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The Last Train | KSJ | Extra

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Female Reader

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Slice of Life, Exes to Lovers AU

Word Count: 10k

Summary: You and Jin miss the last train home on a rainy night. Forced to spend hours together at a 24/7 diner, old wounds and hidden feelings come to the surface.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ ONLY 🔞,Exes to Lovers, Emotional Reunion, Slow Burn, Intimacy, Soft Dom!Jin, Body Worship, Praise, Insecurity, Self-Esteem Themes, Unprotected Sex (refrain irl),Aftercare, Mention of Korean beauty standards (If I forgot something please tell me)

A/N: This is a bonus part for The last train home, consider reading that first. I was not feeling like writing anything new so I added to this one.

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The ride to Jin’s place is quiet.

Not uncomfortable but thick with something unspoken. Outside, the city hums with late-night traffic and neon reflections; inside the car, your hand occasionally brush his. You don’t move away, and neither does he.

He unlocks the door with one hand, the other still holding your bag like it’s sacred. The apartment smells faintly of his cologne and cedarwood that is familiar and grounding. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the scent until you stepped inside it again.

It hasn’t changed much. The same charcoal-gray couch. The same crooked frame he never fixed. A half-read book on the table. It's like time stalled here.

Except it didn’t. Not for either of you.

You shrug off your coat, suddenly aware of how quiet the space is. He gestures toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get something warm. Tea? Or you still like that weird vanilla-mint mix?”

You give a small laugh. “Still do.”

He passes a small smile before disappearing into the kitchen. You run your hand along the armrest, your fingers catching on the familiar stitching. There’s a blanket neatly folded on the corner. You remember falling asleep under it once, half on him, half on the cushions, when your shared world felt invincible.

Jin returns with two mugs, handing you yours. His fingers brush yours briefly.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

You both sip quietly. He watches you over the rim of his mug like he’s afraid blinking might make you vanish again.

“You still drink it too hot,” he notes.

“And you still make it too sweet.”

"Don't you remember a lot of things for a 2 year breakup." You tease

"I didn't forget, I couldn't"

There’s a pause. You feel it in your chest the question, the invitation. You could ignore it. Let this night end here, half-healed. But your eyes meet his, and something ancient passes between you.

"Do you want to stay?" he asks hesitant, voice softer now, he looks away immediately after asking. His gaze shifts from his lap to the table while his fingers fidget nervously. That pulls a giggle out of you.

You nod, setting the mug down.

Jin stands slowly, then offers his hand not demanding, just open. You take it.

He leads you through the hallway like it’s the first time. It isn’t. But this version of you older, bruised, grown, it is her first time walking back into a space like this, into trust like this.

His bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft, diffused glow of the city lights pouring through the sheer curtains. The skyline flickers in shades of blue, casting gentle shapes across the walls.

He turns to look at you, his gaze soft under the dim light, and gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"You got prettier," he says quietly.

You raise an eyebrow, your voice low. "Are you trying to assure me?"

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. "No," he murmurs. "Just stating facts."

He gently guides you to sit on the edge of the bed, his touch tender, almost reverent. Then he kneels in front of you, eyes level with yours, and takes both your hands in his, his thumbs slowly tracing circles over your knuckles, like he's memorizing every line and detail.

"Y/N," he begins softly, his voice deep but warm, "whenever I told you that you're pretty, beautiful, sexy, absolutely gorgeous… it was never to assure you. It was to remind you. Remind you in case you forgot, remind you because I see it every day, and I just hoped… maybe one day, you’d start seeing yourself the way I see you."

He pauses, lifting your hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your fingers.

"And even now," he continues, eyes locked with yours, "I’m not saying this to make you feel better. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. So what if you don’t fit into some narrow, airbrushed version of beauty, those standards aren’t made for someone like you. You’re real. And you’re breathtaking."

His voice gets quieter, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

"I’m so lucky to have you. I deserve you. And you deserve me too, hm?"

He tilts his head just slightly, giving you the softest smile. "So stop wondering why I love you, and just know that I do. Completely."

"Jin it is not you, it was never you. It is just the people who made me doubt, it was just that no one ever saw me past my face but I didn't think u didn't look past it, It was just that maybe it could hinder our love in the future.

His expression falters for just a second, like your words settled heavily in his chest. But he doesn’t let go of your hands in fact, he holds them tighter, as if grounding both of you.

“Y/N…” he says, voice low and steady, “don’t ever think I was blind to your past, or what the world has made you carry. I saw it, I saw you. Not just your face, not just the parts the world picks apart. I saw your silence, your fear, the way you flinched at love like it might break you.”

He swallows, his thumb brushing against your wrist. “But never did I think any of that would hinder us. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

He leans his forehead gently against your knee, eyes closed for a moment.

“It wasn’t me, I know that. And it kills me that they made you feel this way. That they made you believe love had conditions or that beauty had limits. But I’m here to rewrite all of that with you. I know you walked away because you were unsure but there is nothing to be unsure of.”

He lifts his head again, gaze steady, soft but unshakable. “If ever there’s something standing in the way of our love… it won’t be your face. Or your fears. Or your past.”

He exhales. “Because I didn’t fall in love with just your beauty. I fell for your fire, your flaws, your stubborn heart, your gentleness, your chaos. All of it. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You squeeze his hands gently, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch before tugging on them just a little.

He doesn’t resist. You guide him up from the floor and make him sit beside you on the edge of the bed, thigh to thigh, shoulders brushing, as if the distance between your bodies was never meant to exist in the first place.

The silence settles around you like a soft blanket, quiet, but full.

He doesn’t say anything right away, he just watches you for a moment longer, eyes soft with something deeper than words. Then, with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, he reaches for your sweater.

He moves slowly, like he’s afraid to startle the moment. His fingers brush your shoulders as he eases the fabric down your arms, careful, unrushed. The sweater pools quietly behind you on the bed.

Then he kneels slightly, reaching for your shoes. His touch is light, almost reverent, as he unfastens them one by one and slips them off.

He doesn’t look up yet, just runs his hand gently along your ankle, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“There,” he murmurs, still crouched in front of you, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to carry anything tonight. Not the weight. Not the doubt. Not even your shoes.”

He stays quiet, his hands steady but unhurried as they rise toward your hair. Fingers brushing softly against your scalp, he finds the tie holding it back.

There’s a moment of pause like he’s giving you space, like he’s silently asking, Can I? Like he’s waiting for the smallest flinch, the slightest push.

But you don’t move.

So gently, he begins to undo it, unraveling the strands like they’re something sacred. The elastic slips from your hair, and it falls freely around your shoulders. His fingers linger there, combing through it slowly, reverently as if this is his way of soothing every hurt you never spoke aloud.

His eyes search yours, not with expectation but with quiet understanding. As if he's telling you: You don't owe me anything. But if you stay… I’ll cherish all of you.

You slowly lean in, your nose brushing his, breaths mingling in the sliver of space between you. Your hand finds his cheek, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth as if you’re trying to memorize the moment before it changes everything.

His eyes search yours, wide with something fragile, hope, maybe. Fear, too.

“You know what this means, right?” he asks, voice barely audible, thick with hesitation. “This… us.”

You nod, just slightly, your voice steady but soft. “I know what it means.”

He doesn’t move. He lets you close the space. Because this time, it’s you choosing him.

You close the last inch between you, pressing your lips to his slowly, gently, like you’re speaking in a language only the two of you understand.

He doesn’t rush it. He melts into it.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with a kind of reverence, like he can’t believe this is real. Your lips move in sync, unhurried, full of everything you hadn’t said until now, every fear, every feeling, every silent I’m ready.

When you finally pull back, just enough to breathe, his eyes are still closed like he’s trying to hold onto the feeling a second longer. Then he opens them, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

“You kissed me,” he whispers, smiling like he’s in awe.

“I did,” you whisper back, your voice softer now, steadier. “And I meant it.”

With a breath drawn slow and careful, he leans in, capturing your lips again but this time, there’s more depth to it. More weight. More want. His hand slides along your side, grounding you, and then gently he eases you back onto the bed.

He moves slowly, like every second matters. Like this isn’t about urgency, but about memorizing the feel of you beneath him, your fingers in his hair, your heartbeat thudding against his palm as he rests it over your chest for a moment.

“Still okay?” he whispers against your lips, his voice a quiet anchor in the rising tide of emotion.

Your answer is in the way your eyes meet his, sure, steady, full of trust. He exhales again, like you just gave him permission to breathe deeper. And then he leans in, pressing another kiss to your lips this one slower, surer, like he’s promising not to rush what was always meant to unfold gently between you.

The kiss deepens naturally, breath hitching between you as his hand finds your waist, anchoring you closer. His lips move with more certainty now, no longer just a question, but a need.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he catches your lower lip between his teeth. It’s gentle, almost teasing, but full of intention. A quiet request laced in the way his lips linger there.

You exhale softly against his mouth, your fingers curling in the fabric at his back as you part your lips.

He kisses you deeper, warmer, fuller, like he’s been holding this part of himself back for far too long. His hand slides to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek as your mouths move together in perfect rhythm.

It’s not rushed. It’s not reckless.

The heat between you builds gradually, tenderness layered with something deeper, something that hums just beneath the surface. His hand stays at your waist, grounding you in the moment, while the kiss grows more certain, more consuming.

Without thinking, his knee shifts, sliding between your legs with natural ease as he leans in closer. It’s not deliberate, not rushed but instinctive, part of the gravity pulling you both closer. The press of his body feels protective, not demanding. Like he’s holding you, not taking from you.

Your breath hitches, just slightly, and he stills for a beat, eyes flicking open to search your face.

Your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him down with a kind of urgency that wasn’t there before, like restraint has finally given way to want. Real, aching want.

“Fuck, Jin,” you breathe, voice rough around the edges, raw with need.

His eyes darken the moment the words leave your mouth, and for a second he just looks at you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. The flush on your cheeks. The way your chest rises and falls. The way you’re holding onto him like you need him.

Then he exhales, shaky, like your voice just undid something in him. “You can’t say that and expect me to stay gentle,” he murmurs, his voice low, wrecked, and impossibly tender all at once.

But even then he’s careful. As he leans in again, his hand moves to cover yours where you’re clutching his shirt. He guides your touch, slowly pulling the fabric over his head and tossing it aside, never breaking eye contact.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says, his lips ghosting along your jaw now, his knee still settled between your thighs. “But if you don’t…” His voice dips even lower. “Then I’m yours. All of me.”

His lips leave yours slowly, like he’s reluctant to break the connection even for a moment. But when he does, it’s only to find new places to worship.

He trails soft, open-mouthed kisses across your cheekbone, then down to your jaw. Each one is unhurried, reverent like he’s tasting you, like he’s learning you.

His breath is warm against your skin as his lips find that sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You feel his fingers tighten ever so slightly at your waist when you react, barely a shiver, but he feels it. He knows.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His mouth moves lower, tracing your pulse, then brushing along the curve of your neck, pausing, letting the heat linger there before pressing a firmer kiss. Another. Then another. Slow and deliberate, like he’s making a map of everywhere you feel most alive.

He works his way back up, scattering kisses along your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your eyelids each one soft, grounding, full of quiet affection that contrasts beautifully with the weight of the want between you.

By the time his lips find yours again, you’re already breathless not from urgency, but from the overwhelming tenderness of it all. Like every kiss is his way of saying: I see you. I choose you. And I’m not letting go.

His hands drift to the hem of your top, fingers toying with the fabric.

He tugs your top upward slowly, not in a rush to tear it off, but like he’s unwrapping something sacred. His knuckles graze your sides, sending heat rippling across your skin as he peels it over your head and tosses it aside.

For a second, he just looks at you. His breath catches, gaze roaming from your eyes to your lips, then lower, lingering on the new skin exposed. But there’s no rush in him, just awe.

"God, Y/N…” he breathes, voice rough with restraint and reverence. “You’re… unreal.”

He leans in again, placing a soft kiss right between your collarbones, then another just above your heart as if he’s letting you know this isn’t just about desire. It’s about you.

And with every kiss, every touch, he makes it clearer: He’s not here to take. He’s here to worship.

His lips are still warm against your skin, brushing over your collarbone, when his hands slide around your back, slow, sure, never rushing. His fingers find the clasp of your bra, resting there for a moment.

He lifts his head slightly, eyes meeting yours again, checking, always checking. Not for permission, but for comfort. For trust.

When you don’t pull away when your breath hitches just enough and your fingers curl lightly against his bare shoulder.

His fingers work at the clasp, slow and careful, like he’s unwrapping something delicate. The tension slips free, and he eases the straps down your arms, his touch light as air, never breaking eye contact.

When your bra finally falls away, his breath catches. But he doesn’t pounce. He just looks at you, like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he wants to remember the way you look in this exact moment for the rest of his life.

“You’re so—” he starts, then stops, because no word feels big enough.

So instead, he kisses you again. Slower. Deeper.

And his hands slide back up your waist, holding you like you’re something he never thought he’d get to have something he refuses to take for granted.

His hands still at your waist for a moment, eyes roaming over you like he’s seeing something he never thought he deserved. His lips are slightly parted, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything unsaid until now.

“It’s a pity,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, “that you don’t know how hot you are.”

You blink, breath caught in your throat, the heat between you crackling at the edges.

He leans in closer, brushing a kiss just under your jaw, then another at the curve of your shoulder. “Seriously, Y/N…” he whispers, lips grazing your skin as he speaks. “You could bring me to my knees with just one look and you still hesitate to believe it.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, his expression raw, hungry, but laced with something deeper.

His kiss deepens with something rougher now, your words still echoing in his head, pulling him under, unraveling the last thread of his restraint.

His hand glides up your side, slow but certain, until it finds your breast. He cups it gently at first, like he’s still in awe then his thumb brushes over your skin, and the sound you make in response drives him wild.

He pulls back just slightly, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they meet yours.

“God,” he breathes, his voice hoarse. “You feel so fucking perfect.”

His eyes never leave yours as he leans in, his hand still cradling your breast with a mix of reverence and want. You feel his breath first—warm and unsteady against your skin—before his lips finally make contact.

He starts with a soft kiss, slow and deliberate, right over your heart. Then another, lower this time. And when his mouth finally reaches your breast, he moves gently at first, lips brushing over the sensitive skin like he’s savoring the taste of you.

His tongue flicks softly, teasing, as his hand supports and shapes you toward his mouth. A low, quiet sound escapes him—half a groan, half awe—like he’s been aching for this, like he needs this.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough and quiet. “Every inch of you… I want it all.”

You thread your fingers into his hair, gently tugging until his mouth leaves your skin. His eyes flick up to yours, dazed and breathless but you don’t give him time to speak.

You pull him back to your lips, kissing him with a new kind of urgency, hungry, deep, claiming. He groans into your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist as if trying to ground himself in the heat of you.

Then, slowly, you begin to trail your kisses downward.

Over his jaw. Down his neck. You feel the way his breath catches when your lips brush the hollow of his throat, and you smile against his skin.

You keep going, lips and tongue moving lower, down the curve of his collarbone, across his chest, leaving heat in your wake. You pause just above his heart, pressing a lingering kiss there before lightly nipping at the skin.

His chest rises sharply under your mouth, and a low, guttural sound escapes him.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he rasps, voice wrecked, head tilted back.

And as your mouth continues its descent, tasting every inch like a promise, he looks down at you like you’re both a dream and the fire that’s about to consume him.

His hands find your hips, holding you with a reverence that contrasts the growing hunger in his touch. You feel his lips on your neck again, hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath stutter in your chest.

But this time… there's intent behind them.

He sucks gently at the skin just below your jaw, then moves lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your shoulder. You feel the first love bite bloom beneath his lips, just enough pressure to leave a mark, just enough to make you gasp.

“You should see yourself,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and strained. “Already covered in me.”

He keeps going, leaving a slow trail of love bites down your collarbone, across your chest, each one deliberate, each one claiming. He pauses after every mark, kissing it softly like an apology and a promise all at once.

“This okay?” he whispers between kisses, lips brushing over the fresh warmth of a new mark.

The look in your eyes, half-lidded, lost in him is answer enough. And he groans softly, burying his face against your skin like he’s addicted now, like he never wants to stop.

Each bite says what he hasn’t yet put into words: You’re mine. And I want the world to know it.

The air in the room is cool, the soft hum of the AC barely registering against the sound of your mingled breaths, but neither of you feel it. Not anymore.

Despite the cold, both your bodies are slick with a light sheen of sweat, skin flushed and glowing under the dim light. Every kiss, every gasp, every whispered name has added to the heat curling between you, unrelenting and electric.

His hair clings slightly to his forehead, chest rising and falling against yours in rhythm, like your bodies have synced without meaning to. Your fingers drag down his back, slick with heat and want, as his mouth hovers just above yours, lips swollen, eyes dark.

“You feel that?” he murmurs hoarsely, nudging his forehead against yours. “I could touch you for hours and still not be close enough.”

Your response is a breathless nod, a quiet whimper against his mouth as you pull him down again, the cool sheets doing nothing to tame the fire building between your skin.

It doesn’t matter that the room is chilled. Between you and him, It’s all heat. All tension. And neither of you is even close to done.

His hands find the waistband of your jeans, eyes flicking up to meet yours one last time, checking. When you don’t stop him, when your fingers tighten just slightly around his biceps, urging him on, he leans in to kiss you again, soft and slow, before trailing his hands downward.

He unbuttons them carefully, almost reverently, and begins to slide them down your hips. The denim clings slightly to your heated skin, but he takes his time, inch by inch, like he’s unwrapping something precious, not just undressing you, but adoring you.

When he finally eases them off your legs, letting them fall to the floor, he draws back just enough to take you in.

There you are laid out beneath him in nothing but your underwear, flushed and glowing, lips kiss-bitten and chest rising and falling like you’ve just run a marathon.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice low, wrecked. “You’re… unreal.”

He runs his hands slowly up your bare thighs, savoring the way you shiver under his touch. His fingers linger at your hips, his thumbs brushing gently over the edge of your underwear but he doesn’t move further. Not yet.

He wants to take his time. He wants you to feel every second of how much he wants you.

He lowers himself slowly, lips brushing soft, open kisses along your thigh, each one closer than the last, each one more deliberate. The muscles beneath your skin twitch at the contact, anticipation tightening every breath you take.

And then he pauses.

His eyes settle on the damp patch blooming at the center of your underwear, and something in his expression shifts like awe and hunger colliding all at once.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice like a low hum against your skin. His fingers gently part your thighs a little more, giving him room to settle between them. “So worked up for me already.”

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, close, so close then looks up at you, his eyes dark and blazing with something deeper than just lust.

“I haven’t even touched you there yet,” he says with a breathless smile, almost reverent. “And you’re already soaking through.”

Another kiss, this one slower, hotter lands just beside the wet patch, as his hand rests on your hip to hold you steady, like he knows you’re already trembling beneath the weight of his attention.

“I’m gonna take my time with you,” he whispers, voice thick with want. “Because you deserve to be undone slowly.”

Your voice breaks through the haze, low and breathless “Fuck, Jin. Stop being an asshole.”

He freezes for half a second, then laughs, soft and wrecked, his breath hot against your skin.

“Oh?” he murmurs, pressing one more teasing kiss just beside where you want him most. “Is that what I am now?”

You glare at him, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “You know what you’re doing.”

He grins, cocky and flushed, eyes full of mischief and want. “Yeah,” he whispers, letting his lips hover just over the soaked fabric. “That’s the fun part.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something deeper, hungrier but still full of reverence. He shifts closer, his hands slow as they hook into the sides of your underwear.

He pulls them down with care, like he’s unwrapping something fragile, something he’s waited a long time to fully see. As the fabric slides down your thighs and past your knees, he keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes dark, lips parted, breath shallow.

And when you’re finally bare before him, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment this began.

He lets his fingers trail lightly up your inner thigh, ghosting over your slickness, barely there, but enough to make your hips twitch, your breath stutter.

“Fuck,” he whispers, almost to himself, eyes flickering with a mix of awe and heat. “You’re so wet for me.”

Then he leans in.

And with a tenderness that borders on worship, he presses a soft, lingering kiss right where you need him most. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just… his lips on you slow, claiming, reverent.

The kiss is a promise. He’s not here to tease anymore. He’s here to ruin you, gently.

Before he can pull away, your hand shoots down, fingers threading into his hair as you grab his face and hold him there. Your hips roll forward instinctively, grinding against his mouth with a desperate, breathless need that leaves no room for teasing.

A groan vibrates from deep in his throat, muffled against you, and he lets you take control, welcomes it.

His hands immediately grip your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you as you move against him. He tilts his head just right, lips and tongue working in perfect rhythm with your motions, matching your urgency with his own.

You hear him moan again, this time raw, hungry, completely undone by the way you’re using him. And the sound only makes you press down harder, riding his mouth like it’s the only way to survive the heat surging through your veins.

You look down at him, his flushed cheeks, dark eyes, and the way he wants this, wants you and it sends you spiraling.

Every grind. Every flick of his tongue. Every breathless noise you make. He takes it all......like you’re his favorite sin. And he never once tries to stop you.

Your voice spills out between shaky breaths. Raw, desperate, laced with everything you’re feeling.

“Fuck, Jin… deeper.”

It’s not a request. It’s a plea.

And he hears it.

His grip on your thighs tightens, grounding you as he presses in closer, his mouth claiming you with a hunger that borders on worship. He parts you with his tongue, slow at first but then deeper, firmer, the kind of pressure that makes your back arch and your fingers tangle tighter in his hair.

He groans into you loud, and shameless, driven completely wild by the way you sound, the way you taste, the way you grind against his mouth like you can’t get enough.

“Just like that,” he murmurs against you in a ragged breath, his voice thick with want. “Let me hear you, baby. I want all of it.”

And he dives in again, deeper, messier, perfect like he wants to unravel you from the inside out, like his only goal is to leave you shaking, ruined, and completely his.

As your moans grow sharper, your hips grinding down harder against his mouth, Jin responds instantly, intuitively. His hands tighten around your thighs, holding you steady, and then you feel it, his thumb, sliding up between your folds, slick from your arousal and the heat of his mouth.

He presses it gently against your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch and your body jolt.

“Fuck—Jin,” you gasp, your fingers tugging at his hair, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through you.

His mouth continues working you with slow, deep strokes of his tongue, but now paired with the rhythmic, focused motion of his thumb, each movement synced perfectly with the way your body trembles beneath him.

“You’re falling apart for me,” he murmurs against you, voice ragged, thumb pressing a little harder, a little faster. “Just like that. Let go, baby.”

And with that combination: his mouth, his thumb, his voice, you feel yourself spiraling fast, the pleasure climbing with every wave, threatening to break you open in the best possible way.

Just when you think you’ve adjusted to the rhythm, his thumb circling you, his mouth worshiping you with steady, devastating precision, you feel the soft scrape of his teeth.

A gasp escapes you.

It’s light, careful, more teasing than rough. He lets them graze against your sensitive skin for just a second, just enough to make your hips jolt and a breathy “fuck” fall from your lips. He pulls back the moment he feels your body tense, not from discomfort, but from how sharply the pleasure spikes.

And then his tongue is back.

Softer now. Slower but deeper, more deliberate. Paired with the steady motion of his thumb, it’s almost too much. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but his grip keeps you open, anchored, right where he wants you.

“God,” he groans into you, almost drunk on the taste of you. “The way you react… it’s everything.”

His tongue moves again, slick, hot, purposeful drawing you back into the rhythm, until your moans are breathless and your body’s trembling under the weight of how close you are.

And still, he doesn’t let up. Because he wants you to fall apart. And he wants to be the only one who’s ever brought you there like this.

Your body’s already pulsing with heat, every nerve alive under his mouth and the unrelenting press of his thumb. You're teetering on the edge, breathless, shaking, moaning his name like a prayer.

And then you feel it, his finger.

Slowly, carefully, he slips it inside you, the intrusion smooth from how soaked you are. He groans at the feeling, at how your walls tighten instantly around him, like your body’s been aching for more.

“Shit,” he breathes, lifting his head just enough to watch your face, the way you fall apart in real time. “You’re so fucking tight.”

And then he lowers again, his tongue circling your clit while his finger curls inside you, testing, learning, memorizing. He moves slow at first, dragging it along your most sensitive spot with a kind of focus that makes your back arch off the bed.

Your breath breaks into a whimper, hands clutching at the sheets, at his hair, anything.

He smiles against you, adding just the slightest pressure as his tongue and finger move in perfect sync, completely in tune with your body’s desperate rhythm.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Let me feel you fall apart on my fingers.”

And the way he says it ,low, raw, reverent makes your body tremble as the climax builds fast, threatening to crash over you like a wave you can’t stop.

You fall apart with a cry, sharp, broken, his name the only thing your lips can form as your body arches into him. The orgasm rips through you, intense and consuming, your thighs trembling around his head, your hands lost in his hair.

But Jin doesn’t stop.

He holds you through it, mouth still on you, tongue moving in slow, languid strokes like he’s savoring every drop, every aftershock. The room is filled with the slick, obscene sound of him lapping at you, utterly devoted, utterly lost in you.

The way he moans against your overstimulated skin, the way he whispers soft, ruined praise between kisses “So perfect… taste so good… that’s it, baby…” only makes the pleasure stretch, ripple, linger.

Your body twitches under his mouth, sensitive and undone, but he’s gentle now, less greedy, more worshipful. His tongue moves in soft, lazy circles like he’s trying to soothe you from the inside out.

He doesn’t lift his head yet. Not until he’s kissed you through every last tremble.

And when he finally does, his lips are swollen, his eyes blown wide with hunger and awe—and he looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen.

“Still with me?” he breathes, his voice low, wrecked, and laced with the kind of love that never needed words.

You don’t speak because your body answers for you.

Still breathless, still trembling from the high he pulled out of you with nothing but his mouth and his hands, you reach for him. Your fingers curl around his shoulders tugging him up until he’s hovering above you again, swollen lips, eyes burning, chest heaving.

You don’t need words.

Your hands move to his belt, working at it with practiced urgency, the soft clink of the buckle loud in the quiet, heat-thick air between you. His breath stutters, and his hands brace on either side of you, muscles tight, body hovering just barely above yours.

“Y/N…” he breathes, his voice low, like he’s trying to keep it together but you can feel him unraveling, just like you did.

You glance up at him through your lashes, still flushed and raw but full of want, fingers dragging the belt loose with a soft tug. The zipper follows, slow, deliberate.

“You are wrecking me,” he says, eyes locked to yours as he helps you slide his pants down and onto the floor , hips lifting slightly to meet your touch.

And now there’s no teasing. No hesitation. Just heat, want, and the promise of something deeper than either of you dared to say out loud.

You guide him down to you, skin against skin, mouths crashing together like you’ve been starving for it all this time.

His breath hitches as your fingers brush against the waistband of his boxers, your eyes full of quiet urgency.

He shifts up just enough to slide them down, the fabric catching briefly on the heat of him before he kicks them aside. Now he’s fully bared before you, flushed and hard in his hand as he wraps his fingers around himself, giving a few slow, measured pumps, just enough to ease the ache, just enough to watch the way you look at him when he does.

You’re breathless, watching him, his muscles taut, chest rising and falling, the way his hand moves slow, dragging out the moment like he wants it seared into memory. The air between you crackles with tension, heavy and electric.

Then his hand stills.

He leans down, kissing you again, hungry, deep before whispering against your lips, “Tell me you want this. Tell me you're mine again.”

And God, you do. Every aching, breathless part of you.

His forehead presses gently to yours, his lips still swollen from the kiss, breath coming fast and shallow.

“I don’t have protection,” he murmurs, voice rough, but steady like it takes everything in him to say it out loud. His hand stills against your hip, holding you there but not pressing forward, waiting.

The air shifts.

Even in the middle of all this heat, he gives you space, gives you the choice. You can feel how much he wants you, how close he is to losing control, but still… he waits.

“I need to hear you,” he adds softly, his thumb brushing a slow circle into your skin. “Tell me what you want, Y/N. If you want me to stop… I will. If you want this…” His voice falters slightly, then deepens. “I’ll take care of you. Every second of it.”

And for a beat, there’s nothing but the weight of his honesty between you, desire hanging heavy in the air, but grounded in something more: respect. Trust. You.

"Jin......don't care......need you in me."

A soft, wrecked groan escapes his throat as his body tenses, the restraint he’s been clinging to unraveling completely. His eyes darken with something fierce, something tender, and he kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear you say that.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low, trembling, desperate.

He shifts between your thighs, lining himself up, one hand steady on your waist, the other bracing beside your head as he searches your face one last time, still making sure.

And when he sees it in your eyes, how ready you are, how much you need this, he begins to push in, slow and careful, his breath catching hard in his chest as your body welcomes him in inch by inch.

“Fuck… Y/N,” he gasps, jaw clenched, brows drawn in pleasure. “You feel like—like everything.”

The stretch, the heat, the way your body takes him in, it’s overwhelming. And he doesn’t move right away. He just stays there, fully inside you, forehead resting against yours, your breaths tangled together as your bodies finally, finally become one.

There’s no rush now. Just this. You. Him. And the feeling of being completely filled.......completely his.

He’s deep inside you now, fully, completely—and you can feel all of him.

He’s so hard, thick and pulsing as he holds himself still, trying to give you time to adjust, even though every muscle in his body is straining with the effort not to move. His breath is ragged, forehead pressed to yours, eyes clenched shut like he’s fighting for control.

“Shit… you feel so good,” he groans, voice low and wrecked, trembling against your lips. “So fucking tight, baby—wrapped around me like this…”

You shift slightly beneath him and he shudders, letting out another sharp breath, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he grits out, opening his eyes to look at you, completely undone, completely in awe. “I’m so hard for you it hurts.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, and whispers “Tell me when you’re ready. Because once I start… I might not be able to stop.”

And God, neither of you want him to.

Your fingers curl around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips brushing against his as you whisper barely breathless, but firm.

“Jin… please move.”

He freezes for a heartbeat, like those words hit him harder than anything else tonight. His jaw clenches, his eyes flutter shut, and you feel him exhale, long, shaky, like he’s barely holding on.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice raw. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

And then, he moves.

Slowly, at first. Drawing his hips back just enough before sliding in again, deeper, smoother this time. The sound that tears from your throat is soft, but it lights a fire in him.

He picks up a rhythm, steady, deep, intentional. His hand grips your thigh, hitching it up around his waist to pull you even closer, deeper, until your bodies move like they were made for this, for each other.

“You feel…” he groans into your neck, words unraveling as his thrusts grow harder, “so fucking good, baby. So perfect for me.”

And with every thrust, every moan, every whispered plea, you both give in fully, lost in the kind of heat that makes time stop, makes the whole world disappear until all that exists is you and him, skin to skin, heart to heart.

As he drives into you, slow, deep, perfect, your moans grow louder, needier, your nails dragging across his back, your body arching beneath his.

He watches you fall apart with every thrust, chest heaving, lips parted, and it makes him lose what little restraint he still had.

Without breaking rhythm, his hand slides down between your bodies, and then, his thumb.

He finds your clit with practiced precision, circling it with just the right pressure, just the right pace. You gasp sharp, broken and your whole body jolts beneath him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, breathless and completely wrecked, eyes locked on the way you unravel. “Feel me, baby… I wanna feel you fall apart on me again.”

He keeps moving inside you, hips snapping forward, his thumb working in perfect sync with every thrust, dragging moan after moan from your lips. You’re soaked, tight, throbbing around him and the added pressure sends you spiraling.

Your hands grip his shoulders, your thighs trembling around his waist, and you can feel it building again, hot, fast, inescapable.

“Let go,” he whispers against your lips. “I’m right here. Give it to me.”

You reach up with a trembling urgency, your legs curling around his waist and then higher, hooking over his shoulders as he leans back to adjust, groaning at the new angle.

“Shit,” he gasps, eyes flickering down to where your bodies are joined. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

Your new position opens you completely to him, making everything sharper, deeper, intense. His thrusts hit even harder now, his length dragging along every sweet, aching spot inside you with precision that feels unbearably good.

His hands slide beneath your thighs, gripping them firmly as he rocks into you, chest slick with sweat, jaw clenched in focus and pure, wrecked need.

The added pressure of your legs locked around his shoulders sends his thrusts deeper, more desperate, his thumb still pressed to your clit, still moving, still demanding your undoing.

“You feel that?” he groans, eyes dark and wild, watching the way your body arches under his. “Taking me so deep, baby… so fucking perfect for me.”

And all you can do is moan loudly, shamelessly as pleasure tears through you in waves, your body trembling, your breath shattering beneath the weight of him.

You’re so close again, so close you can taste it.

And he knows. Because he’s right there with you.

Your voice breaks through the haze, breathless, raw, wrecked.

“Jin… faster. Deeper. Give me more.”

His entire body tenses at your words, like they set off something primal in him. His eyes meet yours, dark, desperate, almost feral with the need to give you exactly what you’re begging for.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growls, voice hoarse, barely holding on. “You want more? I’ll give you everything.”

And he does.

His grip tightens on your thighs, his legs anchoring him deeper between yours as your ankles lock tighter behind his shoulders. He slams into you harder now, faster, each thrust sharper, deeper, filling you in a way that leaves you gasping, trembling, aching.

His thumb never leaves your clit, moving in tight, perfect circles that keep you teetering on the edge. Every sound that escapes you, every cry of his name, drives him harder, deeper, until the only thing filling the room is the slick slap of skin, tangled breaths, and your moans echoing off the walls.

“Come on, baby,” he pants, his thrusts relentless. “Fall apart for me again. Let me feel it. Let me have it.”

His is body pressed so tightly to yours it’s hard to tell where he ends and you begin.

“Jin… I’m close,” you gasp, voice shaking, your nails digging into his back as your body starts to tremble beneath him.

The moment the words leave your lips, he groans deep, guttural and his movements grow even more focused, desperate, like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I feel it,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, sweat-slicked and completely wrecked. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let it happen, I’ve got you.”

His hips roll deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. His thumb keeps circling your clit, fast and precise, and the way he’s looking at you like he’s on the edge with you, like he needs to watch you come undone only pushes him closer.

“That’s it… just like that,” he murmurs, kissing you through every whimper. “Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do right there in his arms, with his name falling from your lips like a prayer you never want to stop saying.

Your whole body tightens, every nerve alight, every muscle straining as the wave finally crashes over you.

You cry out his name, loud, shattered, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world. Your legs tremble around his shoulders, your back arches off the sheets, and you let go completely.

You come hard, a lot, the release overwhelming, your body pulsing around him in deep, uncontrollable waves. You feel yourself grow wetter with every ripple, soaking him, the sheets, everything and he feels it.

“Fuck—Y/N,” Jin groans, voice wrecked, eyes wide as your release coats him. “You’re… so fucking perfect.”

He doesn’t stop. His thumb slows only slightly, just enough to draw every last wave of pleasure from you, his hips rolling deeper but gentler now, like he’s trying to prolong the moment, keep you in that perfect, ruined place just a little longer.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips, whispers tangled between them.

“That’s it, baby… I’ve got you.” “You did so good for me.” “So beautiful when you come for me like that.”

You’re breathless, flushed, trembling but in his arms, you feel safe. Held. Completely his.

And he hasn’t even come yet. But he’s watching you like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen Because you are.

Your body is still trembling, oversensitive and glowing, but Jin, he’s far from finished.

He’s still inside you, still rock-hard, still aching. And now, with your release coating him, making every thrust impossibly slick and hot, he loses whatever thread of control he had left.

He groans deep, primal and shifts his grip, pushing your legs back slightly for a deeper angle. His thrusts turn rougher, more desperate, his pace erratic as he chases the high that’s been building since the moment he touched you.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he pants, jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his temple. “You feel so good, so wet—gonna make me come—fuck.”

You can feel how close he is his whole body tensing, his hips snapping forward harder, faster, his breath stuttering every time you clench around him. You meet his eyes and cup his face, whispering between shaky breaths:

“Let go, Jin. I want to feel you.”

He groans like the words physically hit him. One more thrust deep, sharp, perfect and then he falls.

His body shudders, muscles locking up as he buries himself to the hilt, head dropping to your shoulder with a strangled moan. He pulses inside you, hot and thick, his release pouring out in long, breathless waves as you hold him through it.

“Y/N… fuck…” he breathes, voice wrecked, arms shaking as he tries not to collapse fully on top of you.

And then silence, except for your ragged breaths, tangled limbs, and the way his heart thunders against yours.

He stays buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, both of you breathing hard, bodies flushed, drenched in sweat, hearts pounding like war drums.

But even as the aftershocks of his release roll through him, you feel it, he’s still hard.

Still thick. Still wanting.

His breath hitches as you shift slightly beneath him, and he lets out a low, broken sound, half groan, half growl.

“Still so fucking hard for you,” he murmurs, voice raw, voice wrecked, as if he can’t quite believe it either. His hand slides along your side, fingers brushing your thigh. “One time wasn’t enough. I need—” he cuts himself off with a sharp breath, thrusting into you again, slower, but deeper, and you feel it too, the ache building all over again.

Your body trembles around him, still sensitive, still slick with your release and his but that only makes it easier, messier, hotter.

“You’re not done with me yet, are you?” you whisper, teasing, breathless, eyes locking onto his with fire still burning in your chest.

He smiles, lips parted, eyes dark and wild. “Not even close.”

And he begins to move again slow, deliberate, hungry all over again.

His breath catches like your words punched the air right out of his lungs.

You lift your head just slightly, eyes smoldering as you whisper, "Let me ride you."

He stares at you for a beat, chest still heaving, lips parted, hair damp against his forehead. And then he nods slow, stunned, wrecked.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, voice rough, barely holding it together. “Take me—take all of me.”

You crawl up his body, straddling his hips, and he watches every move like he’s watching something sacred unfold. His hands grip your thighs as you position yourself over him, guiding him back to your entrance, still wet, still aching for more.

“You’re sure?” he asks again, voice softer now, like even in all this heat, he still needs to know you want this just as much.

You lean down, kiss him slow, deep, and whisper, "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

And then you sink down onto him.

Both of you moan at the contact, at the stretch, at the depth. He fills you completely, perfectly, and you both freeze for a second, just breathing, just feeling.

His head falls back, a curse escaping his lips as his fingers tighten on your waist.

“Ride me, baby,” he growls, eyes half-lidded and burning. “Show me how good you feel. Make me lose my fucking mind.”

You start to move, rolling your hips, trying to find a steady rhythm but your legs are trembling, still weak from everything he’s already pulled out of you. Your thrusts falter, uneven, more desperate than controlled.

Jin sees it immediately.

His hands slide up to your waist, firm and steady, grounding you as his eyes lock onto yours dark, tender, and absolutely wrecked with need.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmurs, voice low and thick. “Let me help.”

And before you can respond, he starts to move beneath you, slow, deep thrusts from his hips that meet your body perfectly, drawing sharp gasps from your lips every time he fills you again.

You moan his name, your hands braced on his chest as he fucks up into you from below, his grip on your hips keeping you steady, guiding your movements so you’re riding him together, messy, passionate, perfectly in sync.

“Just like that,” he groans, breath ragged. “You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good.”

You rock with him, each thrust sending sparks through your body, the friction and pressure building all over again. His eyes never leave your face, watching every moan, every stuttered breath, like it’s the only thing that matters.

And when you start to move with him again stronger this time, meeting his rhythm, he lets out a deep, wrecked moan.

“There you go,” he pants. “Ride me, baby. I’ve got you.”

As you regain your rhythm, hips grinding down to meet his thrusts, your moans growing louder, needier, Jin’s hand slides from your waist, trailing between your bodies once again.

You already know what he’s about to do, and your breath catches in anticipation.

“Still so sensitive,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, eyes flickering down to where you’re taking all of him. “But you can take it. I know you can.”

And then his thumb finds your clit again.

The pressure is immediate, just right, firm, focused, circling in time with every deep, upward thrust of his hips. Your body jolts at the contact, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming, pushing you closer to that edge you didn’t think you’d reach again so soon.

You cry out, clutching at his shoulders for balance as the mix of his thumb and the way he’s fucking up into you becomes too much and not enough all at once.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice strained as he watches you fall apart in real time. “Feel that, baby? You’re so close. I can feel you tightening—fuck.”

Your body starts to tremble again, thighs shaking as his thumb moves in faster, tighter circles, dragging you mercilessly toward your second high.

“Come on,” he whispers through gritted teeth, never slowing down. “Fall apart on me again. I want to feel you come while you’re riding me.”

And you’re right there blazing, trembling, on the verge of breaking all over again

As his thumb works your clit in tight, relentless circles and his hips thrust up into you with deep, desperate rhythm, Jin’s other hand slides up your torso, fingers trailing over your slick skin until they find your breast.

He groans at the feel of you in his hand, warm and soft, and he squeezes gently, thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple in slow, teasing strokes. Your back arches into the touch, a moan ripping from your throat as the sensations become overwhelming, pleasure pouring in from every direction.

Then his mouth finds you.

He leans forward, lips wrapping around your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple before he starts to suck, slow, deep, greedy pulls that send shockwaves straight through your core.

Your hips stutter again, your moans turning breathless, broken. The feeling of his mouth on your chest, his hand still toying, his thumb driving you wild below. It’s too much and yet exactly what you crave.

“Jin—” you cry, your hands flying to his hair, gripping tight as your body begins to shake again. “I—I can’t—”

He groans around your nipple, sucking harder, his voice muffled but wrecked. “Yes you can. You’re so close, baby. Come for me again. I want to feel you lose it on top of me.”

And with every deep thrust, every flick of his tongue, every press of his thumb you feel it crashing toward you again, bigger and harder than before.

Your body locks up, thighs trembling around his hips, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry as the climax slams into you, harder than the last, sharper, and so overwhelming it nearly knocks the wind out of you.

You come a lot.

It rushes through you in waves, unstoppable, rolling through every nerve ending like fire and lightning. Your walls clench around him in pulsing, rhythmic spasms, so wet, so intense it spills down over his thighs, soaking him, the sheets, everything.

“Fuck, Y/N—” Jin growls, his voice wrecked, his hips jerking up into you as he groans at the feeling of you breaking apart on him. “You’re so wet, so fucking tight, you’re driving me insane.”

Your moans are helpless, high and broken, your head thrown back, nails digging into his shoulders as your body trembles violently, completely lost in the rush of it. You can barely breathe, barely think all you know is him: his hands, his mouth, his cock buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s part of your soul.

He holds you close, both arms wrapped around you now, letting you ride out the orgasm as long as your body needs whispering soft, breathless praise into your skin.

“That’s it… I’ve got you. You’re so perfect. Let it all go for me.”

And even as your body starts to come down, twitching with the aftershocks, he’s still rock-hard beneath you because watching you come that hard, that much, has him right on the edge of losing it himself.

As your body trembles and slumps forward still pulsing, still slick, still wrapped tight around him, Jin tightens his grip on your waist. His lips brush your temple, but there’s a different heat in his breath now. Raw, urgent, uncontrolled.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, voice breaking, “you feel so good, I can’t hold back anymore.”

He plants his feet against the mattress, bending his knees for leverage, and starts to move hard, fast, deep thrusts from below that shake your already sensitive body. You moan helplessly, clinging to his chest, overstimulated but loving it, letting him chase his own high inside you.

His hands are everywhere, one still gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair, pulling you down so your foreheads press together.

“You’re gonna take it,” he pants. “All of me. Gonna come so deep inside you, fuck just like this.”

Every thrust punches the air from your lungs. He’s relentless now, his body slick against yours, groaning through clenched teeth as your name spills from his lips like a chant. He’s so close you can feel it in the way he twitches inside you, in the way his rhythm grows messier, more desperate.

“Y/N—fuck—I’m gonna come—inside fuck, fuck, fuck”

And with a final, deep, shattering thrust, he lets go.

He moans your name like a prayer as he buries himself to the hilt, releasing in long, hot pulses that fill you up, his entire body locking up beneath yours. You feel him throb inside you, feel the warmth spread as he empties everything into you, his voice breaking, his nails digging into your skin, his heart pounding wildly against your chest.

He collapses back against the mattress, arms still wrapped around you, both of you tangled, soaked, breathless.

And completely wrecked by each other.

The two of you lie tangled together, your bodies still slick with sweat, skin pressed flush against skin. His breath slowly evens out, chest rising and falling in steady rhythms as he stays nestled inside you, softer now, gentle in the aftermath of everything.

His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, fingertips light as feathers, grounding you both in this quiet, intimate space. The warmth of him fills you completely not just physically, but something deeper, unspoken.

Jin’s head rests on your shoulder, his lips brushing soft, tired kisses there. He murmurs your name quietly, a breathless reminder that you’re still his, still wrapped in each other long after the fire has cooled.

The room feels still, peaceful, but charged with the kind of closeness that only comes when two souls have collided and settled, knowing, unbreakable.

You breathe in sync, hearts beating slow, steady, connected.

And in this perfect silence, there’s only you. Only him. And the quiet, sacred space you share.

After a while, Jin slowly, gently pulls away from you, careful not to disturb the peaceful way your body is curled into his. He presses a soft kiss to your temple before slipping out of bed, his movements quiet, fluid.

You hear the faint sound of the shower in the background, water hitting tile, but sleep tugs heavily at your limbs, wrapping you in warmth and the fading afterglow of everything.

Some time later, he returns.

The air feels a little cooler now, and you stir as the mattress shifts under his weight. His hand finds your back, warm and comforting, fingers brushing away the damp strands of hair from your cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers gently, voice soft like velvet, “wake up, baby.”

You blink sleepily, eyes fluttering open to find him freshly showered, damp hair falling messily over his forehead, a soft towel wrapped low around his waist.

“Come on,” he says, kissing your forehead, “I ran a warm bath for you. Thought you’d want to soak a little while I change the sheets.”

You glance over and see the crumpled, sweat-damp mess of bedding beneath you. You nod sleepily, and he smiles, helping you up with careful hands, always so attentive, always so him.

“Take your time,” he murmurs, leading you toward the bathroom. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

While the warm water envelops your aching body in the bath he prepared, scented lightly, just enough to soothe without overwhelming. You sink deeper into the comfort, letting your eyes close for a moment, your muscles slowly relaxing under the gentle heat.

Back in the bedroom, Jin moves quietly but efficiently.

He strips the bed of the used, tangled sheets with a little smirk at the memory of how they got that way, then tosses them into the hamper. He replaces them with fresh, soft linen, something light and cool against the skin, perfect for sleep. As he smooths the comforter and fluffs the pillows, he glances toward the bathroom, thinking about you, how you looked curled up in his arms, how you always look even softer when you trust him like that.

Once the bed is ready, he pulls on a pair of loose sweats and a simple white t-shirt, his body still warm and clean from the shower.

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and Jin looks up from where he’s sitting on the edge of the freshly made bed.

And then he sees you.

Wearing nothing but his shirt, oversized and draping beautifully over your damp skin, sleeves hanging long past your wrists, the hem barely grazing the tops of your thighs. Your hair is still slightly wet, skin dewy from the bath, and your eyes are soft, sleepy, and a little shy as they meet his.

For a second, he forgets how to breathe.

“Wow,” he says under his breath, standing slowly. “I knew you’d look good in it, but…” He trails off, eyes scanning you with something between reverence and complete awe. “You look better in it than I ever did.”

You smile, a little flustered, tugging at the hem as you step closer. “It smells like you,” you murmur. “I didn’t want to wear anything else.”

He reaches out and pulls you gently into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead as his hands settle around your waist, fingertips brushing the soft cotton that clings to your hips.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispers. “You in my shirt… after a night like that… kind of makes me want to never let you take it off.”

You laugh softly into his chest, your body melting into his, warm and clean and wrapped in something more than just fabric, wrapped in him.

He hears the softness in your voice as you murmur, “I’m sleepy,” your head already nestling against his chest, your body sinking into him like it’s the safest place in the world.

Jin smiles gently, brushing his fingers through your damp hair, his touch feather-light and soothing.

“Okay, baby,” he whispers, his voice warm and quiet. “Come on, lie down with me.”

He guides you back onto the freshly made bed, pulling the covers over you with such care it feels like a lullaby. He slips in beside you, tugging you close until you’re curled up against him, his shirt loose around you, your legs tangled with his.

One arm wraps around your waist, his other hand cradling your head as you melt into him, warm and secure.

“Sleep,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing the gentlest kiss there. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And with the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the scent of him wrapped around you, and his body holding you like he’s never letting go as you drift off, peaceful, loved, and utterly safe.

As your breathing evens out and your body softens completely in his arms, Jin stays awake, just watching you.

The room is dim and quiet, moonlight spilling gently through the curtains, casting a silvery glow over your face. You look so peaceful, curled into him, wearing his shirt like it was made for you.

He exhales softly, the kind of breath that carries more emotion than words ever could.

With a tenderness only he could give, he leans in and presses the faintest kiss to your forehead. Then another, just above your brow. Then one more light, slow, reverent into your hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, even though you can’t hear it.

His fingers trace slow, calming lines down your back as he holds you closer, resting his chin gently atop your head.

“I hope you know how safe you are with me,” he murmurs, voice almost inaudible now, like he’s telling you a secret in your sleep. “How much I love you.”

And even in sleep, you shift just slightly, as if your body somehow heard him.

He smiles to himself, brushes one last kiss to your temple, and closes his eyes, finally letting rest take him, too, still holding you like he’ll never let go. "Love you, YN"

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