at your torso like it told a story he hated reading.

You shifted. “Well?”

That snapped him out of it.

He pressed the antiseptic to your wound and your world exploded.

“Son of a—”

“Breathe.” His voice was a rasp, low and oddly soft, his free hand finding your hip. His fingers didn’t press—just steadied. A quiet promise not to let you fall.

And for a second, you let him hold you like that.

You lost track of everything once he peeled the bloodied gauze away, his movements deft and careful. Jungkook picked up a hooked needle with the same deadly focus you’d seen him use while disarming a bomb or loading a gun. His teeth came down to snap the nylon thread, the noise sharp in the bathroom’s too-quiet air. Your breath hitched.

Modesty didn’t matter now. Not with the sweat on your brow, the taste of copper in your mouth, and the burn that spread from your side like a live wire. You uncurled your arms from your chest and gripped the basin and wall behind you, knuckles whitening, fingers digging into porcelain.

“Oh, God…”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He noticed—of course he noticed. Jungkook’s eyes darted to your face. Then his hands came down to your knees, grounding you with a touch that was unexpectedly steady. Unexpectedly warm. Like an anchor.

You couldn’t stop staring at the needle, though.

Your gaze clung to it like it might jump at you. You weren’t new to fieldwork—scars littered your skin like a patchwork of every mission that had gone sideways. But stitching? That was personal. Up-close and brutal. It wasn’t the pain that got to you. It was the implication. The intimacy of being opened and closed again in someone else’s hands.

Worse than all that was him seeing you like this.

Panicked. Fraying. Human.

“Hey.”

His voice slipped through your spiraling thoughts.

Then his hand was on your face—firm and unrelenting. His fingers curved under your jaw and tilted your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his. He looked thunderous, but not in the way you’d grown to expect. Not cruel. Not smug. He looked… patient. Focused. Like he was trying to will the fear out of you.

“You really need the stitches, baby,” he said, and the nickname unraveled something low and sharp inside your chest. “I don’t have anesthesia—But I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You blinked at him, momentarily mute.

It wasn’t just the pain—it was the softness, the way he said baby like it was a secret he hadn’t meant to let slip. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or lean into him.

Your chest tightened. So you nodded, barely.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

And then he stitched.

The pain came instantly. Sharp and molten. Your whole body flinched, muscles locking as you grabbed your discarded shirt beside you and shoved it into your mouth to muffle the cry. It was either that or scream.

But you didn’t look away from him.

Not once.

Even through the haze of agony, you couldn’t ignore how he looked up at you between every pull of the thread. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lashes casting shadows over cheekbones sharpened by the low light. That little scar he had on his left one. Every few seconds, his eyes found yours, like he needed to make sure you were still breathing.

And worse—you liked that he was watching.

His fingers moved too near your skin, grazing the edges of you, slow and precise. With each tug of the needle, a jolt ran through your spine. Not all from pain. Your body was buzzing, alive in a way that made you clench your jaw and hate every molecule of awareness you had.

Because why did he have to be this close?

Why did you want him closer?

You took the shirt out of your mouth and swallowed hard. The tension in your voice matched the tension on your skin. “You always do this?”

He didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Play medic for strays?”

His jaw clenched tight, shadow gathering under his cheekbone. His hand paused on the final stitch, threading the knot harder than needed. His silence was louder than a curse.

He tossed the needle aside like it had burned him, shoving the med kit across the tiles with a careless flick of his hand.

“Only the ones that run into traps alone.”

The words cut deeper than the stitches.

His hands hovered in his lap, still curled into fists. You watched his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make that faint, telltale line dent his cheek. The one that only showed when he was furious. When he was trying to hold back.

You knew that look. You’d seen it too many times. He always wore it before things exploded.

“You should’ve told me,” he said finally. His voice was raw, softer than before. A confession, almost.

You couldn’t handle that softness.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight. “It’s just a scratch,” you muttered, but the words rang false in your ears yet again.

He sat back on his heels, eyes still burning through you. “Just a scratch,” he repeated, the laugh hollow. “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed wrapped around you like a vice.

Not peaceful. Not even quiet. It throbbed—the kind of quiet that made your skin prickle and your lungs tighten. It felt like something had cracked open between you, and neither of you knew how to close it.

You moved to stand, needing air, space—anything that wasn’t this. But before your muscles could engage fully, his hand came down, flat and sure, against your thigh.

Not a grip.

Not a threat.

Just there.

“Don’t,” he said.

You made the mistake of meeting his raven eyes.

Electricity. That’s what it felt like. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark brown whole, and there was something feral clawing behind them. Something wild. Untamed.

Not hate.

Need.

“I’m not staying,” you whispered, barely able to push the words past the burn in your throat.

Jungkook rose in one fluid movement. He was suddenly there, towering over you, too close, too solid, the heat of him crowding the air.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were a promise. A warning. Maybe both.

He turned his back to you before you could respond—walked to the sink like the conversation was over. He scrubbed his inked knuckles hard, the water hissing as it hit the porcelain, blood swirling down the drain in thin, ghost-red streams. He didn’t look at you once.

But he didn’t have to.

He thought you’d stay.

So you stood. Fast. Pain stabbed through your side, but adrenaline burned hotter. You clutched your wet shirt like a weapon, storming for the door with your pride clenched so tight it nearly suffocated you.

He moved before you could touch the handle.

“What is it now? Huh?” His voice snapped like a whip. “What’s the hurry?”

He stood in front of the door like a sentinel. Like he’d expected this after all. His body blocked every inch of escape.

“I’m going home,” you bit, hand flying to the knob. “You have the damn drive, you don’t need me to run it. I’m done here.”

His hand clamped over yours, solid and immovable. His grip was hot, skin calloused. Like steel locked against silk.

“You were bleeding just a second ago, goddammit! You’re hurt. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of here.”

Your voice dropped, venomous. “You don’t get to decide.”

Jungkook leaned in, so close you could feel the fire of him, smell the faint cotton-and-cigarette scent clinging to his skin—a contradiction so sharp it made your breath hitch. His voice came out low, all grit and fury, the heat of it brushing your cheek like a threat.

“I do when my co-worker is falling apart and pretending to be fine. You’re not going the fuck out there like that and that’s final. I didn’t stitch you up only for you to drop dead.”

You didn’t speak. Not with words.

Your body did.

You shoved him.

Hard.

Your palms collided with his chest and he staggered back, spine hitting the door with a thud that echoed like a gunshot. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his neck. And for a second—just one second—you thought he might lunge. There was that flare in his eyes again. That glint of the monster you knew better than most. Want tangled with rage. But he didn’t move.

He just stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched behind those pierced lips he didn’t part. The way he stared—like he could rip you apart and worship you in the same breath—lit something molten in your chest.

Then, abruptly, he turned his face away, playing nervously with the loops piercing his bottom lip. Calmed himself. Swallowed it all.

“I’m running you an ice bath,” he muttered, voice flat but dragging like smoke over gravel. “It’ll help with the bruises. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You stood there, vibrating with the fury and the pull, while he moved like a storm through the bathroom, filling the tub. You could hear the splash of the water hitting porcelain, could see the slow swirl of mist rising where frost met heat. Jungkook crouched and pulled something from behind the tub—a coiled noose of silver tubing, a trickle system you hadn’t noticed. Typical. Always had a backup.

“There’s clean towels there,” he said, passing you on his way out, pointing to a cabinet with one long finger. His shoulder brushed yours—intentionally or not, it didn’t matter. It burned. “Don’t lock it,” he added without looking at you, already opening the door. “Just in case something happens. I won’t come in. Just—spare me from having to barge through it, will you?”

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him like a full stop.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the water. You exhaled slowly, peeling away the rest of your clothes as you hated yourself for complying so easily. The sports bra clung to your skin like a second wound, and your pants stuck as if determined to keep every painful inch of the night stitched to you. Your underwear followed. Cold air rushed in against your naked skin, but it wasn’t the chill that had your blood racing.

You stood over the tub for a moment, teeth sinking into your lip as your fingers hovered. Then, jaw tight, you slipped in.

It was ice.

Literal ice.

You hissed, biting down a scream as the freezing water bit into your bones like knives. But you didn’t get out. You let it happen. Let it burn the heat off your skin. Let it numb the ache in your side and slow the beat of the panic still coiled in your gut.

You stayed submerged there until the pain was dulled by another—the kind that started to settle in your fingertips, the subtle ache of skin flushing blue at the nails.

That’s when you moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

You rose, dripping and goose-pimpled, wrapping yourself in the thick towel you found exactly where he said it would be. Your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore, your brain spinning in that hollow, too-calm way that meant you were still in survival mode.

Your eyes fell to your soaked clothes on the floor and tugged at your bottom lip again. Maybe you could use Jungkook’s drier and then call a cab or something. You gulped drily, looking down on yourself and the towel that hid even less than your previous attire. 

But then again, the feeling of having the wet clothing itching back your skin, tormenting your wounds, made you want to yell. 

You decided by leaving them in a heap in the corner and opened the bathroom door with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall right across from the door.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew you wouldn’t bolt.

Like he dared you to.

His eyes dragged up your form slowly, drinking in the towel, the steam curling around your hair, the flush in your cheeks—not just from the water. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, but he didn’t speak.

The silence between you screamed enough.

He exhaled like he was trying to drag the edge off himself, and you stood there in a trance, waiting for him to move first in this chessboard you stood on every time you were face to face. 

“It’s late. Take my bed,” Jungkook said finally, shoulders tensing, fists balled up inside the pockets of his sweatpants. “The couch is a wreck and you’re not curling up on the floor like some damn street cat.”

Your laugh cut through the air, sharp and disbelieving. “Don’t fucking order me around.”

“Oh, I will, since you bled all over my bathroom and all that,” he shot back without missing a beat, turning down the hall like he’d already won. He didn’t even check if you were following, but of course you did—seething and restless and not quite finished.

Jeon Jungkook was the king of final words. He collected them like weapons. Filed them sharp and threw them with intention. You doubted he even knew how to end a sentence without stamping it in blood.

When he reached his bedroom, the sight of his rumpled sheets made you pause in the doorway. They looked like him. Dark and messy and lived-in. He strode over to a dresser, fingers trailing over the wood as if the casualness could fool either of you. It didn’t. His every movement was intentional—controlled, like he was holding himself together at the seams.

“I’m not staying,” you said again, softer this time. A warning, or maybe a plea.

He didn’t turn around. “You are.”

Then his gaze lifted—through the mirror perched above the dresser. It met yours with devastating precision, and the current in the room sparked like something struck metal.

The bedroom shrank. The walls leaned in. The air felt heavier with every breath you stole, your pulse thudding traitorously against your skin.

You felt everything too much—the towel clutched tight around your chest, the damp fabric molding to your curves; the tendrils of wet hair brushing along your spine; the sting of cold air on your bare thighs. Your nipples peaked beneath the cotton, begging for a little more friction.

Jungkook turned finally, grabbed a shirt from the drawer—white, of all things—and tossed it to you with a flick of his wrist, eyes somewhere over your head. “I’ll dry your clothes after you put that on.”

You caught the shirt with one hand, inhaling as it settled in your grip. It was soft. Lived-in. You could smell him on it.

He gestured with a jerk of his chin. “Bed’s clean.”

You rolled your eyes instead of answering. Arguing now was pointless.

You could dig your heels in, sure. But your body ached. Your side pulsed. Outside, the rain hadn’t let up for hours. And the bastards you’d escaped tonight weren’t going to rest easy. If they were hunting, you weren’t up for round two.

Plus, he did say he would dry your clothes for you. You’d have to wait for that anyway.

Jungkook watched your stance shift—read the surrender in your silence like the tactician he was. Deciding it was safe, he stepped forward, back to the mirror, facing away from you.

He gave you privacy. As if it mattered anymore. As if he hadn’t already seen you stitched and half-naked, skin marked with blood and bruises.

Still, you waited.

You kept your eyes locked on his broad back, on the way his shoulders tightened when you didn’t immediately move. He wasn’t relaxed—he was steel braced for impact. Like he knew what would happen if he turned again.

You let the towel slip. Slowly. Let it fall in a whisper at your feet before grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. It clung in places, soft cotton sticking to damp skin. His scent curled around you, confusingly comforting, irritatingly intimate.

You tugged at the hem—useless. It barely brushed your thighs.

“Of all the black shirts you own, you had to choose the white one for me? For real?”

He turned then—and froze.

His eyes dropped again. Just for a second. Took in the stretch of your legs, the curve of your hips, the little puddle starting to soak through the shirt as you brought your hair all to one side. His throat bobbed.

And when his gaze snapped back to yours, it was searing.

“I’m fine,” you found the need to reassure him, stepping forward. Too close. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, voice wrecked. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes were wild—something caged came back, clawing just behind them once more. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d do something neither of you could undo.

And so, he bolted.

“I’ll finish checking the drive,” he barked, already halfway through the door, not sparing a glance back, closing it behind him.

You were left alone, blinking in the sudden silence, his scent still clinging to your skin, your blood still thrumming like a war drum.

You crossed the room slowly, each step softer than the last, until your legs hit the edge of his bed. And then, without thinking too hard, you slipped beneath his sheets, still warm from his body.

And for the first time in hours, you let exhaustion win.

Your eyes felt too heavy to open, but it was your own voice that betrayed you first—a soft medley of a moan and a whimper, curling out of your throat like it hadn’t asked for permission.

Everything smelled like him.

The cotton warmth of Jungkook’s bedsheets clung to your skin, soaked in his scent, and it made your limbs feel heavier, your thoughts more tangled. You shifted beneath its weight, your body aching and too warm under the covers. A chill skittered down your spine regardless.

Was there a window open?

You clenched the pillow under your head, breath catching as another whimper slipped out, softer this time, needier. “Jungkook,” you whispered into the sheets, the sound too raw for comfort, too real.

And then you felt it—that presence.

Like a sixth sense, prickling beneath your skin. The faint light beneath the door drew the silhouette of a man carved out of stillness, perfectly rigid, perfectly silent.

Your pulse surged.

Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe you were imagining it. Fever dreams could do that.

But your breathing turned shallow, and the room spun slightly, dragging your consciousness fully awake. You could feel him, even without seeing his face. You could feel the way his attention wrapped around you from the other side of the door like a noose waiting to tighten.

And then your mouth betrayed you again, raspy from sleep and dry with nerves. “Are you coming in or not?”

The silence fractured.

The door creaked, slow and deliberate. The knob turned with a soft click, and then he was there.

Jungkook’s eyes latched onto yours like a hook in the gut. Gone was the usual sharpness, replaced by something raw—wide and glassy, like he’d just lost a fight with his own thoughts. His hair was a darker mess than earlier, like he’d run his hands through it in frustrated loops. His face looked shadowed, haunted. Sleep hadn’t touched him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heat flashing beneath your skin. The thin sheet pooled at your hips, clinging to the sweat and fever coating your bare legs.

He just stood there.

“I tried the couch,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. Like it hurt to speak.

You swallowed. Hard. “M-My clothes are probably dry now, I’ll go—”

“No.” His voice cracked with something too sharp to be gentle. He gripped the frame of the door with both hands, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d do something reckless. “Stay. It’s not that.”

His eyes followed your leg sliding beneath the sheets, and your breath stilled.

“What is it then?” you asked, trying not to let your voice tremble.

Jungkook hesitated—then his jaw clenched, breath flaring through his nose. “I kept hearing you… couldn’t sleep.”

You licked your lips, nodding faintly. “I think I’m breaking down in a fever.”

That was all it took.

He stepped inside, slow like he was wading through quicksand. As if afraid you might flinch. His knees met the edge of the bed and he hovered there, wavering fingers finally lifting to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the slope of your neck. His touch was gentle, hesitant. Like he was afraid to confirm what he already knew—but hungrier for the permission to touch you than he should’ve been.

You didn’t look away.

Your eyes stayed locked on his while his palm lingered against your pulse. And there was heat there, not just from the fever. Your thighs shifted under the sheets, friction teasing your skin in all the wrong—and right—places.

“So?” you asked, breathless.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. His hand was still on your neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. His lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Let me… uh, let me check on the stitches.”

He pulled his hand away too slowly, reluctantly, and the air felt colder where he’d been. You nodded faintly, heart hammering, remembering suddenly—damn. You were still only wearing his shirt.

You swallowed again and tugged the covers higher over your hips before raising the hem of his shirt. You stopped right under your breasts, baring the stitched flesh to his eyes.

His breath caught audibly.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached out, and when his fingers found the edge of your wound, they were soft. Reverent. He traced the perimeter of the bruising like he was learning it by touch.

Your eyes fluttered. You hadn’t expected that kind of delicacy from him. But it was undoing you in pieces.

Then his fingers drifted lower. Barely an inch, grazing your skin like they had no business being there—but made themselves welcome anyway. Your stomach coiled, every inch of you taut with anticipation. And when he reached your lower belly, your breath hitched and a moan slipped out.

He froze.

“I—” he whispered, mentioning to pull back his fingers. “I should stop.”

You were faster.

Your hand shot out, seizing his wrist, eyes blazing. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

His breathing turned frantic, eyes wide and searching your face like it was a war he didn’t want to win.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” his voice trembled but made no move to get out of your hold. “You have a fever and—”

“And I’d say the same if I hadn’t one,” you interrupted, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt until his lips hovered over yours.

Jesus, you had to be fucking delirious. 

You struggled to pin his gaze, feeling the burning of your wound from holding your abs tight from the position you were in. But you weren’t stopping this. 

He growled low, like something deep in him finally snapped—and crashed his mouth onto yours.

Your fingers threaded through his hair instantly, tugging with just the right amount of pressure. He moaned into the kiss, biting your lower lip, devouring you with an intensity that blurred every line you’d drawn.

Clothes started melting away, yours first. Jungkook’s mouth only left yours to slide his t-shirt over your head. Then his hands ran all over your naked back as he trailed a path from your neck to the sweet spot beneath your ear, lowering you back down. 

His tongue lashed and you could feel his body was heat and tension and want as you pulled him closer to you. “You’re mine.” he whispered.

God, you needed his clothes gone. 

You tipped your head back into the pillow, a whimper falling out of your mouth as you savored the warmth of his mouth back on your throat. The faint sting of his hand brushing against your ribs completely subsided by the knee he had between your legs, occasionally brushing against your core through the sheets. 

“For tonight,” you teased with a grin. 

Jungkook fisted your hair and covered your mouth ardently, and you moaned feeling his damn tongue all the way down between your legs where you needed him most. Your toes curled in pleasure. 

You didn’t know if it was the burning fever taking control over your body or your own unbridled desire, but you needed him closer, needed to feel his skin on yours. 

You started clawing his black t-shirt impatiently and he chuckled against your mouth, bringing his hand to the collar of it, pulling it out for you. 

His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down to his thighs. 

When you mentioned doing the same with his boxer briefs, mind dizzy as you felt him hard beneath it, he gripped your wrist, halting your movement. 

“God, you’re killing me,” he lifted himself inches off your face, staring deeply, voice wrecked with need. “We can’t—”

“I told you. This is not my first rodeo,” you said against his mouth. “And I don’t want to think about all of this. Just finish what you started.” 

Jungkook growled and his hand came down on your collarbone, pushing you. You fell back down onto the pillow, gasping as your hair fanned around you. He got up, baring his teeth, yanking his sweatpants and briefs all the way down. 

Your heart started thumping in your ears, heat firing your chest, neck, cheeks, as your eyes drifted up his body. Your own burning for him. 

Fuck. Perfect golden skin. Tight stomach, narrow waist. Toned arms, one of them inked to the knuckles—a devil in the night ready to pounce. 

Killing smile. 

Gentle, so fucking gentle with you tonight. 

Jesus, you really were fucking delirious. 

You clenched your thighs, but he kept pinning you down with his eyes, clearly unhappy about you being injured as well as you not wanting to think about the repercussions of what was going on between the both of you. Which you found adorable because his eyes kept darting to your breasts and then to your thighs as you peeled the sheets from them and watched him struggle to breathe. 

Jungkook was as untamed as you were, and he couldn’t stop the storm coming any more than you could. 

Suddenly, all of him was stretched above you, fitted against your body like sin. He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper left your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. 

“Mmm,” you fisted his hair back again, relishing on the softness of his raven locks.

His hips dipped again, rolling against you, and you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You have—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Ah—please tell me you have something.” 

He looked up to your eyes, smiling. “Yeah.”

You bit his lower lip, dragging your teeth as he gasped and squeezed your under-thigh. You locked one ankle on his lower back, pushing him into you. 

“Ah, fuck,” he moaned.

His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his neck once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows were etched in anger as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. His eyes never leaving your body as he tossed it and fisted his cock. 

Instinctively your hand came down to rub your clit and he groaned. 

He looked like a god staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on. Your head swarmed with the vision, your fingers working faster, tummy coiling expectantly. 

“You’re so fucking hot it hurts,” he breathed hard, coming down on you again. Your eyes locked as he reached between you to guide himself. 

Your hands snaked around his neck, one tugging at the hair on his nape as he crowned your entrance, pushing inside just barely. You couldn’t help but clench. “JK…” and he groaned in response. 

“You’ll be crawling back to me,” he whispered, pressing himself deeper and deeper. 

You moaned, relishing how he stretched you.

“You can run away as much as you like,” he kept going, grunting as his inked knuckles wrapped around your neck. “Throw a tantrum for all I care…”

He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely, that a single cry torn straight from your throat. 

“But after tonight, you’ll be crawling back to me,” Jungkook growled. “Again and again—You’ll be fucking mine.” 

His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder.

“Oh, fuck,” your back arched off the bed. 

Your breathing became labored as he propped himself with his other hand, staring you down as he plunged into you over and over. He gave a little squeeze on your neck, and you clenched around his cock, making him moan, dipping his head back for a moment. 

Jeon Jungkook felt so good. 

God, he felt amazing on top of you. 

You clawed your way from his pecs, down to his abs, and you felt it tighten under your touch. His pace turning unruly, wild.  

You spread your legs wide, as wide as they would go, dazed with fever and how good it felt the deeper he went. “Nhg, you feel so fucking good—fuck,” he gasped. 

“I need–” you held onto him and he sucked the air groaning, “Harder, JK.” he rolled his hips into you on command. 

God, you were spiriling. 

Your hands snaked around his waist, and you digged your nails into his ass, helping him roll into you harder, as you met him halfway. 

Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe. You couldn’t give a damn if the stitches would tear, the lush pressure of him on top of you, inside of you, kept your mind reeling. 

You’ll be fucking mine, he had said. 

You already were. 

“Jungkook, I–” you gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. “Jungkook–”

“What, Jungkook, what?” he teased. 

But your mouth came to the curve of his neck and collarbone instead, biting and moaning as he kept ramming your spot over and over. 

Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him. You cried out as you found your release, the world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. 

Holy shit. 

Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of your wound, shifting gently to the side. 

You were both a tangled and panting mess. You closed your eyes, enjoying his heavy breathing on your mouth. 

You felt his hand snaking to your hair again, turning your head to the side. He pecked on your mouth slowly until you opened for him, not helping the whimper as your tongues collided again. 

“Jungkook, what?” he asked again lazily, his eyes barely opening, hazy with pleasure. “What was it that you were going to say before?”

A laugh rumbled on your chest, low. You nuzzled your nose on his and although you were unable to remember what the hell you were about to say, you decided to do what you did best—tease him. 

“Oh, nothing… I was just going to say that, uhm, I hate you.” you kept your eyes closed, waiting for his reaction. 

When he didn’t utter a single word, you opened one of them to see his eyebrows were angry and he tilted his head in that way you fucking loved to tease him about it. 

“You do know I’m literally still inside you—?” 

You snorted, rolling to the side and claiming his mouth once more. 

God, you were fucked. 

-—ᯓ✶ part two !

© ACHERONSOCIETY / 2025, all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

[pinkbowsxo]

Hiiiiiiiiiii hi hi!! I gotta say I really really like REALLY love your stories. I come here every night and re-read shit for HOURS and HOURSS like isw im not even joking, anywaysssss, I would like (obviously if ur down for it) if you could write one where Thanos and Y/N are roommates. I don't really have a whole concept idea for this but I just would like one where they're living tg and ofc it's NSFW 😝 but yeahhhh. The rest can be wtv u want, I hope I make sense lol, idk how to do ts🥲

Thanks tho!!

It Was Never Just Roommates

Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

Masterlist

summary: you thought you were moving in with a girl. instead, you got thanos: cocky, chaotic, and nothing like you expected. he was supposed to be just a roommate. but late nights, shared spaces, and one unexpected kiss change everything.

warnings: alcohol, smoking, implied drugging attempt, sexual content, swearing

comments: minors do not interact

a/n: hiiii! thank you so so so much, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear this and how glad i am that you’re enjoying my stories, i’m so grateful for this request because i love so much how it turned out and i hope you like it as much, have so much fun reading<3

You had finally been accepted into the university of your dreams. With that acceptance came a big change: moving out. For the first time, you’d be living on your own. Well, not entirely alone, but still, it was your own place. A small apartment just a short walk from campus, shared with a roommate you hadn’t met yet. The ad said female roommate preferred, so you assumed your new roommate would be a girl. You were curious, a little nervous maybe, but mostly excited to meet her.

You arrived early in the day, arms full of boxes and bags, your heart beating with that mix of anticipation and unfamiliar freedom. The apartment was modest but cozy, with pale walls and sun streaming in through the living room window. You didn’t claim a room just yet. It felt more respectful to wait, to make that decision together. For now, you dropped your stuff in the corner and wandered through the space, unpacking here and there, getting used to the feeling of calling it home.

Eventually, you ended up in the bathroom, rinsing your face, freshening up after the move. That’s when you heard it. A door. The front door. It creaked open, followed by the soft thud of footsteps. Your heart skipped. She’s here. You turned off the tap, quickly dried your hands, and stepped into the hallway with a smile forming only to stop short. Standing there, looking just as surprised as you, was not a she at all. It was a he. Tall, suitcase still in hand, hair tousled like he’d just gotten out of a cab. He blinked at you. You blinked back.

He was tall, muscular but not overly so. His build was the kind that said he worked out but didn’t live for it. His hair was purple, surprisingly natural-looking despite the color and slightly messy, like he’d just run his fingers through it moments before stepping inside. His eyes were a deep brown, nearly black, and the way they looked at you made you feel like he already knew something you didn’t. They lingered on you as you stood frozen in the hallway, towel still clutched in your hand from freshening up. He didn’t say anything at first, just observed you with a relaxed air before finally setting his suitcase down with a loud thud that broke the silence. “Well shit, they really did put a girl in here with me huh?” His voice was deep and slightly amused, like this wasn’t at all what he expected, but it wasn’t exactly a bad surprise either.

You blinked and cleared your throat. “Are you my new roommate?” The words came out softer than you meant them to. He took a step closer, a smirk slowly forming on his lips. “Fuck, yeah I am. Although I’ll admit, I was expecting someone… else.” His gaze flicked down and up again, brief but intentional. “No offense, but you don’t look like the kinda girl who’d live with a guy.” You crossed your arms, caught somewhere between defensive and confused. “Because I was expecting a girl… the ad said it would be a girl.” He chuckled, fingers running through his hair again, messing it up even more. “Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?” He brushed past you like the conversation was already over, casually dropping his suitcase in the hallway as he walked toward the living room. “I’m Thanos, by the way. You got a name?”

You ignored his question entirely, still hung up on what he’d just said. “Thanos? That’s your name? Isn’t that from Marvel or something?” He laughed as he leaned against the kitchen counter, clearly not taking any of this too seriously. “Yeah, yeah it is. Just a nickname tho.” He looked you up and down again, slower this time, and his smirk widened. “So, you got a name or are we just gonna stand here staring at each other all day?” You hesitated, unsure if you even wanted to play into whatever this was. “What’s your real name?” He pushed off the counter and walked toward you, slowly and deliberately. “Does it matter? I mean, I’ll answer if you really want me to, but I kinda like the mystery of it all.” He stopped right in front of you, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. You stepped back before you even realized it, and he laughed softly, clearly entertained. “Damn, you’re shy.” His eyes flicked down your body, lingering for half a second before returning to your face. “You still haven’t told me your name.” You gave it, quietly. His grin stretched wider as he repeated it under his breath. “Well, fuck me… I like it.”

You changed the subject quickly. “Well Thanos… what room do you want?” He glanced over at the two bedroom doors. “Hm? You serious?” When you nodded, he looked genuinely curious. “You gonna let me choose first?” You shrugged. “It’s nice to ask.” He huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair again. “Shit, a girl with manners. I’m not used to this…” He moved toward the rooms and opened the first door. It was a decent size, basic, nothing impressive. He checked the second. Bigger. More light. Larger bed. He turned to you with a playful look. “I’ll take this one.” “Okay…” you said, already starting to carry your things into the smaller bedroom. As you unpacked, you noticed him leaning against the doorway, watching you with a glint in his eyes. “You know, I feel kinda bad taking the bigger room…” He paused, stepping inside. “Maybe we should share.”

“What?” you asked, blinking at him, clearly not getting the joke. He laughed, full and unfiltered this time. “Fuck, I’m just messing with you…” He backed up to the doorway again, leaning against the frame. “The bigger room’s all mine, princess. Though, if you get cold at night…” He let the words trail off, clearly enjoying the thought. He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he turned, walked into his room, and shut the door behind him. A moment later he flopped onto the bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a stupid grin on his face. This was going to be fun.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

You had been unpacking for hours, sorting through everything you’d brought for university. Textbooks were stacked on your desk, your closet was half-organized, and random little things still lay scattered across your bed. You walked into the living room to grab another box, but stopped when you saw him. Thanos stood near the mirror, adjusting his tie with a level of comfort and confidence that made you pause. He looked nothing like the messy, teasing guy you’d met earlier. He looked sharp, clean, and like he belonged somewhere much louder and more exciting than the apartment you were standing in. You blinked at him, confused for a second, and he caught your expression. His lips curved into a small smirk as he chuckled. “You alright there, roomie?” he asked as he turned to face you fully. “I’ve got a party to get to. You wanna come?”

“Uh, no thanks,” you said quickly, instinctively folding your arms. He raised a brow, clearly amused, and gave you a once-over that made your cheeks warm. “No? You sure?” he asked, stepping closer. His eyes lingered for a moment before snapping back to yours. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” You hesitated, shifting your weight. “What kind of a party?” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Just a little get-together with some friends. Drinks, music, dancing…” His smirk deepened. “Maybe a few games too.” He watched your face for a reaction, clearly enjoying how unsure you looked. “You really wanna stay home unpacking boxes?” You gave a small smile, shaking your head. “I’m just getting ready for university Monday. Parties aren’t really my thing.” He nodded with something like understanding, though it didn’t erase the hint of disappointment in his eyes. “Fair enough. You need to focus on school.” Then he stepped in even closer, his voice dropping slightly. “But if you change your mind… or if things get boring here alone…” He grabbed a scrap of paper from the counter and scribbled something down. “It’s at my friend’s place.” He handed it to you with a grin before heading out the door and disappearing into the night.

You stood in the quiet for a while after he left. You went back to unpacking, tried to stay focused, but your thoughts wouldn’t settle. He looked so confident, so at ease in that mirror. You didn’t want him to think you were just some quiet, nerdy girl who never left the apartment. After a few more minutes of pacing and overthinking, you gave in. You changed clothes, nothing flashy, just something a little cuter than before. You touched up your hair, grabbed the paper, and headed out. The house was loud before you even reached the door. Music pulsed through the walls, and laughter spilled out onto the porch. When you stepped inside, it was like walking into another world. People were everywhere, dancing, drinking, making out in corners. You barely had time to take it all in before your eyes found him. Thanos was in the corner, lips locked with a pretty blonde, hands gripping her waist. A group nearby was cheering them on like it was a show. He didn’t notice you at all.

“Hey beautiful,” came a voice from beside you. You turned and were met with a smile and a red plastic cup. The guy holding it was tall, muscled, wearing a fitted shirt that clung to his chest. His eyes dragged slowly over your body. “You new here?” You nodded, already regretting coming. “I’m uh-yeah.” He smiled wider. “I’m Ji-ho,” he said, stepping closer. “You here with someone?” His gaze flicked to Thanos and back to you. “Or you looking for someone to keep you company?” The question hung in the air. “I’m alone-” you started to say, but he cut you off smoothly. “Well, alone is boring.” His hand slid onto your hip as he leaned in. “How about we fix that? What’s your name, gorgeous?” You told him, unsure what else to do. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his hand gliding up to your waist. “I think I’ll keep you close tonight.” He took a sip from his drink and then held another cup out to you. “Want some? Vodka and cranberry. Strong stuff.”

You accepted, unsure why. Maybe to ease the tension. Maybe to distract yourself. You took a sip, the alcohol stinging at first, then settling into warmth. Ji-ho kept talking, laughing at his own jokes, brushing against you more than necessary. His lips grazed your neck once, then again. The buzz from the drink blurred your edges a little, loosening your nerves just enough to stop thinking. Then, suddenly, his posture shifted. His eyes darted past you. “Well look who decided to join the fun,” he muttered. You turned to see Thanos making his way toward you. The blonde girl was nowhere in sight. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes a surprise, maybe, or something closer to concern. “You actually came,” he said, stopping in front of you.

Ji-ho looked between the two of you, clearly surprised. “You two know each other?” he asked, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “Thanos, when did you meet this girl? She’s fucking gorgeous.” Thanos smirked faintly, but his eyes never left yours. “Yeah, we know each other,” he said, not offering any more explanation. “Mind if I borrow her for a sec?” He looked directly at Ji-ho but still didn’t acknowledge you. “Got something to talk about.” “Yeah?” you asked, brows drawing together. Thanos didn’t answer. He just reached for your arm and gently pulled you away. His grip was firm but careful as he led you through the crowd and into a hallway away from the music and noise. Only when the sound faded did he stop and turn to face you.

You were about to ask again when he spoke first, his tone more serious than you’d ever heard it. “Listen,” he said, voice low. “I’m serious. Don’t take drinks from him. Don’t get alone with him.” Your stomach dropped. “What? Why? I just took a sip from his drink…” Thanos stepped closer, and suddenly the teasing look was gone. “Because that drink is probably spiked. Ji-ho has a reputation, okay? He slips roofies into girls’ drinks.” Your eyes widened. “What?” “Exactly. That’s why I came after you. You already drank some…” His voice softened, his presence shifting from warning to protection. “How do you feel? Dizzy? Uncoordinated? Those are early signs.” His hand gently steadied your arm, searching your face with real concern. “I feel okay… just scared now. Can you take me back, please?” He nodded right away. “Yeah. I’ll take you back. Just lean on me.” He slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you carefully through the party. As you passed Ji-ho, Thanos made sure to lock eyes with him. Ji-ho was already laughing with another girl, grinning like nothing had happened.

The car ride back was quiet. Thanos didn’t push you to talk, and you were grateful. When you reached the apartment, he helped you out gently, lifting you effortlessly when your balance wavered. He carried you inside, straight to your room, and sat you on the edge of your bed. He removed your shoes without saying a word, then pulled the blanket over you. The room was still and dim. He sat beside you, brushing your hair back slowly, checking your expression like he wasn’t sure if you were really okay yet. His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek. “Sleep,” he whispered. And for the first time that night, you let yourself breathe.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The sun filtered through the curtains, warm and soft, casting pale gold across the floorboards. You blinked your eyes open slowly, the blanket still pulled high around your body. It took a moment to remember where you were, what had happened, and how you’d gotten back. The haze of last night clung to your thoughts, but the feeling of his arms supporting you down the hallway remained clear. You shifted upright, your head only slightly foggy, and glanced toward the doorway. The apartment was quiet, the distant sound of movement in the kitchen the only sign that someone else was awake.

You padded out carefully, your feet bare against the cool floor, and paused in the hallway. Thanos stood in the kitchen, shirtless, wearing only a loose pair of dark sweatpants. His purple hair was a tangled mess from sleep, pushed back lazily with one hand while the other gripped a mug. Steam rose gently from the coffee in his grasp. The window beside him was cracked open just enough to let in the morning breeze, which stirred the edge of the curtain. He didn’t look at you right away. He just sipped his drink, the light catching on the curve of his shoulder and the edge of a tattoo that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

You cleared your throat softly. “Morning.” He turned then, slow and casual, one brow slightly raised, like he wasn’t surprised you were awake but hadn’t really expected a conversation either. “You’re up,” he said simply, his voice low and a little rough from sleep. He gestured vaguely toward the coffee pot. “There’s more if you want some.” You walked in quietly, your fingers brushing the countertop as you moved, as if to make sure you were really awake and this wasn’t all still a dream. “Thanks,” you said, then paused, turning to look at him. “For last night. For bringing me home. For… looking out for me.”

Thanos leaned against the counter, the corner of his mouth pulling up in something like a smirk, but softer. “You make it sound like I did something heroic,” he said, exhaling slowly as he picked at the edge of the cigarette carton near the window. “You were about to get in trouble. I couldn’t just watch that happen.” He didn’t say it like it was a big deal, but the way he glanced at you when he thought you weren’t looking made you feel otherwise. “Still,” you said, cradling the warm mug between your hands, “You didn’t have to. I mean, we barely know each other.”

His eyes lingered on you then, slower, more thoughtful. “Maybe,” he murmured, “But I know enough.” You opened your mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, there was a silence, not uncomfortable, just full. Full of something neither of you could name yet. He looked away first, tipping the mug to his lips again. “Anyway,” he said after a moment, “You’re not that hard to carry. I’ve had worse.” You let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something more vulnerable. He gave you a sideways glance. “You feeling okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… still a little shaken.” He didn’t tease you for it. He just nodded slowly and handed you the creamer without you even asking. The way he moved around the kitchen was relaxed, like this had always been your routine. Like mornings like this had happened before, and maybe they would again. You didn’t say anything more. You just drank your coffee and let the silence hold the weight of your thank you, knowing he’d already heard it.

The rest of that morning passed quietly. After thanking Thanos, you finished your coffee in near silence. He lounged on the couch with his phone, headphones in, half-listening to some low beat that leaked softly into the still air. You didn’t say much to each other after that. Maybe it was the awkwardness from the night before, or maybe it was just who he was distant, closed off once the moment had passed. Either way, you spent most of the day finishing your room, organizing your things, preparing your outfit for the next morning, and checking your class schedule a dozen times. The apartment stayed quiet, save for Thanos walking around once in a while, his voice briefly rising when he answered a call or cursed under his breath in the kitchen.

You didn’t see much of him for the rest of the day. He disappeared sometime in the evening, came back late, and by then you were already tucked in bed with the lights out, pretending not to notice the soft click of the front door or the way his keys dropped too loudly on the counter.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The next morning, you woke with a buzz of nerves under your skin. It was your first official day at university. You dressed carefully, keeping it simple but clean. You wore your favorite perfume, tied your hair back neatly, and checked your backpack twice. Thanos was nowhere in sight. His door was shut, no light coming from underneath, and you figured he was either asleep or not home at all. You didn’t knock.

Campus was warm and alive when you got there. Students poured into the courtyards, laughing, calling out to one another. It was loud and bright and full of motion. Your nerves faded with each step. Your first class went better than you expected. The professor, a woman named Professor Seo, was warm and witty, and the lecture passed quickly. After class, a girl with dyed blue tips and a septum ring struck up a conversation with you while walking out of the building. Her name was Min-ji, and she was in your media studies class.

You liked her almost immediately. She talked fast, made jokes easily, and walked like she had somewhere better to be, but stayed anyway. The two of you ended up at a café near campus, tucked in the back by a window, sipping iced matcha lattes and swapping stories about your weird high school classmates and strict parents. Min-ji told you she grew up in Busan and had only moved to Seoul a year ago. She’d dyed her hair just to irritate her mother before starting college and claimed it was her most successful act of rebellion so far.

The sun had already begun to dip by the time you got home. The apartment was quiet again when you stepped in. You slipped your shoes off and dropped your bag by the door, stretching your arms overhead. The hallway was dim, the lights off, but as you passed his door, you froze. A soft thump echoed behind it, followed by a giggle. A girl’s voice, high and breathy. Then the sound of the bedsprings shifting, the unmistakable rhythm of movement. Another noise, a moan, low and masculine. His voice.

Your stomach turned sharply before your brain caught up. You didn’t know why it bothered you. It wasn’t like you were dating him. It wasn’t like he owed you anything. Still, you stood there a little too long, caught between the hallway and the sound behind the door. You couldn’t move until the next moan reached you, louder this time, followed by a burst of laughter from the girl.

You stepped quickly into your room and shut the door behind you. You didn’t turn on the light. You just sat on your bed, staring at your backpack like it had the answers you didn’t. You reminded yourself again, like a chant. He’s just your roommate. He can do whatever he wants. It doesn’t mean anything. But no matter how many times you whispered it in your head, it didn’t stop the way your chest ached or the heat that crept into your face when the moans continued through the wall.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The first few days of university swept over you quickly. Between early lectures, navigating new buildings, and keeping up with readings, your routine started to form whether you were ready for it or not. You ran into Min-ji again on Tuesday, and by Thursday you were already sharing snacks between classes and complaining about the same professor. University life was busy, but it was also exciting in a way that kept your thoughts mostly occupied during the day. Mostly.

Evenings were different. Evenings were slower, quieter, except for the occasional laughter or muffled thuds coming from the other side of your bedroom wall. You tried not to pay attention to it, tried not to guess what was happening or who was there, but sometimes it was unavoidable. Some nights were quiet. Others… less so. You’d hear the soft creak of his bed or a girl’s laugh trailing down the hallway. You’d roll over in bed, shove your earphones in, and remind yourself again that it didn’t matter. He could do what he wanted. You were just his roommate.

You and Thanos still spoke, but not much. Just small exchanges in the morning when you crossed paths in the kitchen or short conversations when you passed each other in the hall. He was always cool, casual, the same way he was when you first met him. He’d ask if you needed the stove or if he could borrow a lighter. You’d respond with quick, simple answers and slip back into whatever you were doing. He never seemed bothered by the silence. He didn’t push. And for a while, neither did you.

One evening, after a long day of back-to-back classes and a headache that had refused to fade, you decided to cook something warm. The apartment was dim, quiet again, the window above the sink cracked just slightly open to let the breeze in. You hadn’t eaten properly in hours, and the familiar rhythm of chopping vegetables and stirring a pot was oddly calming. The sound of your playlist playing softly from your phone filled the space, and for once, it felt peaceful in the kitchen.

You were setting two bowls on the counter habit, maybe when you noticed him. Thanos was sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, phone in one hand, a joint in the other. His head turned when he caught the scent of garlic and spice wafting through the air. You hesitated, standing there with a spoon in your hand, and finally spoke.

“Hey… I made enough for two. Do you want some?” Your voice came out more uncertain than you wanted it to, too soft maybe, and you immediately regretted asking. He looked up at you for a moment, brows lifting slightly like he hadn’t expected that. Then he grinned and leaned forward, crushing out the joint in the ashtray on the coffee table. “Shit, yeah. Smells good as hell in here,” he said, getting up with an easy stretch. He moved toward the kitchen and glanced at the pot. “What is it?”

“Just something simple. Spicy tofu stew. It’s not fancy or anything,” you said quickly, already reaching for the ladle to serve him. He watched you for a second, then leaned against the counter beside you. “Simple’s good. Better than ramen three nights in a row.” You handed him a bowl, your fingers brushing his for a second. He didn’t say anything about it, just took the food and moved to the table. You followed, bowl in hand, and sat across from him. For a while, you both just ate in silence. You weren’t sure what to say or how to break the quiet without sounding awkward. You focused on your food, kept your eyes on the bowl, only sneaking glances up at him every now and then. “This is good,” he said after a few bites, nodding as he chewed. “Like, really good.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, keeping your gaze down. He glanced up at you, catching your discomfort almost instantly. “You always this quiet or am I just intimidating?”

You blinked, caught off guard, and fumbled your chopsticks a little. “No, I just… I guess I’m not used to this.” He tilted his head slightly. “Used to what? Eating dinner with someone or having a super-hot roommate?” Your eyes widened slightly, and he let out a soft laugh, clearly teasing, clearly enjoying himself. You shook your head, trying not to smile, even though part of you wanted to. “Both, maybe.”

“Well,” he said, settling back in his chair, “I think we should do this more often. You feed me, I keep being charming. It’s a good deal.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you just kept eating, cheeks warm. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t bad either. It was the first time the apartment felt a little more like a shared space and a little less like two strangers living side by side.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

It was late, the kind of late where the silence in the apartment felt thick and lazy, and even the traffic outside seemed to have dulled into a hum. You were curled up on the couch in one of Thanos’s oversized hoodies you had borrowed without asking, the sleeves falling way past your hands. A quiet show was playing on the television, something light and forgettable, more for background than anything else. A half-empty mug sat beside you on the coffee table, the tea gone cold an hour ago, and your feet were tucked under a blanket that had slipped halfway off. You weren’t sure if you were really watching anymore or just staring in the direction of the screen, letting the flickering light lull your thoughts.

The front door clicked open and you heard it swing shut with a soft thud. You didn’t have to look up to know it was him. His footsteps were familiar now, heavy but unhurried, and you could hear the faint rustle of a jacket being tossed somewhere. Thanos stepped into view a moment later, and when you did glance at him, you noticed his eyes immediately red-rimmed, sleepy-looking, a little glassy. He had that dazed expression you were starting to recognize, lips slightly parted, his hair pushed back lazily like he’d run his hands through it too many times. There was a slight sway in the way he stood, not sloppy, just loose, like gravity didn’t weigh the same on him anymore.

You blinked at him, then shifted slightly, making room on the couch. “Wanna join me?” you asked softly, hoping your voice didn’t sound as awkward as it felt coming out. He tilted his head a little, eyebrows raised as if surprised you’d offered. Then, slowly, he smirked. He didn’t say anything right away, just sauntered over and dropped himself down beside you, a little too close, his thigh brushing against yours as the couch sank beneath his weight. He leaned back and let out a slow breath, eyes on the TV screen even though he clearly wasn’t paying attention.

“What’re we watching?” he murmured after a moment, his voice low and rough, tinged with the kind of sleepy drawl that made you forget what you were watching in the first place. You glanced at the screen, then back at him. “Nothing important. I just didn’t feel like going to bed yet.” He turned his head to look at you then, and there was something in his gaze that made your breath pause, half amusement, half challenge. “You feeling lonely, princess?” he asked, his voice a little too casual to be innocent. “Or just hoping I’d come home and entertain you?”

Your face heated instantly, and you looked away, flustered. “I was just watching TV,” you muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as if it could shield you from his teasing. He chuckled, slow and thick like smoke curling in the air. “You’re cute when you get all shy like that,” he said, his eyes still on you. “All curled up in my hoodie, inviting me over like you’re not low-key dying for my attention.” You swallowed hard, unsure whether to laugh it off or tell him to stop. But you didn’t do either. Instead, you turned back toward the screen, heart thudding quietly as his arm brushed yours again, deliberate or not. He leaned in just slightly, enough that you could smell the weed still clinging to his clothes and the faint trace of whatever cologne he’d worn earlier. His fingers reached out, grabbed the remote without asking, and began flipping through the channels with an air of authority, as if the night now belonged to him.

You didn’t say anything. You just let him, your hands tucked under the blanket, your heart trying to decide if this was what tension felt like or if it was something far more dangerous.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The days stretched on, sliding one into the next with a quiet rhythm you didn’t entirely hate. University kept you busy enough. Classes were long, assignments already piling up, and the campus buzzed with energy that made it easy to get lost in. You were starting to form your own little corner of life conversations with classmates after lectures, casual invites to cafés and study groups, and a growing sense that this new chapter could belong to you if you let it. But every day, no matter how packed it was with notes and names and new faces, ended in the same place. Back in the apartment. Back to him.

Thanos had a way of being everywhere and nowhere at once. He was unpredictable but constant, a flicker of purple hair vanishing into his room just as you came out of yours, or suddenly showing up in the kitchen shirtless and sleepy-eyed in the middle of the afternoon. And then there were the nights. They started out quiet, and then the laughter came, sometimes low murmurs or soft giggles behind his closed door, other times louder, unmistakable sounds of bodies and breath and skin. You told yourself you didn’t care. You were roommates, nothing more. You barely knew him. But it chipped at you slowly, like water dripping in the same spot until it carved something permanent. You started comparing yourself to the voices you didn’t recognize. Wondering what he saw in them. Wondering what he thought when he looked at you. You hated the thoughts, but they came anyway.

That morning was like any other. You’d gotten up early, groggy and dragging your feet to the bathroom with a towel in hand and your clothes slung over your arm. The apartment was quiet. You assumed he was still asleep as he’d had someone over again the night before. You turned on the water and stepped under the stream, letting it run over your skin, trying to shake off the weight of your thoughts. Your eyes were closed, your fingers in your hair, when you heard it. The door creaked, followed by a sharp pause. You opened your eyes, confused, and through the steamed glass you saw the silhouette of someone frozen in the doorway. “Shit-“ his voice was rushed, startled, “Didn’t know you were in here.”

You gasped and yanked the curtain closer to yourself, water splashing everywhere. “Thanos!” He cursed under his breath again, immediately turning his back but not moving fast enough. “Fuck, I thought you were still sleeping, I- Sorry,” he muttered, already halfway out the door. “Didn’t see anything. Well, not really. Just- forget it.” The door clicked shut and you stood there, heart hammering, skin burning hotter than the water. You finished your shower quickly, hands trembling slightly as you wrapped the towel around yourself, trying not to replay the moment. But it stuck to you all day like static cling. At university, you tried to shake it off. You laughed with friends, Jisoo from your literature class, Minji who always brought iced coffee for everyone, but it was like he’d carved a little space in your brain and stayed there. You went to a café after class, the four of you squeezed around a table too small, trading stories and gossip and pretending like nothing in your world was shifting beneath the surface. But the moment you walked through the apartment door that evening, it was like all the noise faded and the silence closed in.

Thanos was on the couch when you came in, shirtless again, hair damp from a recent shower. His eyes flicked to you, briefly, and then back to the screen. You hesitated for a moment, your bag slipping from your shoulder, and when he spoke it caught you off guard. “You’re quiet tonight,” he said, voice softer than usual. You shrugged, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water you didn’t even really want. “Just tired,” you mumbled, not sure if you wanted to talk. But you lingered in the kitchen, unsure why your feet wouldn’t carry you to your room.

He turned off the TV and leaned back on the couch, arms stretched out along the cushions, watching you. “Come sit,” he said simply. Not a question. Not a suggestion. Just a statement like he already knew you would. You did. Slowly. You sat on the far end of the couch, putting the water bottle on the table in front of you. Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence charged with something you didn’t know how to name. Then he looked over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Still mad I walked in on you?”

Your face flushed, your eyes darting away. “I’m not mad,” you said too quickly. “It was just- awkward.” He nodded slowly, his voice dipping lower. “Yeah. It was awkward.” Then he paused. “You looked good though.” You turned to him, wide-eyed. “Thanos.”

“What?” he said with a lazy smile. “I said you looked good. I mean it. You’re cute when you’re flustered. Always hiding in your sweaters like you don’t know how pretty you are.” Your heart jumped, your breath caught somewhere in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. His words weren’t loud or dramatic, but they felt louder than anything else in the room. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees now, watching you like he was trying to decide something. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Then he reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate. “You know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the night I carried you to bed.”

You blinked, but before you could speak, his hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face gently toward his. His thumb brushed your cheek, the same way it had that night, and then, without another word, he kissed you. Soft at first, slow and unhurried, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. You didn’t. You leaned into it, your hands curling into the front of his shirt. His lips pressed firmer, more sure now, like he’d been holding back for days. Your thoughts disappeared, melted into warmth and the feel of his mouth on yours. The kiss deepened, and with it came a rush of everything you’d been trying not to feel. When you finally pulled back, breathless, your eyes met his. There was something different in his expression now. Softer. Unspoken. Like maybe you weren’t the only one who had been feeling it all along.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

You went to bed that night with your heart still racing. His kiss had stayed with you long after the moment ended, echoing in the quiet of your room, in the weight of the sheets pulled over your body, in the memory of the way his thumb had brushed your cheek like he didn’t want to let go. You stared at the ceiling for hours, replaying it, overthinking it. What did it mean? Was it just one of his impulsive moments, something careless he’d forget by the morning? Or had it meant something real, something deeper than he was ready to say? You didn’t know. But it made sleep impossible. And when you did finally drift off, it was with your lips still tingling and your thoughts still tangled with his.

The next morning, he was different. Quiet. Not cold exactly, but distant in a way that curled under your skin like a splinter. He didn’t make eye contact when he passed you in the hallway. He didn’t say anything when you both stood in the kitchen at the same time, reaching for mugs and cereal. You offered a small, uncertain smile, but he didn’t return it. Just poured his coffee and left the room like nothing had happened. Like the night before hadn’t even existed. It stung more than you expected. You tried not to let it show. You distracted yourself with your morning routine, heading off to campus early and telling yourself it was fine. Maybe he was just hungover from something. Maybe he was tired. Maybe you’d imagined it all to be more than it really was.

But the ache didn’t go away. That evening, you heard him on the phone in the hallway, laughing with someone. He left not long after, dressed in that careless, sexy way he always did when he was going out. A hoodie slung over his shoulder, cologne lingering faintly in the air even after the door clicked shut behind him. You stayed in. Studied. Watched something forgettable on TV with the volume low. Tried not to wonder where he was or who he was with. You didn’t hear him come back that night. You fell asleep to silence, or maybe you just couldn’t hear the noise over your thoughts.

The next morning, you waited. You heard him in the kitchen, heard the fridge open, the sound of a spoon clinking against ceramic. You stood in the hallway with your hand lightly resting against your bedroom door, trying to decide if you should walk out. What you would say. Whether you even had the right to ask anything of him. It was just a kiss. It wasn’t a confession. But something about the way he had disappeared afterward, the way he avoided you, made it feel heavier than that. You didn’t want to be dramatic. You didn’t want to be the girl who couldn’t handle something simple. But you also didn’t want to pretend nothing had shifted inside you. You inhaled slowly and stepped out of your room, your heart a thudding pulse in your ears as you walked into the kitchen.

He was sitting at the table, one hand cradling a bowl of cereal, the other scrolling absently through his phone. His purple hair was messy like he hadn’t even bothered to run his fingers through it, and there were shadows under his eyes like maybe he hadn’t slept at all. You stood there for a second too long before you said anything. “Hey,” you finally murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. He looked up. His eyes met yours, unreadable. “Hey,” he echoed, flatly. Then he went back to his cereal. You shifted your weight. “Can we talk?” You weren’t sure if it was the right question, or the wrong one, or too much all at once. But you asked it anyway, because pretending was already hurting more than the truth ever could.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the spoon in his bowl for a second too long before finally pushing it aside with a soft clink. The cereal was half-eaten, the milk untouched. He leaned back in the chair, stretching out his legs, then looked up at you again, this time more fully, more clearly, like he was trying to decide what you were really asking. The silence sat between you like a question neither of you knew how to word properly. His eyes scanned your face, slowly, and for a moment he looked tired. Not the usual tired that came from weed or late-night partying. This was different. Softer. He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek, then exhaled like the weight of the moment was finally settling on him. “Yeah,” he said. His voice was low, quieter than usual, but not dismissive. “We can talk.”

You took a few steps closer, your heart jumping with every inch of space you closed. You sat across from him at the table, feeling painfully aware of how small your voice might sound. “About the other night…” you began, unsure how to keep going, unsure how much to say without pushing too far. “You kissed me,” you said softly, almost like it wasn’t obvious, like he might have somehow forgotten. But the way his eyes flicked away at that exact moment told you he hadn’t. He nodded once, slow. “I did.” It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t cocky. Just a fact, resting on the table between you like another dish neither of you knew what to do with. “Did it mean anything to you?” The question came out of you before you could stop it, before you could even think about how vulnerable it sounded. His brows pulled together slightly, like the simplicity of it made it harder to answer.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. And somehow, that hurt more than a yes or no ever could. “I mean, yeah. It meant something.” His fingers tapped against the side of the bowl, restless. “I just… I’m not good at this shit. At being serious. At whatever that was. You’re not like the other girls I’m with. That kiss didn’t feel like something I could just laugh off the next morning.” He paused. “So I didn’t know what to do with that. I figured if I kept my distance, maybe it’d go away.” You didn’t speak. You didn’t know if you could. His honesty hit something soft inside you, something that had already been bending toward him without you realizing. “But it didn’t,” he added, quieter. “It didn’t go away.”

You looked down at your hands resting on the table. You wanted to say something, anything, but the knot in your throat made it hard. Eventually, you managed a quiet, “Okay.” You glanced back up at him, met his gaze. “So what now?” He looked at you, really looked at you, like he was peeling back every wall you still had left. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice lower than before. “I don’t want to screw this up. You get that, right? You’re different. I know I mess around. I know you’ve seen it. But I’m not gonna do that with you. I don’t want to.” You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the relief, the tension, the overwhelming swirl of feelings that had been coiled in you finally starting to stretch out. “So don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t screw it up.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, small and real. He leaned back in the chair again, his head tilted as he looked at you like he was seeing you in a new way. “You’re kinda scary when you’re honest, you know that?” he said with a small laugh. “But I like it.” His words made your chest ache in the best way. You sat there for a little while longer, not saying anything else, just letting the air between you settle. It wasn’t fixed. It wasn’t figured out. But it was something. And for the first time in days, you didn’t feel like you were alone in it.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The following days passed like soft ripples over the surface of something deeper, something neither of you had dared to name out loud. You didn’t talk about the conversation again, not directly, but things shifted to subtle things. He didn’t bring girls home anymore. At least not in those days. He still partied, still left the apartment late and came back smelling like cigarettes and cheap beer, but he lingered more often now. His presence in the apartment stopped feeling accidental. He’d pass you in the hallway and let his hand brush yours without pulling back. You’d be sitting on the couch with your notes spread out across your lap and feel his eyes on you longer than necessary, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to tease you or tell you something he hadn’t figured out yet. The tension between you built in quiet moments. Shared silences in the kitchen, brushing shoulders in the doorway, the warmth of his arm close to yours when you both sat on the couch watching something neither of you was paying attention to.

It happened again one evening when you were making tea, the apartment already dim with the sunset bleeding in through the windows. You stood at the counter, fingers tracing the ceramic of your mug, when he came up behind you, not close enough to touch, just close enough to feel the heat of him. “You always drink this mint stuff,” he murmured, his voice soft and low behind you. “You know it’s supposed to be calming?” You smiled faintly without turning. “Maybe I need calming,” you said. “You live with me. That checks out.” You finally looked over your shoulder at him, and that was it. Something about the way his eyes held yours, the way his mouth softened, like he was thinking too many things at once. He reached out and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and kissed you, gently this time, without the drunken urgency of the first one. This one was careful, coaxing, like he was waiting for you to pull away but hoping you wouldn’t. And you didn’t. You leaned into it, your hand catching the fabric of his shirt, your lips parting when he deepened it. It was slow and warm, like a question with an obvious answer.

The second kiss came the next day. No reason. No tea. Just you reading on the couch and him walking in like he hadn’t spent the past hour pacing his room trying to find the nerve. He sat down beside you and leaned in, pressing his lips to yours before you could ask why. You kissed him back anyway. This one was heavier, longer. When he pulled back, he didn’t explain, and you didn’t ask. That night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hands had held your face like it mattered. Like you mattered.

It happened for the third time a few nights later. You were curled up on the couch, watching some late-night movie you weren’t really following, legs tucked beneath you in one of his oversized hoodies. He came in smelling faintly of weed, his hair tousled and his eyes slightly red. But he didn’t say anything. He just sat next to you, pulled a blanket over both your legs, and watched in silence. Somewhere during the second act of the movie, your hand found his, resting between you. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away. Just let it happen. Let it stay. When you finally looked at him, his eyes were already on you, unreadable and intense. He leaned in again, this time slower, his mouth brushing against yours like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted. His hand slid to your waist and pulled you closer into his lap without a word. The kiss turned heavier, your breathing changing, your skin suddenly too warm. His hands explored carefully, deliberately, like he was asking permission with every inch he touched. And when you pulled back, slightly breathless, he looked at you with something raw and real in his eyes.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice shaking even though you didn’t mean it to. He stared at you for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. He cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing just under your eye. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said, and you believed him. But you wanted to. Not because you felt pressured, not because it was expected, but because you trusted him. Because the feelings you’d tried to ignore had grown too loud to pretend anymore.

He looks at you with something tender in his eyes, something that makes your heart flutter despite the nervousness bubbling inside you. He leans forward slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. His hand remains on your cheek as he presses another soft kiss against your lips. He takes his time, his lips trailing gentle kisses down your neck, each one sending shivers down your spine. His hands move slowly, carefully unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders. He pauses every few seconds to check in with you, making sure you're still comfortable and willing. Seeing that you're still with him, he continues to undress you, his movements deliberate and gentle. He slides your shirt off completely and lets it fall to the floor before moving on to your bra. His fingers trace the edge of it softly before unhooking it and letting it slip away. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you, his eyes soft and admiring. He leans down to kiss your collarbone, then your chest, each kiss tender and reverent. His hands move to your waistband, slowly unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. He helps you step out of your pants before he starts removing his own clothes. He watches your face the whole time, making sure you're still okay with everything. He pulls off his shirt first, then his pants.

He watches you closely for any sign of discomfort or change of mind. He finds you incredibly beautiful. Your long legs, your small waist, your full breasts. He swallows hard, trying to keep his touch soft and unrushed. He slides your panties down slowly, leaving you completely bare before him. He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers start to tease your entrance. He moves slowly, giving you time to adjust to the sensation. His touch is gentle and careful, his fingers slipping inside you one at a time. He can feel you getting wetter, more responsive to his touch. He curls his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that makes your legs tremble. He kisses you harder, swallowing your moans as he starts to move his fingers in and out of you faster. “You like that?" You nod desperately at him. He smiles against your lips, pleased with your reaction. He adds another finger, stretching you wider, preparing you for something bigger. His thumb finds your clit and starts to circle it, applying pressure that makes your entire body shudder. "So fucking pretty when you're wet like this."

You’ve never felt the sensation of this before. It felt incredibly good and the best of this all is that it’s with him. He can feel you getting closer, your body tensing as he continues to pleasure you. He leans down and captures one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently as he continues to finger you. He wants to make this the best first time for you, wants to show you how much he cares for you. He feels you climax, your walls tightening around his fingers as you come undone. He swallows your cries of pleasure, his own body aching with need. He slowly removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth, licking your juices off them with a satisfied groan. "Delicious." He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, checking if you're still okay with everything. He wants this to be perfect for you. His voice is low and husky. "Are you ready for more?"

“Yeah, I think so.” You answer while nodding. He smiles softly, his hands moving to his own boxers. He’s pushing it down as his cock springs free, hard and ready. He takes it in his hand and strokes it gently, giving you a moment to look at him. You stared at him curiously. He notices your curious gaze and gives you a small smile, knowing this is your first time seeing a man fully aroused. He strokes himself slowly, showing you how he likes it. “You can touch it if you want," he says softly, guiding your hand toward him if needed. You then carefully touch his cock. He makes a small, satisfied groan as your fingers wrap around him, and he guides your hand to show you how to move. His cock jerks in your hand, leaking precum at the tip. “Fuck..." He breathes out, watching your face to make sure you're comfortable. He kisses you deeply again, his hand covering yours to speed up the movements on his cock. He breaks the kiss to whisper, "Lie back..." He wants to be inside you now, wants to make love to you slowly and gently. He kisses you one last time before stepping away briefly to grab a condom from his wallet. He tears the packet open with his teeth and rolls it onto himself slowly, watching you lay there on the couch waiting for him. He positions himself between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance. "I need you to tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he whispers gently, his voice shaking slightly with restraint. He presses the tip inside you carefully, watching your expression closely. He's trying his best to be gentle for your first time. "Breathe for me." You did as he said and breathed slowly. He pushes in a little further, feeling your tightness wrap around him. He pauses, allowing you to adjust to the sensation. He kisses you softly, continuing to push inside you inch by inch until he's fully seated. He stays still, letting you get used to the feeling of being filled.

"Are you okay?" *He asks softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His self-control is hanging by a thread. He's aware this might hurt, but seeing your trusting eyes looking up at him makes him want to be gentle. "Do you want me to move?" You nod at him. “I’m okay, you can move but slowly please.” You said in a bit of a nervous tone. He nods gently, understanding your nervousness. He starts to move slowly, pulling out just an inch before pushing back in gently. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, making sure you're okay with every movement. His voice is soft and reassuring. “Just tell me if it hurts too much." You hold eye contact with him as he moves inside of you. His pace remains slow and steady, careful not to go too deep too fast. The way you trustingly maintain eye contact with him is almost too much. He can feel the urge to go faster building inside him, but he's determined to make this good for you. “You're doing so well,"

“Yeah?” You ask for confirmation. He smiles softly at you, nodding. “Yes, you're taking me really well," He praises, his voice gentle. He leans down to kiss you softly, his hips continuing to move in slow circles. Suddenly, he hits a spot inside you that makes you gasp, breaking the kiss. His smile widens slightly as he sees your reaction. He knows he found your sweet spot. He starts to move a little faster now, hitting that spot repeatedly. Your gasps and soft moans are music to his ears. “Does that feel good?" He asks, his voice husky with desire. “Feels good, yeah.” You answer as you whimper softly. He kisses you again, his tongue sliding against yours as he continues to hit that sensitive spot inside you. He can feel his own pleasure building, but he's focused on making sure you're enjoying this too. He breaks the kiss to whisper, “Can I pick up the pace a bit?" You nod at him as you wanted to feel as much as you could of him. He starts moving faster and deeper, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your growing moans. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently as he thrusts. He maintains a steady rhythm, his hips moving with controlled force now. The way your body responds to his is driving him wild. He alternates between sucking on your breasts and kissing you deeply, wanting to cover every inch of you with his mouth. "You're being so good..." You just give him desperate puppy eyes. His self-control snaps a little at your puppy eyes. He knows those eyes can make him do anything. He grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders, going deeper and hitting that spot harder. Your desperate little moans and whimpers are almost too much.

"Fuck, look at you," He groans, his eyes roaming over your flushed face and bouncing chest. He leans down to kiss you messily, his tongue tangling with yours. Suddenly, he hits your sweet spot particularly hard, and you let out a loud, high-pitched whimper. A dark, seductive chuckle escapes him at that whimper, and he hits that spot again, just as forcefully. “So fucking beautiful when you make those noises," He whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Are you close, sweet thing? Hmm?"

“Almost, yeah.” You cry out. He increases his pace dramatically, pounding into you with urgent thrusts. One hand reaches between your bodies to rub firm circles over your clit. “Come for me then. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock." His dirty words combined with the intense stimulation push you over the edge. Your body convulses around him, your inner walls clenching tightly as you come undone. He groans deeply, feeling your orgasm milking him. He continues to thrust through your climax, drawing out every last wave of pleasure from your body. Your moans are loud and uninhibited now. Seeing you lose control like this is his breaking point. With a final deep thrust, he buries himself inside you as deep as he can go and holds still, his own release hitting him like a wave crashing onto rocks. He groans loudly against your neck as he fills up the condom with his hot release.

He stays inside you for a long moment, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he kisses your neck and shoulders. When he finally pulls out, a bit of of your release spills out, dripping onto the couch. “Fucking hell," He mutters, wiping sweat from his forehead. You lay there on the couch while he goes to the bathroom to clean himself up and throw away the condom. He grabs a few towels for you and then comes to the couch as he helps to clean you up. He carefully cleans between your legs with a wet towel, his touch gentle now. He spreads your thighs to make sure he's getting all the evidence of your mind-blowing sex. He throws the dirty towels away and pulls you onto his lap, your back against his chest.

He held you there, warm and quiet, your bare skin pressed to his chest as his arms folded loosely around your waist. His fingers rested just beneath your ribs, unmoving, as if the rise and fall of your breath was all he needed to feel in that moment. The air in the room was still, thick with the scent of skin and sweat and something more tender that neither of you dared to speak aloud just yet. You let your head lean back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as his chin gently rested on the crown of your head. The silence wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t filled with questions or worry or doubt. It was just full. Full of what had passed between you, of the way his hands had learned your body, slow and reverent, of the way your name had spilled from his lips like he had been holding it back all this time. And now, with your legs curled over his and your breath steadying in the hush of your room, you whispered it. “I liked it.” The words barely left your lips, soft and warm in the space between you, but you knew he heard them by the way his arms tightened slightly around your frame. His mouth brushed against the side of your head in a half-smile, half-kiss that lingered longer than it needed to.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice deeper now, softer, stripped of its usual bravado. “Me too. A lot.” He sounded almost surprised to admit it out loud, like saying it gave it weight he had not prepared for. You turned a little in his arms, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face, the slight curve of his lips, the way his eyes traced yours with something bordering on fondness. Your hand found his, fingers brushing over the back of it slowly. “Choi Su-bong,” you said quietly, and his eyes snapped to yours with a flicker of something that looked almost like panic before it faded into confusion. “Wait, what?” You smiled, small and knowing. “That’s your real name. I found your student ID in the laundry basket last week. You left it in your hoodie pocket.” His brows rose, caught somewhere between surprise and mild embarrassment. “Shit,” he said under his breath, chuckling softly. “You really just kept that to yourself?” You nodded, your smile widening just a little. “I kind of liked the mystery. But I like knowing too. Su-bong suits you. Even if you try to pretend it doesn’t.” He laughed again, but it was quieter now, a little bashful, a little caught off guard by how gently you said it. “God, no one calls me that,” he muttered, pressing his forehead lightly to your shoulder. “It’s so formal. Sounds like a name you’d hear on the evening news.” You tilted your head toward him, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Maybe. Or maybe it just sounds like you when you’re not pretending to be someone you’re not.”

He didn’t respond to that right away. You felt him breathe in, then out, slow and steady. His fingers slipped beneath the curve of your knee as he held you closer, his touch no longer urgent or demanding, just present. Steady. “You make me feel like I don’t have to pretend,” he admitted after a long moment, his voice so low it almost disappeared into your skin. “That scares the shit out of me.” You turned fully in his lap then, your legs straddling his waist, your arms resting around his shoulders as you looked him in the eyes. He didn’t look away this time. “It scares me too,” you said, and the honesty in your voice settled something between you. “But I don’t regret it. Any of it. Not the kiss. Not the mess. Not this.” His hands moved to your hips, grounding you, anchoring both of you in the quiet swirl of feelings that neither of you had fully named. “So what now?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he was afraid of what your answer might be. You kissed the corner of his mouth softly, your thumb brushing the side of his face. “Now we stop pretending it didn’t happen. And maybe we see what it looks like when we stop running from it.” He opened his eyes then, and whatever he was about to say got caught in the softness between your lips as he kissed you again. Not like before. This one wasn’t rushed or hungry. It was slow and sinking. Like he was letting himself fall. And this time, he didn’t pull away.

[bruisedboys]

hwang junho x reader, no spoilers for season 3!

hwang junho who’s the most protective boyfriend you’ve ever had, and he’s proud of that title! and even though you like to tease him and pretend it annoys you, you secretly really love it and don’t want him to ever change <3

like listen, he’s a cop, it’s sort of a given that he’s gonna be at least a little protective of everyone he’s close with. it’s been hammered into junho’s instincts to protect those around him, but after everything that’s happened with his brother and discovering the games, he can’t risk anything happening to you. you’re his everything, and if you ever got hurt under his watch — even just a little bit — he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

junho’s protectiveness shows itself in all the little things. like, how he always follows the sidewalk rule, walking on the side nearest the road, shielding you from passing traffic with his body. he does it unconsciously at first — stepping around you if you’re on the outer edge of the sidewalk, nudging you away to take your place. after a while of this, of him gently correcting you every time you accidentally walk on the outer edge, you get used to it and fall into the habit of walking on the “safe side” of the sidewalk, as he calls it.

also, junho always always takes the side of the bed closest to the door. call him paranoid, but he’s certain he could protect you if any danger came through the door while you were sleeping. he feels safer sleeping nearest the door, with his body shielding yours from the entrance. junho also tends to sleep with his arms locked around you, holding you to his chest — it’s not very practical, but it makes him feel safer nonetheless. he’ll admit he’s maybe overdoing it just a little bit, but sue him if he wants to protect the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

junho’s quite touchy too when you’re out together — not in an overbearing way, not in a pda way, and not in a super obvious way, either. just in the way that he feels he needs to have a hand on you, or his arm around you, in case anything happens, so he can pull you to safety as quickly as possible. he’s very subtle about it — just a big hand on the small of your back at the grocery store, or his arm curved around your waist at the pub. his hand on your thigh while he drives, or his fingers interlocked with yours when he takes you out for dinner. it’s subtle, almost like he does it without realising it, and somehow that makes it even more endearing.

of course, with junho being a cop, he makes sure you know (and follow) all the proper safety precautions. he’s well aware of how criminals work and tries his best to equip you with the right protection. if you don’t live with him, he’s constantly asking if your security cameras and alarms are all working and up to speed — in fact, he’ll come over and check them himself, just to be safe. he makes you promise to have your phone on you at all times, and prefers you have your location on when you’re not with him. he buys you a charger to keep in your car, and a portable charger for your bag, so you don’t ever run out of battery at a bad time. he probably makes you carry pepper spray in your bag, too, though he hopes you’ll never have to use it.

junho tries his best not to be overbearing, and he succeeds for the most part. he’s quietly protective, subtly looking out for you at all times. he never pushes it too much, and he respects you enough to know you can look after yourself just fine. sometimes though, you’ll tease him — giggling when he stands a little too close in the line at the grocery store, or telling him, “no one’s gonna break in, I have nothing worth stealing,” with an eye roll while he checks your alarms for the second time in one week. but it’s always lighthearted, and if anything, junho’s convinced you tease him because his protectiveness makes you flustered, and you’ve got no other way to hide how it makes you feel. though, that could just be his ego talking.

if you asked junho to stop, he would. he’d do anything you asked, clearly. but you don’t ever ask him to stop. you like that he protects you — it makes you feel special, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world <3

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thank u for reading, reblogs are appreciated! also my request are open for junho hehe x