❤︎ so overly protective. he’s not overbearing and he’ll never try to be that way but he’s always on the phone with you. texting, calling, or keeping track of where you are and if you’re safe or not. bad guys always find him.
❤︎ “princess? I didn’t mean to wake you but.. need you”
❤︎ his large strong hands are always on your waist or thighs. it’s just his thing, he loves those parts of your body the absolute most. if you ask him? he’d shrug his shoulders. not being able to answer. for some reason he loves your waist and how perfect it is. his hand fits perfectly on that spot and your thighs are so warm.
❤︎ “why are you so pretty, hm? my sweet pretty girl.”
❤︎ adores when you show up to watch him work out or practice. let’s say he’s in the ring! just for practice but it’s a bit of a rough practice. actually hitting and using a lot of new techniques. when he’s able to turn and look at you? he’s put back in the zone. you ground him.
❤︎ “I love you. I love you so much.. I can’t lose you.”
❤︎ insanely touching and LOVES cuddles. he’s so into cuddles that even when you’re cooking or baking he’s in the kitchen with his arms around you, swaying back and forth. humming softly or just talking to you about whatever it is that he wants to talk about. he loves it.
❤︎ “do you believe in fairytales? want to talk about it?”
❤︎ big on kissing. so big on kissing. kisses you so so much because he believes that’s how you show how much you love a person. his kisses are soft and very emotional. other times? it’s a bit more hot, wet, and a little needy. he wants you. needs you. all the time.
Pairing: Kim Gun-woo x Pregnant! Reader
Word count: 4.3k
Summary: you get kidnapped (almost).
you get your hair pulled (rude).
you accidentally reveal you’re pregnant (worse).
Warnings: home invasion, mentions of pregnancy, physical violence
a/n: i just finished season 2 of Bloodhounds and i’m sorry i just can’t stop picturing dad!gun-woo 😭
ALSO season 2 dropped and y’all are still not writing about the boys??? fine. i’ll do it myself.
☆ you can read part 2 here
─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────
The apartment was quiet that night, too quiet, in the way that made the absence of sound feel like something pressing against your ears instead of something peaceful. You had been sitting on the couch, one hand absentmindedly resting over your stomach, thumb tracing the same small, unconscious pattern over fabric, over skin, over something that still didn’t feel entirely real even a month later.
Pregnant.
Even now, the word didn’t land cleanly. It didn’t settle the way it should have, didn’t root itself into certainty. It hovered instead, fragile and suspended between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.
Across the room, Kim Gun-woo was watching you.
He had gotten quieter since you found out, more deliberate in everything he did, from the way he moved through the apartment to the way he looked at you. He was constantly recalibrating his understanding of the world to account for something new and impossibly important.
“You’re doing it again,” he said after a moment, his voice low but steady, pulling you gently out of your thoughts.
You blinked, looking up at him. “Doing what?”
He nodded toward your hand.
Only then did you realize you were still tracing that same pattern over your stomach, your touch absent but protective in a way that had become instinctive without you noticing.
You pulled your hand back slightly, almost embarrassed. “I didn’t even notice.”
Gun-woo didn’t smile. He rarely did lately, not fully.
Instead, he stood and crossed the room in a few quiet steps, sitting beside you. For a moment, he didn’t move, like he was waiting, for permission, maybe, or for the right way to exist in this new space between you.
Then, slowly, he reached out towards your belly.
His hand hovered first, the same way it had that first day, like he was still learning where it was safe to touch. You took his wrist and guided him down again.
He exhaled softly when his palm rested against you, his fingers spreading just slightly, careful, grounding. There was still nothing to feel. No movement. No sign that anything had changed beyond the knowledge itself.
And yet, everything had.
“We should leave,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, more controlled.
You frowned, looking up at him. “Leave?”
“For a while.” His gaze didn’t leave your face. “Until this is over.”
You already knew what he meant.
Im Baek Jeon.
The name didn’t need to be spoken anymore. It existed between all of you, heavy and unavoidable, shaping decisions before they were even fully formed.
“You don’t think he’ll find us anyway?” you asked.
Gun-woo’s jaw tightened slightly. “Not if we move first.”
From the kitchen, Woo-jin let out a quiet scoff, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “You say that like we haven’t been trying to stay off his radar this whole time.”
Gun-woo didn’t look at him. “This is different.”
“Yeah,” Woo-jin said, his tone losing its edge as quickly as it had come. “I know.”
Silence settled over the three of you again, heavier than before. Because it was different.
A month ago, the threat had been personal, dangerous, yes, but contained within the boundaries of choices Gun-woo could make, risks he could take, consequences he could accept for himself.
Now, it wasn’t just him. And that changed everything.
“We can’t run forever,” you said quietly.
Gun-woo’s hand tightened just slightly where it rested over yours, his thumb brushing your skin lightly. “We don’t have to. Just long enough.”
You could see in his pleading eyes that he was desperately just trying to keep all of you safe, in any way he could.
“Can we talk about this in the morning?” you questioned, not having the mental energy to think about it right now. You just wanted to enjoy the feeling of Gun-woo’s hand against your belly and pretend you were just a normal, young and anxious couple like any other.
“Sure”, he agreed, sensing the tiredness in your voice. You kissed him softly on the cheek as a silent thank you.
____
By the time night settled in, the tension hadn’t eased. It rarely did anymore.
You had gotten used to it in small ways. The way doors were always double-checked before bed, the way Woo-jin insisted on keeping his phone within arm’s reach at all times, the way Gun-woo would pause sometimes in the middle of a conversation, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he were listening to something no one else could hear.
It had become routine.
You lay in bed beside him, the room dim, the soft hum of the city outside filtering faintly through the windows. His presence next to you was steady, solid, a constant in a world that felt like it was shifting too quickly beneath your feet.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Your hand rested between you, your fingers loosely intertwined with his, your thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles in a rhythm that was more for you than for him.
“Are you awake?” you murmured after a while.
There was a slight shift beside you.
“Yeah.”
You turned your head slightly, looking at him even though you knew he didn’t need the light to see you.
“…Do you think they’ll try something soon?”
The question hung in the air, heavier than you intended.
Gun-woo didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was calm.
“Yes.”
Your chest tightened, but you nodded anyway, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Okay.”
His grip on your hand tightened slightly, just enough for you to feel it.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said quietly.
You shifted closer, resting your forehead lightly against his shoulder. “I know.”
“Try to sleep”, he whispered, while softly kissing your hair. “Baby needs you to rest”.
With his warm hands holding yours, you closed your eyes and tried to relax despite the anxiety that insisted to grow in your heart.
----
It happened at 2:17 a.m.
You didn’t know the exact time until later, when everything was already over and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking long enough for you to look away from the clock on the wall.
At the time, all you knew was that something felt wrong.
It wasn’t a sound, not at first. It was the absence of one, the subtle disruption of something that should have been there and wasn’t anymore. The faint hum of the security system, the almost imperceptible white noise you had gotten used to without realizing it.
Your eyes opened slowly, your body still heavy with sleep but your mind already sharpening, pulling you toward awareness before you could fully understand why.
Beside you, Gun-woo stilled.
You felt it immediately, the shift in his breathing, the way his body went from relaxed to coiled in an instant, every muscle tightening with sudden, controlled alertness.
“…Did you hear that?” you whispered.
“Yes.”
He was already moving before you could say anything else, carefully disentangling his hand from yours as he sat up, his movements silent, precise. The room felt colder without him next to you, the space he left behind too noticeable.
“What is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a breath.
He didn’t answer right away because he was listening.
You could see it in the way his head tilted slightly, his focus narrowing on something beyond the walls of the room, beyond what you could perceive. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until-
You heard a faint sound. A floorboard. Not in your room, but outside.
Gun-woo stood.
“Stay here”, he said quietly.
Your chest tightened immediately. “Gun-woo—”
“Stay here”, he repeated, this time giving you a clear order. “I’m going to wake Woo-jin up.”
You swallowed, nodding even though he wasn’t looking at you anymore, already moving toward the door.
Seconds after, a crash echoed through the house. Something was knocked over, a chair, or maybe a table, followed by multiple footsteps.
Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your feet hitting the floor as you stood, your heart slamming against your ribs hard enough to make it difficult to breathe.
You shouldn’t leave the room, you knew that, but every instinct in your body screamed at you not to be alone. You stepped toward the door just as it burst open.
You didn’t have time to process anything beyond that, just the shape of him, the movement, the hand reaching for you.
Your body twisted sharply as he lunged forward, your hand coming up to shove against his chest with more force than you thought you had. He stumbled back half a step, surprised, but it wasn’t enough.
A hand tangles in your hair, so tight it yanks your head back with a force that tears a scream straight from your throat before you can stop it.
Pain blooms sharp and immediate, blinding in its intensity, your hands flying up instinctively to grab at the wrist holding you, trying to pry it loose.
“Let go—! Let go of me!”
Your voice cracks, panic rising fast and uncontrollable as you’re dragged forward, your balance completely thrown off. Your feet scramble against the floor, slipping, catching, failing to ground you as he pulls harder, forcing you toward the door.
“Move,” he snaps, jerking your head back again.
Another scream rips out of you, raw and uncontrolled this time, your fingers clawing at his hand, your body twisting in desperate resistance.
“Please—!” The word breaks out of you before you can stop it, survival instinct overriding everything else. “Please don’t—don’t hurt me—!”
Your hands drop from his wrist, instinctively, curling inward over your stomach as your body folds slightly around it, your movements shifting without thought, driven by something deeper than panic.
“Please—” your voice cracks again, softer now, desperate in a different way. “Please, I—”
The man holding you pauses.
His grip doesn’t loosen, but his attention shifts, his gaze dropping, following the movement of your hands.
“…Wait.”
The word cuts through everything and the others hesitate.
“What?” one of them snaps.
“Look at her.”
Your breath stutters.
No. No, no, no—
“She’s protecting her stomach.”
Your fingers tighten instinctively where they rest, your entire body going still as the realization settles in the air between all of you.
“…You’re pregnant,” he says slowly.
It isn’t a question.
Your chest tightens so sharply it almost hurts, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as you shake your head instinctively, denial rising even though you know it’s useless.
“No—no, I—”
The lie dies before it can fully form.
A low laugh escapes him, quiet and almost disbelieving. “Well, Baek-jeon will love the news”.
Your heart drops.
“Please,” you try again, your voice trembling, desperation clawing its way through every word. “Please, don’t—”
“Shut up.”
His grip tightens in your hair, forcing your head back again, and pain explodes across your scalp, your vision blurring as another cry tears out of you.
“Gun-woo!” you scream, the name ripping from your chest before you can stop it, raw and desperate while the man in black tries to drag you down the stairs.
Suddenly, the man holding you is gone in an instant, his grip ripped away so violently it sends you stumbling forward, your knees nearly buckling as you catch yourself against the edge of the first step.
A sickening crack echoes through the room as Gun-woo’s fist connects with the man’s face, the force of it sending him crashing to the ground hard enough that the entire floor seems to shake with it.
“Get away from her,” Gun-woo says, his voice low and unrecognizable, each word punctuated by another hit.
Across the room, Woo-jin is already engaged with the others, his movements fast and aggressive, a curse spilling from his mouth as he blocks a strike and retaliates immediately.
“Bad move,” he snaps, slamming one of them back against the wall.
The room is chaos. But Gun-woo… Gun-woo is something else entirely.
The second man tries to move toward you again, maybe thinking Gun-woo is too focused on the one beneath him to react.
He’s wrong.
Gun-woo shifts instantly, abandoning the first without a second thought, intercepting the movement mid-step. His fist connects with the man’s jaw with brutal precision, snapping his head back before he even has time to react.
He follows through without pause, grabbing him by the collar and driving him into the wall hard enough to rattle everything hanging on it.
“She’s pregnant”, the man says quietly, flashing a sick bloody smile.
“Say it again,” Gun-woo demands, his voice deadly quiet now, his grip tightening.
“She’s pregnant, right?”
There’s no hesitation this time. No restraint. He slams him back again, harder, his fist connecting with a force that leaves no room for recovery, no chance to fight back.
The third man—still struggling against Woo-jin—lets out a breathless laugh despite the situation. “You think this helps?” he spits. “You think beating us changes anything?”
Woo-jin shoves him back hard, knocking the wind out of him. “Shut up.”
But the damage is already done, because the man keeps talking.
“You couldn’t even keep us out,” he continues, his voice strained but mocking. “What happens next time, huh? You gonna watch when we take her for real?”
“To keep her safe,” the man adds, pushing through the pain, “you know what you have to do.”
Gun-woo stills. But that’s all it takes for the words to sink in.
Without hesitation, Woo-jin strikes the man’s face with a punch so strong he passes out instantly.
“Shut up, asshole”.
But it’s too late. Because now, they know.
And worse—
They’ve given Gun-woo a choice.
----
For a moment after the last blow lands, there is no sound.
The kind of silence that follows violence isn’t empty. It’s thick, ringing, filled with the echo of what just happened. Your ears buzz, your breath comes too fast, too uneven, and the room feels like it’s tilting slightly under your feet.
One of the men groans.
Another coughs, dragging in a broken breath as he tries to push himself up from the floor. They don’t fight anymore. They can’t. Whatever confidence they had when they broke in is gone now.
“Get out,” Woo-jin snaps, his voice sharp, still edged with adrenaline. He doesn’t even wait for them to respond before stepping forward, grabbing one of them by the collar and hauling him roughly toward the door.
Gun-woo doesn’t help. He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes is enough.
The men see it too. You can tell by the way they don’t argue, don’t try to say anything else clever or threatening as they drag themselves toward the exit. One of them glances back once and whatever he sees in Gun-woo’s expression makes him look away immediately.
They retreat the way wounded animals do, slow, uneven, desperate to put distance between themselves and the threat that nearly tore them apart.
The front door hangs open, broken at the frame, creaking faintly as it shifts on its hinges. Cold air spills into the apartment, brushing against your skin in a way that makes you shiver, though you don’t feel cold.
You don’t feel much of anything and your knees give out before you realize they’re going to. You don’t even remember moving from where you were standing, just the sudden absence of strength in your legs as you sink down, your hands catching you clumsily against the floor.
The world feels far away, muted and your hands are shaking.
You notice that first. The tremor is small at the beginning, barely noticeable, but it grows quickly, spreading through your arms, into your chest, until your entire body feels like it’s vibrating under your skin.
A sob escapes you before you can stop it.
“Hey—hey—”
Woo-jin’s voice cuts through the haze first, closer than you expect. He crouches in front of you quickly, his movements urgent but careful, like he’s afraid of startling you further.
“You’re okay,” he says, though his own breathing is still uneven. “You’re okay, it’s over.”
Behind him, Gun-woo hasn’t moved.
His chest rising and falling too fast, his hands still clenched at his sides like he hasn’t fully come back yet. There’s blood on his knuckles, some of it his, most of it not, and his entire body is rigid, like the fight hasn’t actually ended for him.
Woo-jin glances back at him, just for a second.
“…Gun-woo.”
No response.
He tries again, sharper this time. “Hey.”
Gun-woo’s gaze shifts, slow and heavy, landing on you where you’re sitting on the floor, shaking, your hands still hovering uncertainly near your stomach like you don’t know where else to put them.
He moves slowly at first, like his body is resisting the transition from one state to another, from violence to something softer, something human again. Each step is deliberate, measured, like he’s forcing himself to calm down with every inch he closes between you.
He lowers himself in front of you, mirroring Woo-jin’s earlier position, but closer, closer than anyone else is allowed to be. His hands lift slowly, hesitating for only a second before settling carefully on both sides of your face.
“…Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
You shake your head, though the movement is small, unsteady. “N-no…”
“I’m sorry,” he says, the words coming out before he can stop them.
Your head snaps up slightly, your eyes finally focusing on him. “What?”
“I should’ve-” His jaw tightens, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere in his throat. “I should’ve stopped them before they got to you.”
You shake your head quickly, the movement more desperate this time. “You did, Gun-woo, you did-”
“They were inside,” he cuts in, his voice sharper now, edged with something that hasn’t fully settled. “They had you-”
Woo-jin exhales heavily from beside you, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, we’re not doing this right now.”
He shifts closer, one hand coming down gently on your shoulder, grounding, steady, while his other reaches out to shove lightly at Gun-woo’s arm, just enough to get his attention.
“Hey,” he says, more firmly now. “Look at me.”
Gun-woo doesn’t want to, but after a second, he does.
“This isn’t on you,” Woo-jin continues, his tone steady despite the adrenaline still lingering beneath it. “They broke in. That’s on them.”
“They came because of me.”
“Yeah,” Woo-jin says bluntly. “And they left because of you too.”
That lands. Not fully, but enough to make Gun-woo exhale and drop some of the guilt he has holding all on his own.
Woo-jin squeezes your shoulder lightly, his voice softening as he looks back at you. “And you—breathe, okay? You’re safe. We’re here.”
You nod weakly, and squeeze his hand, your way of saying a silent thank you for saying the words you and Gun-woo needed so bad to hear right now.
Gun-woo’s hand shifts slightly where it rests on your arm, his thumb brushing once, grounding both of you.
“…They know,” he says quietly.
The words settle heavily in the room. Woo-jin exhales again, slower this time. “Yeah.”
You swallow, your throat still tight, your voice small when you finally speak. “…What does that mean?”
Gun-woo doesn’t answer right away and that’s worse than anything he could say. The silence is filled with everything he’s thinking, considering and Woo-jin notices it too.
“Hey,” he says quickly, sharper now, his tone shifting in warning. “Don’t go there.”
Gun-woo’s gaze flicks to him.
“I’m serious,” Woo-jin adds, holding it. “We figure this out. Together.”
For a while, no one moves.
The apartment feels wrong now, too open, too exposed, like the walls themselves can’t protect you anymore. The broken door lets in a slow draft of cold air that brushes against your skin, but you still barely register it. Everything still feels distant, like your body hasn’t fully caught up to what just happened.
Gun-woo is the first to pull away.
The movement is abrupt compared to how careful he had been with you moments ago, like something inside him has shifted again—snapped back into urgency, into action.
“We can’t stay here.”
Woo-jin exhales sharply through his nose, nodding immediately. “Yeah, we need to go.”
----
The place Woo-jin finds isn’t home.
You can tell the second you step inside. It’s clean, functional, temporary in a way that makes everything echo just a little too much. The furniture is sparse, the walls bare, the air carrying that faint, unfamiliar stillness of somewhere that hasn’t been lived in long enough to feel safe.
But the door locks. Twice. And the windows are intact so for now, that was enough.
Woo-jin checks everything first. Every room, every window latch, every blind, every possible entry point. He moves with purpose, still riding the edge of adrenaline, but more controlled now, more focused.
“Clear,” he finally says, exhaling as he steps back into the main room.
Gun-woo doesn’t respond right away. He hasn’t let go of you since you arrived.
His hand is still wrapped around yours, firm and grounding, like if he loosens his grip even slightly, something might take you again. His other hand rests at your back, guiding you gently further inside, his body positioning itself instinctively between you and the door even after it’s locked.
“Sit,” he murmurs.
Your body still feels like it’s catching up to everything that happened, your limbs heavy, your thoughts slower than they should be.
The couch is firmer than the one back home. You notice that.
Gun-woo kneels in front of you almost immediately, his gaze moving over you again, searching in that same careful, quiet way. It’s less frantic now, but no less intense, like he still expects to find something wrong if he looks hard enough.
“I’m okay,” you say softly, before he can ask.
He nods, but he doesn’t stop looking.
Woo-jin disappears into another room for a moment, the sound of drawers opening and closing faint in the background, giving you space without saying it out loud.
Silence settles between you and Gun-woo.
Your hand shifts in his, your fingers tightening slightly as you watch him, taking in the tension that hasn’t left his shoulders, the way his jaw is still set like he hasn’t fully come down from the edge yet and the fact that his knuckles still have dried blood on them.
“You need to rest,” you murmur.
His eyes flick up to yours. “I’m fine. I’ll rest later,” he says.
You know better than to argue right now.
Woo-jin comes back eventually, setting a glass of water on the table in front of you, his movements calmer now, more grounded.
“Drink,” he says gently.
You nod, taking it, your hands steadier now than they were before.
He lingers for a second, watching both of you, then exhales and drops into the chair across from you.
“We’ll stay here a couple days,” he says, more to Gun-woo than to you. “Figure out next steps after.”
Gun-woo nods once.
It’s enough. For now, that’s all any of you can manage.
----
After forcing the boys to take a shower, you and Gun-woo climb into bed. The sun will rise in a couple hours.
You lie in a bed that isn’t yours, staring up at a ceiling you don’t recognize, the faint hum of the building replacing the familiar sounds you used to rely on. Your body is exhausted, your mind heavier than it should be, but sleep doesn’t come right away.
Beside you, Gun-woo hasn’t moved.
He’s been like this for a while now, awake, even in the dark, even when he pretends otherwise.
“Are you going to sleep?” you whisper.
“In a bit.”
You turn slightly toward him, studying the outline of his face in the dim light, the tension still there, quieter now but not gone.
“You said that an hour ago.”
You shift closer instead, closing the space between you, your hand finding his under the blanket. His fingers curl around yours immediately, like he’s been waiting for it without realizing.
You guide his hand again slowly down to rest it over your stomach.
You feel him shift closer, his shoulder pressing more firmly against yours as his head dips forward, resting lightly against you. His hand stays where it is, warm, steady, careful.
“…I’m going to fix this,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it barely disturbs the silence, but close enough that you feel it more than hear it, the vibration of it settling somewhere deep in your chest.
“I will,” he continues, softer now, but steadier in a way that feels less like certainty and more like something he’s forcing himself to believe, something he needs to hold onto so he doesn’t break under the weight of everything else. “Before–”
Then his fingers spread just a little, his palm settling more intentionally against you, and when he speaks again, his voice shifts closer, like it isn’t meant for you anymore.
“…before you’re here.”
“I know you can’t hear me yet,” he continues, his voice dropping even further, softer than you’ve ever heard it, stripped of everything sharp or guarded, “but I’m your dad.”
Your eyes sting suddenly, the feeling creeping in without warning as you listen.
“And I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice rougher now. “For tonight. For everything you don’t understand yet.”
Your chest tightens, your hand instinctively covering his where it rests, grounding him without interrupting.
“I’m supposed to make sure nothing touches you,” he continues, quieter still, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile. “That nothing gets close enough to hurt you. Or your mom.”
Your vision blurs further, your eyes fully glassy now, tears gathering without falling, held back only by the fragile stillness of the moment. You bite down softly on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your breathing even, trying not to let it break.
“I’m still figuring out how to do that.”
“But I will,” he murmurs, more firmly now, even if his voice stays soft, the resolve settling into something quieter but stronger. “I’ll figure it out.”
And in the quiet that follows, with your eyes still damp and your chest still tight, something shifts again into something softer, something that feels like the beginning of hope.
And when sleep finally comes, slow and gentle and long overdue–it finds you like that.
Together.
─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────
pls leave a comment or scream with me about dad!gun-woo i need it ❤️
SUM. just some things about being in a relationship with them
(BLDHS MLST) . includes: kim geonwoo, hong woojin · domestic fluff, est. relationship, a little smut (nothing detailed), slice of life
note. i’ve started rewatching bloodhounds.. mainly to see those red shorts again 😮💨
KIM GEONWOO
oh my gosh geonwoo :(
this man literally loves you to pieces.
he’s got it bad.
this could go either way to be honest.
he could be adorably shy when he tries to flirt :(
but also i can see him being the smoothest mf EVER.
personally i think he’d be a mix of both.
smooth flirting but if you reciprocate at all? his eyes go big and his ears go red and he panics.
geonwoo might look like a violent man because of the scar on his face and the frequent bruises and injuries.
but really he’s just a soft, cute little bunny
he also trusts you an awful lot and tells you more things than he tells most people so he’ll always protect your secrets really well.
he also really really loves seeing you in his clothes like loves loves it. there’s not a single oversized shirt he owns that you haven’t worn at least once.
any time you speak he always has this wide smile on his face and absolutely adores the sound of your voice.
he gets proud smiles on his face when he makes you laugh and snaps candid photos of you, saving them on his phone to look over before a fight if you couldn’t be there.
as soon as he gets home he greets you with a hard kiss and then a LONGGGG hug.
seems like the kind of guy to cup ur face a lot when kissing you, probably rubs his thumb over your cheek too.
FOREHEAD. KISSES.
will keep his arms around you or help you with dinner while he tells you about the fight.
also cuddles afterwards.
there’s lots of spooning, he loves to be the small spoon and feel protected by you for once.
he needs to remember how special he is from time to time.
so love him, play with his hair, tell him to not stress or simply help him relax in other ways.
geonwoo has no dominant bone in his body when it comes to sex, i’m sorry to say.
he’s so buff but once you’re towering over him he’ll completely submit himself to you.
loses it when you praise him, will become a whimpering mess for you.
he is not into dirty talk i think but you could make him cum with your sweet words.
he’d also mark you when he’s lost and would kiss them and apologize if he hurt you.
lowkey a pillow prince too.
HONG WOOJIN
he is definitely the type of boyfriend that will hold things very high so you can’t reach them.
and when you do he kisses you and has a soft gleam in his eyes that tells you how much he loves you.
is so sweet and caring to you.
random pics everywhere, his phone, cameras are full with you.
he is so fun and always down for whatever crazy ideas you’ve got brewing in your head!
24/7 can make you smile.
food is his love language, (this man does not play about his rib-eye).
but also loves to show his love with basic touches like playing softly with your hair, holding your waist.
basically keeping your body close.
l o v e s it when you blush or give him some kind of reaction.
he’d tease you quite often about these lol cause my man is playful af (yet possessive when jealous).
and fights would be nothing but petty and ridiculous.
the two of you weren’t the type to bottle things up—you argued, bickered, and then made up like nothing happened.
usually within a day, one of you would crack and things would go back to normal.
woojin always wants you in his corner when he fights. you are his good luck charm and the only one who is allowed to wrap the bandages around his hands before he slips into his gloves.
not that he needs any luck with the skills he has, but he loves seeing you press your sweet kisses on his boxing gloves and smile at him before you hug him tightly and tell him to please be careful.
whether he wins or loses he’d still want to celebrate with you any way he can because he knows it won’t be the last.
he often uses you as a pillow while sleeping, he’s the big spoon most of the time.
his hands always touching and roaming around your body.
very domestic and soft during sex and will make sure the both of you have a good time.
tease.
yup he’s a tease.
lives for making you squirm under his touch.
when it’s lovemaking he treats you like a princess.
he will worship your body and shower you with praise—always makes sure your pleasure comes first.
but when he’s submissive he will do anything you want him to, no questions asked.
warnings: slight power dynamics, mentions of breeding and pregnancy, praise kink, mentions of sex positions, exhibitionism
18+ mdni
a/n: season 2 was sooo good i can’t wait for season 3 also possible spoilers under the cut
pairing: kim gunwoo x female reader
my masterlist
sfw:
He hates arguments. If you guys ever argue he tries to make up immediately since he doesn’t want you to be mad at him.
Your safety is his top priority. When shit goes down he makes sure you have a safe place to stay at and he will always call or come by to check on you.
Gunwoo is such an attentive person. He always remembers the smallest details such as a pair of shoes which you mentioned months ago. He also notices your mood like as soon as you step into the room he can somehow tell whether you had a bad day or not.
He also makes sure you know at least some basic self defense. Sometimes he drags you along to the gym to practice with him.
When you guys are together, he always has to touch you whether it’s your hand, your waist or your lower back, he always has a hand on you.
He’s so soft spoken, like i couldn’t imagine him ever yelling at his partner.
Nsfw:
Gunwoo is gentle most of the time. Every now and then he gets rougher because of the loan sharks and baekjeong. He also gets rough if you ask him but he always makes sure you’re comfortable.
He gives me such switchy vibes. Sometimes you’re riding him and he’s a whimpering mess and other times he’s on top and groaning into your ear.
He also is open to pretty much all kinks, as long as it doesn’t hurt you and stuff he’ll engage in it.
Sometimes,when you guys fuck, he leaves bruises on your hips from gripping them too hard.
He has the biggest breeding and praise kink known to mankind. He loves to imagine how you’d look pregnant and as a mom, it turns him on so much.
His favorite sex positions are missionary, cowgirl and mating press.
He also has an exhibition kink, like when the gym is empty he’d fuck you in the boxing ring or the lockers. The thrill would only turn him on more
note: He's so fine, I don't really have much to say apart from that, maybe that I'm gonna be posting more about BloodHounds, and that my requests are open! (remember that my first lenguge is not english and I use the translator a lot to help me write, so sorry for any mastakes!) xoxo
The first time you noticed it, it wasn’t obvious.
It never is with him.
Kim Geon-woo isn’t loud about the way he feels. He doesn’t announce it, doesn’t corner you with confessions or grand gestures that demand to be seen or answered. With him, there’s no spectacle, no dramatic declarations that leave you breathless in the obvious way. You don’t notice it right away. Not until you step back one day and realize it’s always been there, woven into every moment you share with him.
It starts with small things.
The way he remembers how you take your drink without asking, down to the exact amount of sugar, the way you hesitate before your first sip when it’s too hot. The way he hands it to you already adjusted, like it’s second nature, like it matters.
The way his eyes find you in a room without even trying. You’ll look up mid-conversation, mid-laugh, mid-thought, and there he is. Already looking. Already aware.
The way he stands just a little too close when someone else is talking to you. Not enough to be obvious. Not enough for anyone else to question it. But enough that you feel it...the quiet presence at your side, steady and unyielding.
At first, you think it’s just him being nice, protective maybe. A little attentive. It doesn’t seem like something to question.
But then—
“You didn’t text me.”
His voice cuts through the quiet, low and careful. There’s no raised tone, no sharp edge meant to start a fight. Not angry. Not quite. Just… tight. Controlled in a way that makes you look up anyway.
You blink, pulled out of your thoughts, your phone still in your hand. “I was out for, like, two hours.”
Geon-woo is leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, but there’s nothing relaxed about him. His posture is stiff beneath the surface, like something coiled tight inside him. His gaze doesn’t leave you, not for a second. It feels heavier than usual. More focused.
“I know,” he says.
A beat.
“I counted.”
There’s a pause that stretches just a little too long.
You let out a small laugh, awkward and unsure, because it has to be a joke. It sounds like one. It should be one.
He doesn’t laugh back.
Your smile falters, fading at the edges as the silence lingers.
“…You counted?”
His jaw shifts slightly, tension flickering across his face like he realizes how that sounded. Like maybe he shouldn’t have said it out loud.
But he doesn’t take it back.
He never takes anything back with you.
“I just—” he exhales through his nose, pushing himself off the wall. The movement is slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to ground himself as he steps closer. “You didn’t answer. I didn’t know where you were.”
Something in his tone makes your chest tighten.
It isn’t anger.
It’s worry, too much worry.
The kind that feels like it’s been sitting with him longer than it should have.
“I told you I was meeting a friend,” you say softly, searching his face.
“I know,” he replies immediately. Too quickly. The words come out like they’ve been waiting at the front of his mind. “You said 3:10. You left at 3:07. You wore that sweater.” His eyes flicker over you now, softer but still intense, still taking everything in. “The white one.”
Your breath catches before you can stop it. He did remember, not just the important parts.
Everything.
“…Geon-woo.”
Your voice comes out gentler now, careful, like you’re stepping into something fragile.
He’s close. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, the quiet tension in the way he holds himself back like there’s an instinct there, something pulling him toward you, but he’s restraining it. Waiting. Unsure if he’s allowed.
“I don’t like not knowing,” he says.
There it is.
Honest. Bare. A little rough around the edges, like it’s something he doesn’t say often, if ever.
You study his face more carefully now. The slight furrow in his brows, the way his eyes keep moving over you, scanning, checking. Like he’s reassuring himself. Like he needs proof.
Proof that you’re okay.
Proof that you’re still here.
“…I’m okay,” you whisper.
His lips press together, the tension in them not easing.
“I know,” he says. “But I need to see it.”
Your heart stumbles at that.
There’s something about the way he says it like it’s not just a preference. Not just something he wants. It sounds like something deeper. Something instinctive. Something he can’t turn off, no matter how much he might try.
You press your hand a little firmer against him.
Not enough to push, just enough to anchor him, to remind him of something solid, something real. You can feel the tension under your palm, the way his muscles are still wound tight, like he hasn’t fully come down from whatever storm was running through him moments ago. So he stops.
“I’m okay. Nothing happened. You don’t have to worry like that.”
The words are gentle, but deliberate. You don’t rush them, don’t soften them into something dismissible. You let them sit between you, steady and real, something you’re offering him to lean on, if he lets himself. Something solid enough to counter the restless storm that always seems to live just beneath his skin.
For a moment, it almost feels like he might take it.
But then he shakes his head slightly, the movement small but firm, a quiet refusal. A hint of frustration slips through the cracks of his composure, subtle but unmistakable. You feel it in the way his shoulders stay tense, in the way his gaze doesn’t quite settle, like your reassurance doesn’t fit into whatever logic he’s built for himself.
Like it isn’t enough.
“I do.”
The words come out low, certain. Not argued, stated.
“…Why?”
The question leaves you before you can stop it.
It isn’t sharp. It isn’t defensive. If anything, it’s softer than you expect, shaped more by curiosity than anything else. By the need to understand. Because this (him, like this) goes beyond simple worry. It’s deeper, heavier, threaded with something you can’t quite name yet.
You just want to know what it is.
For a second, he just looks at you.
Not in that scanning, restless way he does when he’s checking you over, searching for something wrong.
But fully.
Like everything in him has narrowed down to this one moment. To you.
Like all that intensity, all that focus, has finally found a place to land, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
There’s something quieter in his expression now. Not softer exactly, but more… exposed. Like he’s standing at the edge of saying something he doesn’t usually say. Something he doesn’t fully understand himself.
Like he’s deciding how much to give you.
How much you’ll take without pulling away.
“…Because it’s you,” he answers.
-
You open your eyes slowly, still caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking, and for a moment, everything feels too quiet. Then you notice him.
Geon-woo is standing in the doorway.
He isn’t doing anything in particular, just leaning slightly against the frame, arms relaxed at his sides, but his presence fills the room in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. His gaze is already on you, steady and attentive, as if he’s been waiting for the exact moment you would wake up.
You push yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at him, your voice still soft with sleep. “How long have you been there?”
He straightens slightly, like he’s been caught doing something he hadn’t meant to make obvious. “Not long,” he says, though the brief hesitation before the answer makes it hard to believe him completely. “Just a few seconds.”
You don’t argue, even if you suspect it’s not true. Instead, you sit up a little more, brushing your hair out of your face as you try to orient yourself. “What time is it?”
“Just after eight.”
“You woke up before me again?” you ask, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
“I always do,” he replies simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. There’s no pride in it, no teasing..just a quiet certainty that makes it sound less like a habit and more like something intentional.
Before you can respond, he adds, “I made breakfast.”
Of course he did.
Something in your chest softens at that, even as a small part of you wonders how early he must have woken up to do it. “You didn’t have to,” you say, though the words come out gentler than they might have otherwise.
“I wanted to.”
He says it the same way he always does, like that alone is enough reason.
You nod, letting out a quiet breath as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. “Okay… give me a minute.”
He doesn’t leave.
You notice it almost immediately, the way his presence lingers even as you stand and move toward your dresser. When you glance back at him, he’s still there, watching in that calm, focused way that has become so familiar to you.
There’s nothing aggressive about it. Nothing openly intrusive.
And yet, it feels… close.
Too close, sometimes.
“You’re just going to stand there?” you ask, a hint of amusement in your voice as you reach for a hoodie.
He blinks, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Can I not?”
Your smile softens despite yourself. “You can.”
That’s all the permission he needs.
He stays exactly where he is while you change, his attention following you without shame or hesitation. It isn’t the kind of gaze that feels casual or distracted; it’s deliberate, careful, as though he’s cataloging every small detail without even realizing he’s doing it.
“How many hours?”
You pause, glancing back at him. “I don’t know. Enough, I think.”
His brows draw together slightly, a faint crease forming between them. “You should know.”
You let out a small, breathy laugh, running a hand through your hair to fix it. “Why?”
“So you can tell if it’s enough,” he says, his tone still even, still calm..but there’s something underneath it, something that suggests this isn’t just casual curiosity.
“I feel fine,” you reply, a little more gently this time.
He studies you for a second, his gaze moving across your face as if searching for something you might have missed. “You look tired,” he says finally.
“You always say that.”
“Because you always look like you need more rest.”
There’s no judgment in his voice, only quiet concern, but the way he says it makes it feel heavier than it should.
Before you can respond, he steps closer.
The movement is unhurried, natural, like it’s something he doesn’t even think about anymore. His hands lift to your shoulders, adjusting the fabric of your hoodie where it sits unevenly, smoothing it down with careful, practiced motions.
“You didn’t fix this properly,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
You go still for a moment, watching him.
It’s such a small thing.
Unnecessary, even.
But the way he focuses on it (the way he touches you like it matters) makes something in your chest tighten in a way you can’t quite explain.
“Okay,” you say softly.
His fingers linger for just a second longer than needed before he lets his hands fall back to his sides.
“…Come eat,” he says.
-
The kitchen feels warm the moment you step into it, the kind of warmth that settles gently against your skin and makes the space feel lived-in, safe.
His mom looks up first, offering you a quiet, knowing smile that carries a kind of softness you’re still getting used to, while Woojin barely lifts his head from his phone, muttering something that passes for a greeting before disappearing back into whatever has his attention. It all feels normal, almost domestic in a way that should be easy to settle into.
And yet...
Geon-woo is already moving.
He steps ahead of you without hesitation, like he’s done this a hundred times before, reaching for the chair at the table and pulling it out just as you approach. The gesture is smooth, automatic, so natural it almost blends into the routine of the house itself.
“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him softly, your voice light, almost absent-minded.
“I know,” he answers just as quietly.
You sit, letting the moment pass, and he takes the seat beside you immediately after, not across from you, not leaving space between you, but close enough that the warmth of him is unmistakable, your shoulders nearly brushing every time either of you shifts. There’s already a plate waiting for you, the food arranged neatly, almost carefully, like he paid attention to how it looked as much as how it would taste.
For a moment, you just look at it.
Then at him.
“You made all this?” you ask, a hint of surprise slipping into your voice despite yourself.
He nods, but his attention doesn’t drift to his own place setting or the rest of the table. It stays on you, steady and focused, as though your reaction matters more than anything else in the room.
“Eat while it’s warm,” he says.
There’s something about the way he says it (not commanding, not forceful, but certain) that makes you pick up your fork without thinking too much about it. You take a bite, the food still warm, still fresh, and you barely have time to register the taste before you feel it.
His gaze.
Under the table, you feel his hand rest against your leg.
It’s light at first, almost tentative, but it doesn’t leave. Instead, his thumb begins to move slowly, tracing absent circles that feel more instinctive than intentional, as though the contact itself is something he needs to maintain without thinking about why.
“Is that okay?” he asks.
You glance at him, your heart catching slightly at the contradiction. The way he’s already touching you, already there, and still asks.
“…Yeah,” you answer.
He relaxes, just barely, but his hand stays where it is.
“Do you feel okay?” he asks after a moment.
“I’m fine.”
“No headaches? No dizziness?”
You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping you. “No, Geon-woo.”
He studies you again, more carefully this time, his gaze tracing over your face with quiet focus, as if he’s searching for something you might not even notice in yourself. Only when he seems satisfied does he nod, a small, almost imperceptible motion.
“Okay.”
For a brief moment, the conversation fades, leaving a quiet space between you, but with him, it never lasts.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“I’m not cold.”
“You look cold.”
You smile faintly, shaking your head. “I promise I’m not.”
He watches you for another second, like he’s weighing your answer, deciding whether to accept it. Eventually, he does, but not fully. Just enough to move on.
By the time you finish eating, he’s already standing, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he moves before you’ve even had a chance to think about getting up.
“I’ll get your bag,” he says.
“I can get it,” you reply, though there’s no real resistance behind it.
“I know.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
You remain seated for a moment longer, your fingers resting lightly against the edge of the table as your gaze drifts toward the hallway where he disappeared. There’s a strange feeling settling in your chest, something you can’t quite name, because everything about this is kind, attentive, undeniably caring.
And yet... it feels like a lot.
Like something constant.
Something that doesn’t quite give you space to exist without being noticed.
When he returns, he places your bag gently beside you, his movements careful, deliberate. As he does, his hand brushes against your shoulder in a fleeting, almost absent gesture—but it lingers in a way that feels anything but accidental.
That quiet, steady awareness of you that never seems to fade.
“Ready?” he asks.
You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and it’s the same as always, focused, immediate, like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.
You nod. “Yeah.”
His hand finds yours without hesitation, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease, and as he leads you out, his voice picks up again, soft but constant...asking small questions, simple things, things that don’t really need to be asked at all.
But he asks anyway.
Because it keeps you talking.
Keeps you answering.
Keeps you with him.
And as you walk beside him, listening, responding, feeling the steady presence of his hand wrapped around yours.
you begin to understand something you hadn’t quite been able to put into words before.
He isn’t just taking care of you, he’s holding onto you, in every moment he can.
